The old woman didn't live anywhere, yet she was always where she needed to be.
Kahel found her beside a quiet stream east of Darnell, crouched in the mist, grinding something into a bowl of steaming water with the edge of her cane.
She didn't look up when he approached, Lyren unconscious in his arms.
"Poison," she said flatly. "Still spreading."
Kahel nodded, kneeling beside her. His arms ached. His shoulder wound had dried, but his shirt was stiff with blood.
"She's from a sect," he said. "Ethereal Bloom Valley."
The woman paused, just for a breath, then continued stirring. "Then she'll live. Even if she doesn't deserve to."
"She's not like that."
"None of them are. Until they are."
Kahel said nothing. He didn't know why he defended Lyren. Maybe because she'd offered him a chance. Maybe because she didn't look down on him the way others did. Not after he stood in front of that beast.
The old woman pressed a smooth stone to Lyren's forehead. It flashed dimly, reacting to her qi.
"She's strong," she muttered. "Too strong for someone so careless."
Kahel lowered Lyren onto a bed of moss. The woman handed him the bowl.
"Feed this to her. It will numb the toxin. Her own qi will do the rest."
Kahel held the bowl to Lyren's lips carefully. Her breath was shallow, her brow furrowed. She stirred once as the liquid touched her tongue, but didn't wake.
"Stay here," the woman said. "Until the moon shifts."
"What does that mean?"
"You'll know."
She stood, gathered her things, and vanished again into the fog.
Hours passed.
Kahel sat beside Lyren, listening to the stream's quiet murmur. The flame inside him was calm now, as if it, too, were resting.
As the sun dipped low, the sky turned a deeper gray, and the wind carried the scent of rain.
Lyren stirred.
Her eyes fluttered open, unfocused at first. Then she blinked, turning to him slowly.
"You're still here," she said, voice rough.
"Where else would I be?"
Her lips twitched. "Could've run. Left me."
Kahel looked away. "Didn't seem right."
Silence fell between them again. Then:
"You really don't know anything about cultivation?" she asked.
"I've heard of it. That's about it."
"You fought off a Steelspike Dreadcat with your bare hands, Kahel. That takes more than instinct."
"I had help," he said, glancing toward the mist where the old woman had disappeared. "Someone's been training me."
Lyren looked at him a long moment. Then she sat up slowly, holding her side.
"I meant what I said. You should come with me. Ethereal Bloom Valley may not be perfect, but… there are worse places to start. You have something inside you. That flame — it's not normal."
"I know."
"And it's dangerous. You'll need help to control it."
Kahel was quiet.
Then he nodded.
"Alright. I'll go."
Later that night, Kahel returned to the ruins of his home to gather his things. He stood one last time beneath the broken roof, staring at the place where his mother used to sit, where her herbs once hung.
He knelt.
"I'm leaving, Mom."
The wind stirred the ashes.
"I don't know where this path leads. But I'm going to walk it. I'll find out what this power is… and why I have it. And I'll never let what happened to you happen again."
He stood.
The scroll at his side pulsed, faintly warm.
Far above, in a realm where stars were maps and gods whispered across the void, a robed figure stood before a mirror of crystal and flame. Within it, Kahel's face flickered — surrounded by mist, carrying power he did not understand.
"He awakens," the figure murmured.
Another voice, colder, replied.
"Too soon."