Morning came without warmth.
The clouds hung low and colorless, stretching endlessly over the ruined watchtower. The fires had died sometime before dawn, leaving only smoke that drifted like spirits too weary to rise. The earth still reeked of burnt flesh and cold steel.
Kael hadn't moved since the night before. He sat at the camp's edge, half-buried in shadow, his fingers streaked with soot. Around him, silence grew like mold — thick and uneasy.
He could still feel them. The souls. They pulsed faintly within him, each one like a heartbeat that wasn't his. Some whimpered. Others screamed. A few whispered prayers in languages he didn't understand. Every sound, every echo, pressed tighter against his chest.
"Why do they linger?" he muttered. His voice sounded small, alien.
"Because you let them live inside you," came the reply — Vael's voice, calm as still water.
"You offered them refuge, and in return, they offer you strength."
Kael clenched his fists. "They offer me madness."
"Madness is only what mortals call power they cannot comprehend."
He stood abruptly, shoving the voice from his mind, though it obeyed only halfway. The edges of reality still pulsed faintly — outlines of tents, faces, even the smoke bending as if drawn toward him. Every time he consumed a soul, the world seemed to breathe differently around him.
Mira found him there, her hair tangled and ash-streaked, her knife still at her hip. She approached slowly, like one would approach a wounded animal.
"You didn't sleep," she said.
He gave a faint shake of his head. "Couldn't."
Her eyes flicked toward the survivors clustered near the firepit. Their voices were low, cautious. The children avoided looking at Kael. Even Garrick, usually the first to speak, kept his distance, his hand never straying far from his blade.
"They're afraid of me," Kael said quietly.
Mira didn't deny it. "They saw something last night they can't unsee. They don't understand what you are."
He looked up sharply. "Do you?"
Her lips parted but no words came. She wanted to tell him yes — that he was still human, still Kael — but the memory of black light and devoured souls twisted in her throat. "I… want to," she finally said. "That has to count for something."
Kael almost smiled, but it faded before it could form. He turned away, staring into the lifeless horizon. "They'll leave soon. Or try to kill me."
"Then I'll stay."
He looked at her, truly looked — the weariness in her eyes, the stubborn light that hadn't gone out yet. "Why?"
"Because if I don't, you'll stop fighting it. And I think that voice — whatever it is — wants exactly that."
Her words struck deeper than she knew.
Later, when the others began to stir, Garrick gathered them near the main fire. He didn't shout. He didn't need to. His voice carried the tone of authority that came naturally to a man who had led soldiers before the world fell apart.
"You all saw what he did," Garrick said, his eyes sweeping the crowd. "He saved us, aye. But don't forget how."
Whispers rippled through the survivors. Someone muttered, "He killed them without touching them." Another said, "They screamed without dying."
Garrick nodded grimly. "He consumed their souls. You saw it. You felt it. That isn't the work of a man. That's something else — something older."
A woman clutched her child tighter. "Then what do we do?"
"We watch him," Garrick said. "And if he loses control—"
"We won't let that happen." Mira's voice cut through the murmurs like steel.
Garrick's gaze hardened. "You're still defending him? After what you saw?"
"I saw someone fight to save us when everyone else froze. He's still Kael."
"He's changing," Garrick growled. "You saw it too, don't lie to yourself. His eyes, his voice — they aren't human anymore."
Mira took a step closer. "And maybe that's what we need. You think the gods are coming back? You think steel and prayer will protect us?" She pointed toward Kael, who stood alone by the ashes. "He's the only reason we're still breathing."
Silence.
Garrick's jaw tightened. "Until the day he decides we shouldn't be."
He turned away, but the damage was done. The survivors exchanged uncertain glances — torn between gratitude and fear. The first fracture had formed.
By midday, the group began to dismantle the camp. Kael helped without being asked, his movements mechanical. Every time he passed someone, they flinched slightly. No one met his eyes. He could feel their fear pressing against his skin like heat.
Mira handed him a flask of water. "Ignore them," she said softly.
"I can't," he replied. "Their fear feeds it. The voice. The souls. I can feel them all watching through me."
"Then use that fear," she said. "Make it yours before it makes you."
Kael looked at her, searching her expression for doubt. There was some — but there was also belief, fragile and desperate.
He drank, the cold water grounding him for a moment. The whisper faded, just enough for silence to settle.
"She believes in you," Vael murmured from the depths of his mind.
"But belief is a fragile thing. When it breaks, you will have no one left but me."
Kael shut his eyes, fighting the shiver that ran through him. Somewhere beyond the hills, thunder rolled — distant but growing.
That night, Kael couldn't sleep.
Every time his eyes closed, the darkness seemed to move — pulsing, breathing, watching. The air was heavy, thick with tension that hadn't lifted since dawn. Mira lay a few feet away, her hand resting near her knife, though she had sworn she trusted him. The others slept in clusters, away from him, their firelight fading slowly into embers.
Kael's pulse thudded dully in his ears. The world felt muffled, as if wrapped in cloth. His breath misted in the cold air, curling like smoke.
Then, the whisper came again — softer, closer than before.
"Do you feel it, Kael? The hollow between worlds. You've touched it once… let me show you what lies beyond."
He froze, eyes snapping open — but the camp was gone.
The fire, the people, the stone — everything melted into shadow. He stood in a vast field of grey, where the ground rippled like water beneath his feet. The sky was split, half-black, half-blood-red, and in its center hung a figure.
A man, and not a man.
Vael.
He was neither solid nor spectral — a shape woven from fragments of light and smoke, his face shifting between beauty and ruin. When he spoke, it was like hearing a thousand voices whisper through a single throat.
"Where am I?" Kael breathed.
"In truth," Vael said, descending slowly, "or in memory? Perhaps both. This is the place between breath and silence — where gods are born and forgotten."
Kael stepped back, hand instinctively reaching for a weapon that wasn't there. "You're not real."
Vael smiled faintly. "I am what you made me. What your kind denied, then buried. You called us demons. Yet it was we who gave you the fire to live."
His eyes glowed — not red, not gold, but the color of dying stars. "And now, you've become the first in centuries to open the gate again. To consume souls as we once did."
Kael's voice was barely a whisper. "I didn't choose this."
"You answered it," Vael said, circling him. "When you took the first soul, when you refused to die quietly — you accepted the ancient covenant. You are not its victim, Kael. You are its heir."
The ground beneath Kael trembled. The faces of the souls he had consumed began to surface in the rippling mist — the raiders, the dead soldiers, the nameless. Their eyes glowed faintly, their mouths open in silent cries.
He could feel their pain, their weight — all of it pressing into him.
"I can't carry this," he said, his voice breaking. "It's tearing me apart."
Vael's expression softened, almost kind. "It doesn't have to. Let me guide you. Stop resisting, and the voices will become one. You'll see the world as it truly is — not as the gods left it, but as it was meant to be."
Kael hesitated. The air itself seemed to hum with temptation. The souls inside him stopped screaming. For the first time, they were silent — calm.
He took a step toward Vael.
And then —
"Kael!"
Mira's voice cut through the illusion like a blade of light.
The grey world shattered.
He gasped, jerking awake. The campfire flared suddenly bright, the air cold and real again. Mira knelt beside him, gripping his shoulders, her face pale with fear.
"You were thrashing in your sleep," she said. "You—your eyes turned black."
Kael's chest heaved. He looked around — the survivors were staring from a distance, awakened by his shout. Garrick's hand was on his sword.
Kael swallowed hard, pressing a hand to his temple. The whisper was gone, but a faint echo of Vael's voice lingered like smoke.
"She saved you once more," it murmured faintly. "But every salvation costs something."
Mira held his gaze. "What did you see?"
He hesitated, the truth burning in his throat. "Him," he said finally. "Vael. I saw him."
Mira's eyes widened. "The voice?"
He nodded slowly. "He's not just in my mind anymore. He's… waiting. Watching. Like he's part of this world already."
"Then we find a way to stop him," Mira said, fierce but trembling. "We don't run from it. We don't let him win."
Kael almost smiled at her defiance — fragile, but unyielding. "You speak like the world isn't already lost."
"Then we'll take back whatever's left of it," she said. "Even if it kills us."
For a moment, the tension eased. The stars flickered faintly through the clouds, silver shards of a forgotten sky. But deep inside Kael, something shifted — a small pulse, faint yet unmistakable.
He could feel Vael's laughter echoing far away, rippling through the fabric of reality like a distant drumbeat.
And when he looked toward the horizon, he thought he saw a faint shimmer — a line of black fire crawling along the edge of the world.