Kael journeyed to a battlefield where the dead rose from past skirmishes. The air was thick with the metallic scent of blood, smoke curling from smoldering ruins. Pale glows flickered from across the field, each soul clinging to fragments of memory, pain, and fear.
Kael extended the Sight, tracing the threads of each, discerning which were trapped in cycles of anguish and which could be guided toward peace.
The hunger stirred as he worked, whispering promises of relief if he consumed the lingering souls. Kael clenched his jaw, forcing the voices aside, remembering the Witch's lessons. His movements became precise, deliberate—guiding, restraining, redirecting, never succumbing. Hours stretched like lifetimes as he moved through the chaos, the Sight revealing connections he had never noticed before: families, enemies, friendships, bonds shattered in life now tangled in death.
He stopped briefly to observe a small cluster of children's souls, their memories of laughter and warmth flickering dimly against the shadows of death. He could feel the pull of temptation stronger than ever, the hunger promising clarity and power if he took even one. Kael shook his head and allowed them to find their place in the afterlife, maintaining control without consumption. A small sense of triumph and sorrow mingled in his chest.
By nightfall, the battlefield was eerily quiet. The dead lay restrained, the chaos of their resurrection smoothed into order, yet the echoes of pain lingered in Kael's mind. Exhaustion pressed upon him, yet he felt a grim satisfaction, he had preserved fragments of humanity among the fallen and asserted control without surrendering to hunger. He realized that even in destruction, he could create order, and even in chaos, he could preserve life.