Kaelin's footsteps pounded across the dew-drenched meadow, each strike against the damp earth echoing the frantic rhythm of his heartbeat. His chest rose and fell like a storm-tossed sail, and his ragged breaths cut through the crisp air, which stung his cheeks with icy fingers. Stray strands of his white hair danced with the wind, brushing against his skin like whispers of something unseen, while his wide, searching eyes sought refuge from a fear he couldn't yet name.
Suddenly, he stopped before a small, isolated wooden cabin, hidden among towering trees. The forest seemed to hold its breath. Then, a hoarse voice slipped through the door crack:
– "What's all this commotion outside? Has someone died?"
Kaelin froze. A cold shiver clawed up his spine. The door creaked open slowly, and a tall, impeccably dressed man stepped out, his wide-brimmed hat casting a shadow across half his face. His voice was calm, deliberate… but his eyes—oh, those eyes—shone with a metallic chill, as if they contained secrets far older than any human memory.
Kaelin's legs trembled. He lowered his gaze as though trying to vanish, then pressed on with hurried, uneven steps.
But a few paces later, an invisible weight pressed down on his chest, slowing his breath. He lifted his head, and there he was—the same man, leaning against a tree, eyes closed, fingers tracing the air in subtle, deliberate arcs. His smile was enigmatic, a curve that neither mocked nor comforted, yet spoke of knowing every hidden thought and secret before it had a chance to be.
Kaelin's heart thudded violently, yet he forced his legs to carry him onward, pretending composure. When he glanced back, the clearing lay empty, the man vanished like smoke in the wind.
The village welcomed him with smiles that felt like stones pressing against his chest. Whispers cut through the warm afternoon like blades:
– "It's their child… isn't it?"
– "The son of the heroes who protect the village…"
A lump lodged in Kaelin's throat. He had longed for affection, but not in this way—cold, distant, invasive.
– "Hello, Kaelin."
He turned toward the voice. Grandmother Loren stood there, her aged face glowing with gentle warmth, a wicker basket of vegetables cradled in her arms.
– "Hello, Grandmother Loren," he murmured, a hesitant smile flickering across his lips.
– "How are you, my child? And your parents and grandfather?"
– "All fine… really fine," he said, voice barely audible.
Yet faint whispers drifted behind him:
– "Can you believe a boy like him is raised by an old woman while his parents are alive?"
– "Quiet… don't tempt trouble with your tongue."
His fists clenched until his knuckles turned white. Loren's hand rested lightly on his shoulder, steady and warm:
– "Ignore them, my child. Some tongues are only good for nonsense."
Unable to hold back, Kaelin bolted:
– "I'm late… see you soon, Grandmother!"
Rage surged in him: Fools… how I wish I could silence them all with my own hands.
He reached his grandfather's house—a sturdy wooden structure, its porch pillars standing like silent guardians. Hesitation gripped him as his hand shook over the door handle. Why am I so afraid? There is nothing frightening… so why does my heart quiver at every shadow?
The door creaked open. The scent of aged timber mixed with faint smoke from the old hearth, filling his nostrils with a sense of familiarity and unease. Three pairs of shoes lay neatly by the entrance instead of the usual two.
Inside the hall, his grandfather sat, flanked by his parents. The sound of his own heartbeat thudded like war drums, and cold sweat trickled down his chin.
Then his eyes fell upon the stranger… the elegantly dressed man, now sitting calmly among them. He toyed with a teacup between his fingers, eyes flicking open to meet Kaelin's gaze, lips curling into the same unsettling, knowing smile. The smile of the shadow that waits—patient, eternal, as if he had been expecting Kaelin all along.