Three Months Earlier — South of Therin Vale
The ruins of Therin Vale stank of rot and spell-burn. Crows circled the crumbled temples, feasting on what had once been a holy city.
Kael stepped through the shattered archway of the central sanctum, boots crunching over broken glass and blackened bones. His blade dripped with the blood of something that should not have breathed a priest turned hollow by darkfire, his eyes glowing red until Kael ended it.
He stood over the body, panting.
Smoke curled in the dusk, rising like ghosts.
And somewhere, behind a pillar, a figure watched.
Young. Pale-haired. Eyes like storms.
The boy stepped forward, staff in hand. No fear, just a quiet curiosity as if Kael was a puzzle piece sliding into place.
"You prayed after you killed him," the boy said.
Kael turned sharply, eyes cold.
The boy didn't flinch.
"That's unusual," he continued. "Men who kill usually don't bother."
Kael studied him. "What do you want?"
"To know if you're real."
Kael frowned. "What does that mean?"
"You killed a Wakened Priest. Alone. You should be dead."
"I've died before."
The boy smiled faintly. "Good. Then you'll understand when I say I don't want to die again, either."
Kael raised a brow. "You're not just some kid."
The boy stepped closer. "Name's Ash. I was an initiate in the Stormbinder sect. They fell when the Order decided they were heretics."
"You survived?"
Ash's eyes went distant. "Only because the lightning chose me."
Kael nodded slowly. "And now?"
"I think you're walking toward something terrible." He tapped his staff against the stone. "I want to see where it leads."
Kael considered him for a long moment. The boy looked fragile, young. But there was something older behind those eyes — pain held tight behind a dam.
"You can come," Kael said finally. "But don't expect mercy."
Ash's smile was brief. "Didn't expect it. Just fire."
A Week Later — Outside the Borderlands Trade Post
The sun was blood-red in the sky, hanging low as if mourning something unseen.
Kael stood at a roadside shrine, checking his gear, Ash leaning against a tree nearby, when he felt it fingers slipping into his pocket.
He caught the wrist mid-motion, twisted hard.
A sharp yelp followed. A short figure stumbled back hooded, nimble, blades sheathed at the hips.
"Easy," she said, scowling. "Just looking."
"At my ring?" Kael growled.
She shrugged. "Heartsteel fetches a good price."
"You could've asked."
She smirked. "Would you have said yes?"
Kael let her go but didn't lower his guard. "Name?"
"Maren."
"Thief?"
"Survivor."
Ash stepped beside Kael. "She's fast. She nearly took it without you noticing."
"Not fast enough."
Maren snorted. "Next time I will be."
Kael studied her lean, sharp-eyed, with the scars of someone who'd learned to fight after getting hurt. She didn't back down from his stare.
Ash nudged Kael. "You going to kill her?"
Kael sighed. "No."
"Then what?"
Kael stepped forward and offered a hand. "We leave at dawn. Don't slow us down."
Maren blinked, surprised. "Just like that?"
"You're hungry. You're desperate. And you didn't scream when I almost broke your wrist."
She hesitated.
Ash added, "Sarya will share her rations. She's soft that way."
Maren's stomach growled.
She took Kael's hand.
That night, as they sat around a meager fire, Sarya returned from gathering herbs and tossed Maren a bruised apple. "Don't steal from us again," she said without looking at her. "Or I'll break more than your fingers."
Maren bit into the apple without answering, but something like gratitude passed across her face.
Ash leaned over to Kael. "So now we're three."
Kael shook his head. "Three is the beginning. The fire hasn't even started yet."