Chapter 4 – The Boy and the Ghost
The road twisted into the valley like a scar left behind by war. It was narrow and uneven, flanked by crooked trees that whispered as the wind threaded between their barren branches. Moss clung to ancient stones like forgotten memories. Kael walked it with the careful steps of someone who had wandered too long, who had seen too many endings masquerading as new beginnings.
Behind him, Ren followed closely. His small feet slipped on damp soil, and his thin arms were wrapped tight around his chest. He didn't complain, not once, though his breath fogged in the cold air and his eyes blinked more slowly as exhaustion crept in.
Kael slowed. "Are you cold?" he asked without turning.
"A little," Ren admitted. "But I don't mind. You gave me your cloak."
Kael paused, glancing back at the child. "You can ask. You don't have to hide what hurts."
The boy looked down. "I don't think it matters. If I say it or not... she's still gone."
Kael didn't respond. He simply watched as Ren walked up beside him, and together they stood at the crest of a hill. Below, the land opened into a fertile valley veiled in mist. The first rays of dawn stretched across the lake below like soft fingers waking the world.
"Come," Kael said. "We'll rest soon."
They descended toward a quiet village nestled beside the silver lake. Time seemed slower here. The thatched roofs bore patches of moss, and the cobblestone paths were softened by creeping vines. Chickens clucked sleepily in small coops. A dog barked once in the distance, then fell silent.
A woman stood at a well at the village edge, drawing water into a wooden pail. She was tall and broad-shouldered, with auburn hair tied in a single braid. Her linen dress was plain, dusted with flour and ash. When she looked up, her eyes met Kael's with quiet clarity—no fear, only measured curiosity.
"Travelers?" she asked.
Kael gave a short nod. "We're only passing through. The boy is hungry."
The woman glanced at Ren, and her expression softened. "I'm Eryn. I keep a cottage near the orchard. You're welcome to rest, if you mean no harm."
Kael hesitated. The world had taught him that kindness often hid sharp teeth. But then Ren's small hand slipped into his, warm and trembling.
"Please?" the boy whispered.
Kael nodded. "Lead the way."
Eryn's cottage was humble and alive. Dried herbs hung from wooden beams, and the scent of thyme and lavender clung to the air. The hearth crackled, its orange glow casting dancing shadows on the walls. Books rested in uneven stacks, and a single window looked out toward the lake.
Ren sat at the table with wide eyes while Eryn served him a hot stew. He devoured it without shame, spoon clattering against the bowl. Eryn watched him fondly and said nothing as she quietly refilled his portion.
Kael stood near the door. He hadn't sat indoors in years.
"You don't eat?" Eryn asked, glancing up.
Kael shook his head. "Not when I don't trust the ground I stand on."
Eryn lifted a brow, amused. "That's a hard way to live."
"It's the only way to survive."
She poured a mug of tea and placed it gently on the table. "You can stay the night. The barn is dry and warmer than it looks."
"I'll take it."
Ren, already yawning, barely finished his third bowl before sleep overtook him. Eryn guided him behind a woven curtain to a small cot and tucked him in.
"He's strong," she said after a while. "But that kind of strength… it comes from loss."
Kael stared into the fire. "He's lost everything."
Eryn nodded. "Then maybe he needs someone who knows what that feels like."
Kael turned to her. "You're not afraid of strangers?"
"I used to be. But I learned something: the ones who knock are usually not the monsters."
"Are you trying to save me?" he asked, voice low.
"No. Just offering you something warm. If you want to stay cold, that's your burden."
Kael lay in the barn that night, but sleep remained a stranger. The scent of hay and woodsmoke stirred memories he had buried centuries ago. One night, a storm had shaken the trees, and Aiva had crawled into his arms, whispering that the thunder had teeth. He'd held her until she slept, telling her about the stars that never died.
He stared at the rafters above, fists clenched. Those stars now felt like eyes. Watching. Remembering. Judging.
He rose before dawn and made his way to the lake, where he sat on a rock and looked into his reflection—unchanged, untouched by time. He no longer saw his face. He saw hers. Liora's smile. Aiva's curls. Every face that had ever looked at him with love… and then closed their eyes forever.
"Why do I stay?" he whispered.
Because leaving was never an option. Death was denied to him. Time had turned into his prison.
He heard the soft crunch of grass and turned.
Ren stood barefoot, holding a wilted wildflower.
"For you," the boy said, offering it. "You looked sad."
Kael took the flower, hands trembling. It was small. Unimportant. But it meant everything.
"Why are you always sad?" Ren asked.
Kael crouched down so they were eye to eye.
"Because everything I love," he whispered, "disappears."
Ren furrowed his brow. "But I'm still here."
And Kael—ancient, broken Kael—did something he had not done in centuries.
He smiled.
Just once.
Before the world burned it away.
End of Chapter