Kaelen walked along the narrow path at the forest's edge. The silence around him was almost palpable, broken only by the whispering wind that rustled through the bare branches, occasionally carrying a faint chime of foreign energy. He was alone. Always alone. A half-blood, cast out from his own kin, he found no understanding among either humans or elves. His thoughts wandered like shadows, overlaying every movement he made. He didn't know who he was—or who he wanted to be. Sometimes it felt as if the emptiness inside him ran deeper than any forest.He glanced down at his hands—strong, calloused, yet cold as metal. The faintly glowing runes on his armor pulsed softly, responding to his mood. The air around him seemed to constrict, as if the forest itself sensed his solitude. With each step, the path stretched longer; the snow beneath his feet glimmered with a faint blue light—an echo of his magical aura. Occasionally, he heard whispers: "You are weak. You cannot. You do not want to." These were not the words of others; they were his own thoughts, his own fears.The magic within him resonated with every emotion, making the void feel physically tangible, like an icy blade piercing his chest. He was weary of the people who feared his power and his bloodline. He was tired of expectations that never matched reality. He dreamed of a world where he would not be judged, yet he knew such a world did not exist.Sometimes, to stave off madness, he would raise his hands and concentrate, releasing tiny bursts of dark light that flickered just beyond the trees—just for himself. The snow creaked beneath him as he passed half-decayed structures and overgrown paths. The magic in the air responded to his presence: the frost felt deeper, the darkness thicker, and the wind carried the scent of ancient spells.
He paused, leaning against a tree and closing his eyes, allowing the runes on his armor to glow brighter. Inside him was darkness, but it was this very darkness that gave him a sense of control. He was an outcast; he was an outsider. Yet this estrangement, this magic, made him stronger. The world did not see him, and he sought no recognition. He simply walked on. Moving forward was all he had left.The wind whipped his cloak, and a faint magical aura crackled in the freezing air. Ahead, a line of High Alliance soldiers marched, their armor gleaming in the sun, cloaks flapping in unison like they were one damn army. Kaelen froze. One misstep could spark a goddamn war. His body tensed, magic buzzing in his hands, hungry to erupt, but he didn't move. The soldiers spotted him. One of them sneered, eyeing the elf-mutant wandering alone. "Look at that elf-mutant wandering all by himself," he snarled, pointing at Kaelen. "Probably got lost, or fucking lacks the balls to face his own kin." Another laughed. "Better he stay out of this, or who the hell knows what he's fucking capable of…" The third soldier stepped closer, shouting, "Spit it out, wanderer! Where the hell do you come from?" Or maybe, "Move along, while we're feeling merciful, dipshit." Kaelen didn't answer. He felt the darkness inside him react to the taunts, the magic itching to flare and burn them to ash in an instant. But he gritted his teeth. One wrong move—and it would be war between kingdoms. He saw it: villages in flames, armies smashing cities, innocents dying. He couldn't allow that. He slowly stepped aside, gaze fixed, fear nowhere in his face. "Go your way," he whispered, "I don't want a fight today." The soldiers exchanged wary looks. Their laughter died as the air grew heavy with power. Kaelen's magic nudged their cloaks; ice crackled under their boots. He could strike, but he didn't. He preferred solitude to destruction. They finally fell back, glancing at him with distrust. Kaelen kept walking. The snow underfoot cracked, and his inner voice hissed: "Solitude beats war, every damn time." He knew the magic inside him was strong, but his mind was stronger. And as long as he could keep it under control, no one would get hurt.