The morning came heavy with silence. Not the peace of rest, but the hush of people waiting for something to break. The air inside Thorne's Keep carried the sour tang of smoke from torches burned too low, mixed with the salt-stained sweat of bodies packed too closely together. Whispers clung to the walls, brushing against Kael's ears like moth wings.
He walked the narrow paths between the shanties, head bowed, hood pulled low. Every step echoed with the faint scuff of boots on stone, too loud in a place where even the crows had fallen quiet. People parted when he passed. Some lowered their eyes out of respect, others out of fear. He caught fragments of their muttering:
"Not natural…"
"…a curse, surely…"
"…but he saved them, didn't he?"
Kael kept walking, his jaw tight. He told himself their words didn't matter, that he was used to the stares, but the ember inside him stirred restlessly. Fear fed it. Suspicion sharpened it. The very air seemed to taste of hunger.
Mira walked at his side, her posture rigid. Her eyes scanned the crowd with the detached focus of a hawk. She said nothing of the whispers, though Kael could sense she heard them as clearly as he did. Every once in a while, her shoulder brushed his, light and steady, a quiet reminder that he wasn't alone.
But even that touch couldn't drown out Vael's lingering voice in his mind: They see you. They fear you. Why deny it? Power is not for the hidden. It is for the taken.
Kael clenched his hands until the leather of his gloves creaked.
Garrick summoned him before noon.
The old soldier stood in the command chamber—a narrow, smoke-stained hall lined with faded banners. His armor bore new dents, his scarred jaw set as though it had never known softness. Garrick's gaze swept over Kael the moment he entered, sharp as drawn steel.
"You handled the scavenger rescue," Garrick said flatly. Not praise. Not gratitude. Just observation.
Kael inclined his head. "They lived. That was the goal."
"The goal," Garrick repeated, his voice dropping, "is survival of the Keep. Efficiency. You prolonged the fight. Risked more lives. All because you hesitated."
Kael's jaw stiffened. "Hesitation? I chose not to slaughter the souls trapped in them. They can be saved."
"Saved?" Garrick's lip curled. "You think mercy feeds mouths? You think mercy keeps walls standing?" He stepped closer, eyes narrowing. "Out there, mercy is weakness. And weakness gets us killed."
Mira shifted by Kael's side. Her hand brushed against her dagger, but she didn't draw it. Her voice was calm, even measured: "Commander, with respect, Kael's way worked. They returned alive. Fear is already eating at the Keep. What will killing our own do to morale?"
Garrick's gaze cut to her, then back to Kael. "I don't like things I don't understand. And I don't understand you, boy. Power like yours never comes free. One day we'll learn the cost. And when that day comes…" He leaned in, his scarred face close enough that Kael could smell the iron tang of old blood. "…don't think I won't act."
Kael's ember flared, hot and bright, urging him to bare his teeth, to show Garrick what real power was. For a heartbeat, the shadows along the wall seemed to stir, lengthening like drawn blades.
Mira's hand touched his forearm, grounding him. Kael exhaled slowly, forcing the ember back down. He said nothing more.
When they left the chamber, Mira finally spoke. "You nearly lost it."
Kael didn't meet her eyes. "I held."
"For now," she said quietly.
The afternoon sun broke weakly over the Keep, but its light brought no warmth. Kael wandered into the inner courtyard, seeking air, though what he found instead was silence, thick and unnatural. The space was empty save for a few children playing at the far edge, their laughter faint, oddly warped by the walls.
Then the shadows bent.
Kael froze. The air rippled faintly, as though heat had risen from stone, but the day was too cold for it. The ember surged without warning, bright and sharp. He blinked—and the children's laughter twisted into guttural moans. Their small bodies shuddered, twisted, faces hollowing until pale flesh sagged like melted wax.
Undead. Dozens of them, their hollow eyes fixed on him.
Kael's blade was in his hand before he thought. Hunger howled inside him, urging him forward. Strike, consume, feed—
Yes, Vael whispered silk-smooth in his ear. You see them now for what they truly are. Strike before they take you. Take them first.
Kael lunged.
A sharp cry cut through the haze.
"Kael, stop!"
Mira's voice. Her hand on his arm, grip iron-hard.
The courtyard snapped back into focus.
Not undead. Children. Wide-eyed, frozen in terror, staring at the strange man who had nearly struck them down. One boy whimpered, clutching his sister's sleeve. A guard shouted from across the courtyard, rushing forward.
Kael staggered back, blade clattering from his hand. The ember roared with fury at the denied kill, his stomach twisting as though hollowed out.
Mira stepped in front of him, shielding the children from his shadow. Her face was taut, her eyes locked on him—not with fear, but something worse.
Recognition.
The courtyard swelled with noise as the guards rushed in. One of them scooped the children away while another positioned himself between Kael and the rest of the Keep, sword drawn, uncertainty in his eyes.
"Stand down!" Garrick's bark cut across the space like a whip. The commander strode forward, his glare fixed on Kael.
Kael stood frozen, breath ragged, hands trembling. His blade still lay on the ground, faintly glinting in the gray light.
"He almost struck them," one of the scavengers whispered, voice trembling with equal parts fear and fascination.
The ember inside Kael twisted at the words, feeding on them. Each glance, each murmur was a needle pricking deeper into his chest. He could feel Vael laughing in the hollow places of his mind. Yes. Let them see you. Let them know what lurks beneath your skin. The more they fear you, the closer you come to what you were meant to be.
Garrick stopped a few paces away, eyes narrowed to slits. "I knew it," he muttered, voice like gravel. "You're unstable. One heartbeat away from turning on all of us."
Mira moved fast, placing herself between them. "He saw something that wasn't there. It was Vael—his influence."
"You expect me to trust that?" Garrick's tone was sharp, but beneath it ran something colder: calculation. "What happens when his visions spill more blood? How many innocents die before you decide he's too dangerous to protect?"
Kael opened his mouth to speak but stopped. What could he say? That he had nearly carved children apart because his senses betrayed him? That Vael's voice had felt more real than Mira's hand? His silence was an admission all on its own.
The crowd's whispers thickened. Suspicion, fear, doubt—all of it fed the ember clawing inside him.
That night, the shanty felt smaller than ever.
Kael sat hunched over, head in his hands, the memory of the courtyard playing again and again in his mind. The look in the children's eyes. Garrick's narrowed stare. The whispered words he could not silence.
Mira moved quietly, stoking the small fire until it threw shadows against the canvas walls. At last she turned to him, her expression unreadable.
"You nearly killed them."
Her words were not an accusation. Not soft, either. Just truth, laid bare.
Kael swallowed. "I saw them wrong. Vael… he twisted it. They were undead to me. I thought…" His voice cracked, anger bleeding in. "I thought I was saving them."
Mira studied him, the flicker of firelight catching in her eyes. "And if I hadn't been there?"
The question cut deeper than a blade. Kael had no answer.
"You're fighting him," Mira continued, quieter now. "I know you are. And I believe you don't want to lose yourself. But Kael…" She stepped closer, crouching so they were eye to eye. Her hand brushed his cheek, not tender but steady, grounding. "If the day comes when you can't tell the difference between us and them—" She hesitated, then spoke the words like a vow. "I'll stop you myself."
Kael's chest tightened. A mix of fear, shame, and something dangerously close to relief burned through him.
He wanted to tell her she wouldn't need to. That he would resist. That he could hold. But the ember pulsed at his core, hot and hungry, whispering otherwise.
Vael's laughter slid through the cracks of his mind: Yes. Let her promise. Let her hold the knife to your throat. It will not matter. Chains always break, Kael. Always.
Sleep came late, dragged down by exhaustion and unease. When it finally claimed him, it brought no rest.
He dreamed of the Keep, its walls torn open, torches guttering out one by one. The survivors lay scattered across the stones, their souls glowing faintly in the dark like embers dying in ash.
And he devoured them.
One by one, their souls sank into him, each bite filling the hollow until fire roared in his veins. Mira screamed, but her voice broke into silence as her soul tore free, burning bright before it too vanished into him.
Kael stood in the dream alone, power raging inside him, and Vael's shadow unfurled like wings behind him. The dead knelt at his feet. The living trembled.
Look at yourself, Vael whispered. This is the truth you run from. The hunger does not fade. It grows. And one day, it will break you. Better to accept it now. Better to become what you were born to be.
Kael jolted awake, sweat clinging to his skin. The shanty was quiet, Mira asleep beside him. His hands trembled, the ember in his chest pulsing like a second heart.
He pressed his fists against his knees, head bowed. His breath shook.
The fracture had begun.
And once a crack spreads, it never truly heals.