The first thing Kael Ardyn became aware of was the scent of rain-dampened earth and rust. Then came the pain—a dull, throbbing ache at the back of his skull. His eyes fluttered open to a twilight sky, the fading sun bleeding through bruised purple clouds.
*Again?* The thought surfaced from the murky depths of his mind, formless and fleeting. A déjà vu so intense it left him dizzy. He'd done this before. Lain on this cold, hard ground. Breathed this air.
But that was impossible. This was his first time.
He pushed himself up, his muscles protesting. He was in a narrow alleyway, stacked with crumbling crates and refuse. His hands were scraped, and his simple tunic was torn at the shoulder. A fight. There had been a fight. Memories, these ones sharp and clear, slotted into place. Taunts about his quiet nature, his lack of a Path, shoves that turned into something more.
A bitter taste filled his mouth. It was always the same. He was seventeen winters old, an age when most youths had already felt the stirring of their Path—the connection to a mythical beast that would define their life, their power, their very place in the world. Yet, he felt nothing. An emptiness where a roaring dragon or a cunning kitsune should have been.
He was a blank page in a world of illuminated texts.
A faint, cold vibration against his back brought him back to the present. He reached over his shoulder, his fingers brushing the worn cloth wrapping of the only thing his unknown parents had left him: a simple, unadorned katana. The guards at the orphanage had laughed when they saw it. "A farmer's decoration," they'd called it. But it was all he had. The cold pulse he felt from it now was probably just his own loneliness playing tricks on him.
He needed to get back before full dark. The city was less than kind to those who couldn't defend themselves.
As he stumbled out of the alley onto the main street, the world erupted into noise and light. The cobblestone thoroughfare was crowded with people returning home. And above them, the true divide of society was on display.
A young man, not much older than Kael, strode past with an air of unconcealed arrogance. As he walked, the air around his hands shimmered with heat, and for a fleeting second, the silhouette of shimmering, serpentine scales flickered around him before fading.
*Dragon Path.* The thought came unbidden, another piece of knowledge Kael couldn't place. The boy didn't even glance his way.
A girl with hair the color of flame gently guided a sickly-looking dog to the side of the road. She placed her hands on its flank, and a soft, warm light emanated from her palms. The dog whined, then yipped happily, licking her hand. She smiled, a gentle, tired thing.
*Phoenix Path. Healer.*
A profound loneliness, sharper than any physical pain, lanced through Kael. He was on the outside, looking in at a world of magic and meaning he could never touch.
His foot caught on an uneven stone, and his balance, already compromised by the earlier struggle, gave way. He braced for the impact with the hard cobblestones.
It never came.
A hand shot out, slender but impossibly strong, gripping his forearm and steadying him effortlessly.
"Are you alright?"
The voice was calm, melodic, but held a depth of sadness that seemed to resonate with the very ache in Kael's soul. He looked up.
Her eyes were the color of amethysts caught in moonlight. Her hair was a cascade of silver-white, tied loosely behind her. She was beautiful, but in a way that felt distant and ethereal, like a painting of a forgotten goddess. She looked at him not with pity, but with a strange, ancient knowing that made his breath catch.
On her wrist, a thin, delicate silver chain glinted in the fading light.
"I... yes. Thank you," Kael managed to stammer, finding his feet. Her grip was firm before she let go.
"You should be careful. The streets are uneven for those who are... distracted." Her gaze flickered for a moment to the torn fabric on his shoulder, the faint bruise already forming on his jaw. Her violet eyes seemed to see everything.
"Distracted. That's one word for it," Kael said, a hint of self-deprecation in his tone. "I'm Kael."
"Sera," she said softly. Her name felt like a secret. She looked like she was about to say something more, her eyes holding his with an intensity that felt out of place for a first meeting. A flicker of something unreadable—pain? recognition?—passed through them before it was gone, veiled behind a mask of calm serenity.
She simply nodded. "Get home safely, Kael."
And then she turned and melted into the crowd, her silver hair the last thing to disappear into the twilight.
Kael stood there for a long moment, the throbbing in his head forgotten. The encounter had been brief, but it left him with a strange feeling. The emptiness was still there, the silence of his soul still deafening.
But for the first time that day, he didn't feel entirely alone.
High above, the moon broke through the clouds, its pale light glinting off the wrapped hilt of the katana on his back. For a single, impossible second, it seemed to cast a long, distorted shadow on the ground before him—a shadow that looked less like a sword, and more like a promise of hellfire.