A voice tore through the silence, rough but amused. "I was wondering what smelled so damn good."
Kael turned his head toward the door, a weak smile tugging at his lips as Nyric stumbled inside. The man looked like he'd been dragged through a storm—clothes streaked with dirt, hair matted, the sharp tang of sweat and grime clinging to him. His stomach growled loud enough to echo off the cave walls as he made a beeline for the food.
"Nyric," Kael muttered.
Nyric didn't even glance up, too busy eyeing the meal like a starving wolf—until he finally noticed Kael's gaze. He paused, then let out a long sigh. A single tear slipped down his cheek.
"Glad you're awake, brat," he said, voice cracking just enough to betray the relief beneath the gruffness. "A day longer, and I might've started praying to the gods." He tried to grin, but it wavered.
Kael exhaled, forcing his own smile. "Good to see you too."
A beat of silence. Then, flatly: "How's Sheila?"
Nyric's face darkened. "Don't know."
Kael's fingers twitched against the bedroll. "Why not?"
"Could only carry one of you out," Nyric admitted, rubbing his neck. "Ananye's with her. She'll be fine."
"I see." Kael's throat tightened. He turned away, staring at the rock ceiling instead. He couldn't face her. He couldn't forgive himself. He'd hurt her.
Nyric studied him—the exhaustion in his sunken eyes, the way his jaw clenched like he was holding back a scream. He knew that look. Knew it too damn well.
"She'll pull through," he said, quieter now. "But… maybe steer clear of the village for a while."
Kael let out a hollow laugh. "Thanks for the reminder."
Nyric shifted, eyeing the food again. "So… you gonna eat that, or—?"
"Go ahead." Kael waved a hand. "Not hungry."
"You sure?" Nyric raised a brow. "You were out cold for days."
"Yeah." Kael's voice was distant.
Shrugging, Nyric dug in. "Damn," he mumbled between ravenous bites. "This is way better than I expected." He swallowed hard, then grimaced like the admission pained him. "Might have to hand that bastard my 'best cook' title after all."
Kael didn't answer.
"Seriously," Nyric pressed, mouth half-full. "You're missing out. You sure you don't want to try some? It's definitely better than anything I've made."
"Hers was better." The words came out sharp. Kael's fist curled, nails biting into his palm. I'll never taste it again. A tear escaped before he could stop it.
Nyric froze mid-bite. Then, deliberately, he scraped the bowl clean and licked his fingers. "Guess you'll never know," he said, too casually. "Unless you try it."
Kael's chest ached. He's right. Just like if I walk away now, I'll always wonder.
A creak at the door. Silva stood there, another tray in hand.
"More?" Nyric perked up, practically salivating.
Silva's glare could've melted steel. "This is for the young master," he said, icy calm. "Be grateful you were allowed the first serving."
Nyric recoiled like he'd been slapped.
Kael sat up, accepting the tray. The scent hit him first—herbs, slow-cooked meat, a hint of spice. His hands shook as he lifted the spoon. The first taste was a punch to the gut.
It was hers.
The flavors burst—rich broth, tender vegetables, the perfect balance of heat and sweetness—just like his mother used to make. A broken sound escaped him. Tears fell, unchecked, splashing into the bowl.
"Where…" His voice shattered. "Where did you get this recipe?"
Silva's smile was faint, almost sad. "I never mentioned it, young master. But I taught it to her."
Kael's breath hitched. Memories flooded in—his mother humming in the kitchen, the way she'd flick his nose when he sneaked a taste. He ate the rest in silence, tears streaking his face.
When the bowl was empty, Silva took it gently. "I assume you've made your choice?"
Kael looked up, eyes burning but clear. "Yes." Then, sharper: "But first—who are you?"
Silva bowed, just slightly. "Merely a servant of your father's, young master. Silva Thorne."
Nyric glanced between Kael and the man. Confusion tugged at his brow. The silence in the room stretched too long, growing heavier by the second. Kael said nothing, still as stone, his thoughts clearly far from the present.
Just a servant? Now that's interesting, Nyric thought. He gave a stiff chuckle.
"A servant? Surely you jest, boss."
Thorne's glare shut him up.
"You're serious," Nyric muttered, his laugh dying into a dry breath. He scratched his head. "I wouldn't want to meet your father, kid."
Kael stirred.
"My father, huh…" His voice was quiet. Detached. He slid toward the edge of the bed, every movement heavy, like it took effort to come back to the world.
"Is he here?"
"No. Unfortunately not."
"Where is he, then?"
"I don't know," Thorne answered.
Kael tilted his head, eyes narrowing. "What does that mean? And stop bowing already."
Thorne broke the bowing pose. "Well… I haven't seen him in at least fifteen hundred years," he said, rubbing his jaw, lifting his gaze to the ceiling like the memories were etched there.
"Fifteen hundred?" Nyric yelped, stumbling back. What kind of monsters are they? The average martial artist barely lived five hundred years. Path-Shatterers might push a thousand—but fifteen hundred?
Kael blinked. "Wait… fifteen hundred?" He stared at Thorne, some of the numbness cracking. "Are you saying you've been around that long?"
His tone wasn't loud, but something in it was off-balance—like the weight of grief had shifted just enough for something else to break through.
"That's older than some empires."
Thorne only nodded, calm as ever.
Kael looked down again, quieter now. "Mom never told me how old she was either," he muttered.
"How do you even know he's still alive?" he asked, voice low and brittle.
Thorne's answer came quietly. "Let's just say… I wouldn't still be standing if he wasn't. That's all I can tell you—even you, young master."
Kael's eyes darkened.
"And what does he want with me? The son he abandoned?" His voice cracked slightly, almost too soft to hear.
Thorne sighed. "It was beyond him. He didn't want to go… but he had to."
Kael scoffed, but the sound was hollow. "So that's the story."
"And now he needs you," Thorne continued. "I can't say why. You're still too weak."
Kael gave a short, bitter laugh. "Well, too bad for him. I want nothing to do with him."
He looked up, pain flickering behind the mockery in his tone.
"And you… where were you—when she—" He stopped, breath catching. "Why didn't you help her?"
Thorne's face tensed.
"I'm sorry, young master." His voice dropped to a whisper. "That was beyond me too." His fist clenched at his side.
Kael stared at him for a long time. His next words came quiet and sharp.
"I'm starting to think everything is beyond you."
"I'm sorry," Thorne said again, softer this time, frustration crackling at the edges.
Kael looked away. "Sorry doesn't help."
He stood slowly, body stiff, like grief had hardened his joints. "I've rested enough. Where are we?"
"Nephroth's Palm. Above Red Hallow Village."
Kael flinched.
Mother told me never to come here.
His fingers twitched. She's gone… and now .
What happened to the Itch? he thought.
He frowned, distracted.
"I doubt you'll tell me why," he said. "So Nyric… how'd we end up here?"
Nyric scratched his head. "Remember when I said I couldn't bring Sheila? That's because this place is dangerous—even for me. And I don't trust him."
He gestured to Thorne.
"If not for this." He held up a compass.
"What's that?" Kael asked, voice dimmed but curious.
"Just a random trinket I made, young master," Thorne said.
Nyric scowled. A trinket? Seriously?
He sighed. "I got teleported here. Can't leave without it."
"Teleported? Can't leave?" Kael echoed. "What the hell does that mean?"
"Finally," Nyric muttered, "a normal reaction. I was just as confused, but he won't explain."
Kael turned to Thorne, managing a small, brittle smile. "Runes?"
"I can teach you," Thorne said. "But it'll take time—even for you."
Kael's smile flickered, faint but real. "Good. I've got time."
"I'll try," Thorne said, "but you'll need Form-Walker level veinfire control first."
Kael's face fell. "So… still too weak."
Thorne just smiled again.
Kael's hand slowly closed into a fist.
"Right," he murmured. "One more thing. You seem to know a lot. What do you know about… the Itch?"
"I do know," Thorne said, clearing his throat. "It's your bloodline. Awakening."
Nyric's gaze sharpened. Bloodline?
"It gets worse near god remains," Thorne continued. "Speeds up the process."
Kael was quiet. So it really was the bloodline... He tapped his temple rhythmically with one finger.
But I was fine back at the house. Opposite side of the God's Hand. Why'd it get worse even there?
Was it growing stronger?
Then… why am I fine now, here, in the Palm itself?
"So why am I okay now? And why did it spike the past few days?" Kael asked at last.
"Your blood was awakening naturally," Thorne said. "Which made it more sensitive to god-tumulus."
He cleared his throat again.
"And you're fine now because… it awakened completely. On your birthday."
Kael blinked.
"My birthday?" he repeated, eyes narrowing. Wasn't that…
Then the realization hit.
"Yesterday," Thorne confirmed gently. "Happy belated birthday, young master."
Kael didn't respond. He just looked away.
She always made his favorite.
She always sang something stupid and off-key.
She's not here.
He said nothing for a long while.