The desert remembers every step. Some steps remember back.
Law Kael's boots sank into the burning sand. Heat pressed against his skin. The red scarf across his shoulders fluttered like a banner of defiance. Two short swords hung at his sides, leather grips worn smooth.
Fifteen, alone, but moving with the precision of someone far older. Three years wandering, three years learning that hesitation could kill. Whispers followed him—soft, impossible to ignore. He had learned to walk on, no matter what.
Ahead, a village crouched in the dunes. Smoke curled from chimneys. Lanterns flickered. Life went on, oblivious.
Something was wrong.
The scarf pulsed against his chest. Footsteps, voices… all wrong. A villager's eyes caught the dying light. Mirrors. Cold, empty. Law didn't flinch. He never did.
Night fell. Lanterns flared. Law sank against a wooden post, swords ready. Shapes shimmered at the edges of vision—human in outline, but wrong. Their mirrored eyes reflected nothing.
Whispers threaded through the air:
"…follow… follow…"
Law tightened his grip. The first husk moved forward. Slow, jerky, sensing motion. More followed, flickering in and out of reality.
He drew a breath. Centered. The desert pulsed beneath him. The Path hummed.
Then it happened.
Ghostly afterimages shimmered beside him—echoes of himself, moving as he moved. Every strike, every dodge, multiplied. His swords danced through the shadows, cutting with impossible precision.
"I… I'm everywhere…" Law whispered, teeth gritted. "Every step… mine."
The husks faltered, whispers faltering. Not for long. Darkness pressed inward. Lanterns died, one by one.
Law adjusted the scarf. Its glow flared. Foot by foot, he slid through shadow, eyes sharp, senses alive.
The village didn't notice. They never did. They never would.
But he did. And tonight, he would not falter.
The desert watched. The Path waited. Every step left a shadow.
And Law Kael… would walk it.