The fires burned through the night.
Piles of goblin corpses smoldered beyond the palisade, their blackened flesh stinking of rot and smoke. The villagers worked in silence, dragging bodies, patching walls, dousing flames. No cheers, no songs of victory. Only the heavy air of survival bought at too high a price.
Kael stood apart from them, watching. He wanted to help, to carry the dead, to mend the walls, to prove he was still one of them. But each time he stepped closer, the villagers recoiled. They wouldn't meet his eyes. Mothers clutched their children. Men gripped tools like weapons.
It wasn't hatred. It was terror.
He saved them, and still they feared him.
---
Serenya leaned against the gate, bow slung across her shoulder, her eyes fixed on Kael. She had fought beside him, seen his deaths, seen him rise again, stronger, faster, more brutal. She had also seen the way his lips curled into a smile as blood poured down his face.
That smile haunted her.
When Kael finally turned toward her, she didn't look away. She met his gaze head-on.
"You fought well," she said. Her voice was steady, but her hand rested close to the hilt of her blade. "But I don't know if what I saw was a man… or something wearing a man's skin."
Kael's jaw tightened. "You think I wanted this? You think I chose to… to come back like that?"
"No." Serenya's eyes narrowed. "But I think you're starting to like it."
The words hit harder than any blade.
Kael looked down at his hands. They were clean now, but he could still see the blood. He remembered the rush, the thrill, the laughter that had torn from his throat unbidden. And the worst part—the part he couldn't deny—was that Serenya was right.
---
Later, Eldran found him sitting at the edge of the village, staring into the forest where the horde had fled. The old mage's steps were slow, his staff tapping softly against the ground.
"You scare them," Eldran said without preamble.
Kael didn't answer.
"You scare me," the old man continued, his voice low but firm. "Because I've seen power like this before. Men who died and rose again, each time less human, each time more… hollow."
Kael turned, anger flashing. "And what did you do to them?"
Eldran's eyes darkened. "Buried them. Deep."
Silence stretched between them, heavy as the night air. Finally, Eldran lowered himself to sit beside Kael.
"You're walking a razor's edge, boy. Every death carves away a piece of you. How many pieces can you lose before nothing remains?"
Kael stared at his palm, at the faint sigil still glowing beneath his skin. "If I stop, I die. If I keep going, I lose myself. What choice do I have?"
"Sometimes survival is not the same as living," Eldran murmured.
---
The next day, the village elders gathered in the square. Their faces were pale, drawn, their voices hushed but sharp. Kael stood at the edge of the crowd, feeling the weight of every eye on him.
An old woman spoke first, her voice trembling. "We thank you for your strength. Without you, none of us would still be breathing."
A murmur of agreement followed, but it was brittle, forced.
Then she continued, and her tone hardened. "But strength that cannot die is not strength. It is unnatural. And unnatural things bring ruin."
Another man shouted, "He'll bring the horde again! The beasts follow him!"
A younger villager added, "He laughs when he kills! Did you not see? He enjoys it!"
Voices rose, a storm of fear and accusation.
Kael stood frozen, blood roaring in his ears. Each word was a knife. He wanted to defend himself, to scream that he had fought for them, bled for them, died for them. But his throat locked. And in the silence of his mind, the whispers spoke.
"They are not your people. They never were."
Eldran raised his staff, slamming it against the ground. The sound cracked through the square like thunder, silencing the crowd.
"This boy is not your enemy," he said, his tone like iron. "He may yet be our only hope against what is coming."
But even Eldran's words could not erase the fear in their eyes.
---
That night, Kael couldn't sleep. He wandered to the outskirts of the village, the forest looming dark and endless before him. Serenya found him there, leaning against a tree, arms crossed.
"They're deciding what to do with you," she said quietly.
Kael's chest tightened. "And what do you think they should do?"
Serenya didn't answer right away. She looked at him for a long time, her expression unreadable. Finally, she said, "I think you're dangerous. I think one day, you'll turn that cleaver on us without even realizing it."
Kael flinched. "Then why haven't you put an arrow in my back already?"
Her eyes softened, just a fraction. "Because I don't think you're gone. Not yet. But you're slipping, Kael. And when the time comes… I'll do what I must."
The words cut deeper than the villagers' accusations.
Kael turned away, staring into the dark forest, the whispers already stirring inside him.
"They will betray you. Sooner or later. Better to strike first."
He clenched his fists, fighting to silence them.
But deep down, he knew the whispers were patient. They would wait. And every death would bring him closer to listening.
---