The road stretched gray and broken before them, littered with bones that had never been buried. Mira walked ahead, pipe clutched tight in her hands, shoulders squared with the stubbornness of someone who had already buried too much fear. Kael followed a step behind, his blade strapped to his back, his silence trailing heavier than his footsteps.
The hunger had not eased since the last fight. If anything, it had grown sharper, gnawing at him with every step. He tried not to look at Mira too long. Tried not to imagine the ember of her soul flickering just beneath her skin, warm, bright, so close.
"Don't fall behind," Mira said without turning. Her voice carried the edge of suspicion, the kind that had already rooted itself in her since she first saw what he could do. "The Keep doesn't wait for stragglers."
Kael grunted low, the sound almost animal. He had no intention of falling behind. But part of him wondered if she meant it as a warning—or a threat.
As they pushed farther, the ruins shifted. Crumbling houses gave way to broken walls lined with corpses, the kind that didn't fall where they were killed but were nailed into place like warnings. Rusted spikes pinned gray, brittle husks against stone. Their eyeless sockets stared blankly into the street.
Kael slowed, his breath misting though the air was not cold. His gaze lingered on the faint glow still clinging to some of the corpses. Not souls anymore—just remnants, scraps. Yet even those scraps called to him.
Mira's eyes flicked to him sharply. She noticed. He clenched his jaw and forced himself forward.
"That's the Keep's work," she said flatly. "Every scavenger brings back a body, dead or alive. We don't waste arrows when nails and iron will do."
Kael didn't answer. The truth was simple: it was not the sight of the corpses that unsettled him. It was the hunger they stirred.
By dusk, the walls of Thorne's Keep rose before them.
Kael had expected ruins stacked into a camp, something fragile and temporary. What he found was worse: a fortress built out of desperation. Scavenged stone blocks interlocked with melted steel. Burned-out cars had been torn apart and welded into barricades. Torches burned atop the walls, though the smoke hung low, suffocating. The gates were massive slabs of metal, scavenged from some forgotten factory.
Archers peered down from the towers. Spears glinted between the cracks of the walls. And every eye fixed on Kael.
Mira stopped, raising her pipe like a signal. "Don't speak," she whispered to him. "Let me handle it."
Kael said nothing, though silence had never felt so heavy.
The gates groaned open, just enough for them to step into the shadow of the gatehouse. Two guards waited, faces hard, armor pieced together from scavenged plates and boiled leather. One held a spear across the entrance, barring the way.
"Mira," the taller guard said. His eyes flicked to Kael. "And a stranger."
"He helped me," Mira answered quickly, though Kael heard the hesitation in her tone. "Without him, I'd be dead."
The guard's gaze hardened. He stepped closer, spear tip inches from Kael's chest. "Name."
Kael's hand itched toward his blade. He forced it still. "…Kael."
The man's eyes narrowed. "Where from?"
"Nowhere that matters."
A dangerous answer. The spear pressed tighter. "We don't take strays. Especially ones who look like him."
Mira's voice cut sharp: "He saved me. He bled for it. If Thorne's Keep still values loyalty, then it values this."
The second guard leaned forward, studying Kael's eyes. For a moment Kael thought he would see it—the flicker, the wrongness, the mark of hunger that no human should carry. His pulse quickened. Hunger stirred violently in response, as if ready to break free.
Kael almost reached for the man's soul.
Almost.
But Mira stepped between them, her voice sharp as iron. "Are we keeping out the dead now too? Because that's what you'll be if you waste time here."
A tense pause. Then the taller guard lowered his spear with a scowl. "Fine. But Thorne will hear of this."
The gates creaked wider. The smell hit Kael first: smoke, sweat, iron, and desperation, all bound together. He stepped inside, the gates groaning shut behind him like the jaws of a beast.
Inside the walls, life clung stubbornly. Shanties sprawled like tumors against the inner stone, patched together with canvas, wood, and rusted sheets. Children darted between the huts, barefoot and hollow-eyed. Traders shouted from stalls, offering scraps of food, scavenged tools, rusted weapons. Fire pits burned in the open square, smoke curling thick into the dusk.
Mira walked quickly, pipe lowered now but eyes sharp. "Stay close. The Keep doesn't trust easily."
Kael glanced around, his silence heavy. Everywhere he looked, souls flickered faintly—small, dim lights, weaker than the undead, but warm. Fragile. Mortal. The hunger twisted violently in his gut.
"You're staring," Mira muttered.
Kael looked away. "Just… watching."
She stopped then, turned to face him. Her voice dropped. "I don't know what you are. And I don't want to know. But if anyone here sees what I saw… you'll hang. Or worse."
Her words cut deeper than she knew. Kael wanted to answer, but what truth could he give? That he was losing himself piece by piece? That every soul he touched pulled him farther from the man he used to be?
He said nothing.
They moved through the crowded square, Mira weaving through barter stalls until they reached the shanties near the walls. She stopped before a small hut made of mismatched boards and canvas. "You'll stay here. Don't draw attention."
Kael nodded once, though his eyes lingered on the people—on the faint flicker of their souls, glowing like coals in the ashes.
Mira caught the look. She stiffened. "Don't," she whispered.
Kael's jaw clenched. "I wasn't going to."
"You were thinking it."
Before he could answer, a voice rang across the square. A child's laughter, rare and bright, carried on the air. Kael turned—saw a boy chasing another with a stick, pretending it was a sword. For a moment, something in his chest ached. Something not hunger. Something older.
But then he saw him.
Among the crowd.
The figure.
Tall. Still. Cloaked in shadow though the torchlight touched everyone else. Watching. Always watching.
Kael's breath caught. His blade hand twitched.
Mira noticed. "What is it?"
Kael's voice was low, hollow. "We're not safe here."
She frowned, following his gaze. But when her eyes reached the spot, the figure was gone.
Only the crowd remained. Only the whispers of hunger in Kael's chest.
That night, as Kael lay in the narrow hut, staring at the canvas roof above, he heard the city groan with uneasy sleep. The torches flickered outside. The walls creaked. Somewhere, someone cried softly into the dark.
And beneath it all, he felt it—like a thread of shadow pulling at him from across the Keep.
The presence was here. Inside the walls.
And Kael knew: this was no sanctuary. This was a cage.
And in cages, predators waited.