The night had left a residue of smoke and ash in the air. Kael lay on the canvas floor of the shanty Mira had offered, listening to the faint groan of the Keep as it settled into uneasy sleep. Torches flickered in the streets outside, casting shadows that stretched like thin, restless fingers across the walls. He could feel them—the shadows—but not all of them belonged to the Keep. One, darker than the rest, brushed at the edge of his awareness.
Vael.
The thought made his stomach tighten. The whisper of that presence was faint but deliberate, curling around his mind like smoke, teasing, urging. Consume. Prove yourself. Do not hold back.
Kael clenched his fists. The memory of the souls from the ruined city and the street fight still pulsed in his veins. He could taste them, still, faintly. And hunger—raw, desperate—gnawed at the edges of his restraint. He forced himself to breathe. Mira slept beside him, taut with the tension of someone who trusted nothing beyond her own instincts. Her presence, however fragile, anchored him.
Do not lose yourself tonight, he told the shadows, though the voice was silent even in his own mind.
---
The next morning, Garrick Thorne called him to the inner courtyard. Kael stepped into the open, the walls of the Keep towering above him, guards lining the path with spears and arrows. The air was heavy with expectation, the tension of survival compressed into every watchful eye. Garrick stood at the center, massive and scarred, a figure carved from steel and battle.
"You," Garrick said, voice like a grinding stone, "step forward."
Kael obeyed, though the hunger stirred anew, whispering that he could crush the courtyard if he willed it. Vael's presence hummed faintly in his chest, an ember fanned into heat. Show them. Take everything. There is no shame in power.
Garrick's gaze swept over him, sharp and calculating. "You are not like the others. I see it. I feel it. And I do not like it."
Kael's jaw tightened. "I am here to survive," he said quietly.
Garrick's lips curved, almost a sneer. "Survival is not enough here. You must prove yourself. Show me that you can walk among the living without devouring them all. If not…" He gestured to the guards. "Then we remove what we cannot control."
Kael's hand twitched. Not toward the guards—but toward the shadow of souls lingering faintly at the edge of the courtyard. Vael's whisper pressed against his mind. Take them. You know what they are worth.
Mira stepped beside him, eyes narrow. "Kael," she hissed, barely moving her lips, "remember who you are. Remember what's left of you."
He inhaled, steadying himself. The hunger raged, but restraint was sharper. He allowed the first wave of undead—simple constructs, tethered to a training post—to lurch toward him.
Kael moved.
The courtyard slowed around him, though the world did not. He could see the faint flicker of each creature's essence, every thread of lingering humanity pulled into torment. He struck, faster than his own mind could comprehend, guiding the blade with precision. Bones shattered, dust rose, and yet—he stopped. He did not consume fully. He left remnants, small fragments, just enough to maintain balance.
Garrick's eyes were unreadable. He nodded once, almost imperceptibly, though the muscles in his jaw twitched. "You have… control. But I do not trust it."
Kael exhaled, the tension in his body easing slightly. Yet the whisper lingered. Vael's shadow lingered in the corners, pressing at him: You could have shown them. You could have been more.
Mira's hand brushed against his arm, light, grounding. "Do not listen," she murmured, though her eyes flickered with fear. "Do not let it in."
The day dragged onward, filled with the rhythm of the Keep: repairs, murmured warnings, the dull clang of metal against metal. Kael walked the streets with Mira at his side, sensing eyes everywhere—curious, fearful, wary. Even the children who had played the previous day now paused and watched him, too quiet, too still.
He could feel the presence again, stronger now. Vael did not need to be near. He was always near. The whispers crept into Kael's thoughts, threading doubt and temptation together: You are stronger than them. You could be anything. Why settle for scraps?
Kael clenched his fists beneath his cloak, forcing the thoughts down, into a cage of restraint. Mira noticed, of course. Her eyes narrowed.
"You're thinking of it," she said softly, not accusing, not angry—just wary.
"I am not," Kael replied, his voice rough from suppression. But he did not sound convinced.
She did not speak again, but the weight of her gaze remained, a tether that pulled him back from the precipice.
Night fell like a shroud over the Keep. Torches burned low along the walls, and the air carried the constant, low murmur of survival: whispers, distant laughter, and the occasional cry that no one could answer. Kael lay in the shanty again, Mira asleep beside him. The flicker of candlelight painted shifting shadows on the walls, and somewhere, just beyond the walls, the city groaned with unease.
And there, in the periphery of his vision, Vael appeared—not fully, but a shape, a suggestion, a distortion among the torchlight. Always watching. Always testing.
Kael's stomach twisted. Hunger surged, not for food, but for the power he could claim with ease. Vael's presence was a knife at his ribs, a cold whisper at his spine: Consume. You know what it will cost, but you also know what you gain.
Kael's hand moved involuntarily. He forced it still. The ember inside him glowed faintly, a warning, a promise, a challenge.
Mira stirred, rolling onto her side. "Kael?"
"I am fine," he said, voice low. She did not ask again, though her arm brushed his shoulder briefly—a fragile reassurance.
The shadow dissolved into the night, leaving only the faint chill of its presence. Kael lay awake, eyes open, listening to the Keep breathe, listen to itself survive.
And in the quiet, he realized the truth:
This was no sanctuary.
This was a stage.
A cage.A cage.
And predators waited.
Tonight, I decide what kind of monster I will become…