Kael's hands dug into the rich, dark soil, his fingers moving with practiced ease as he guided the plough through the earth.
Each scrape of the metal against the ground sent vibrations up his arms, grounding him in the simple, repetitive motion of farm work. The weight of the tool, the resistance of the land — it was familiar, and in a way, comforting. It gave him something tangible to focus on, something that didn't require him to think.
The sun hung high, casting a golden haze over the fields, and the air was thick with the scent of freshly turned soil and the faint, distant scent of the nearby river.
Kael worked in silence, the only sound the rhythmic crunch of dirt beneath his feet and the rustle of wind through the crops. His thoughts, as usual, were far from quiet. They churned like a storm beneath the surface, kept at bay by the physical demands of the task.
If he could just keep moving, keep ploughing, maybe the noise would settle. Maybe he could forget for a moment.
But the moment didn't last.
From the corner of his eye, Kael noticed movement in the distance. Two figures were walking toward him across the field. He recognized them instantly, though the memories of their faces were tinged with bitterness and a faint sense of betrayal.
Neighbors, or at least they had been once. Back before the whispers about his family being cursed had spread through the village like wildfire. Back when they still smiled at him, still welcomed him.
Before his mother disappeared, before everything changed.
Kael straightened, pushing his damp hair back from his forehead as the men approached.
His eyes narrowed slightly, their figures becoming clearer. He hadn't seen them up close in years, but he remembered their voices. How, when his grandmother had fought to keep their home, it had been these two who had led the charge to drive them out.
Fear and superstition had twisted them, turned them into something ugly, something small. Their fear of his family — of him — had run so deep that they'd suggested he and his grandmother be cast out of the town entirely. They believed the curse would consume the land, that his family's misfortune would spread like a plague.
But his grandmother had fought them.
Fought them with every ounce of strength she had left. And the land was hers legally which had been their saving grace. Despite all their efforts, no one could take their home.
And so, the men had disappeared, along with everyone else, turning their backs on Kael and his grandmother. The sting of that betrayal had dulled over time, but it had never completely faded.
Now, as they came closer, their faces pulled into awkward smiles, Kael felt a sharp, cold anger stir deep in his chest.
He gripped the plough a little tighter and turned his back on them, walking toward the tree at the edge of the field where his food was waiting. He wasn't interested in speaking with them. Especially not now, after hours of hard work with hunger gnawing at his stomach.
His eyes fixed on the tree, his body moving with purpose as he tried to tune them out. But they weren't going to leave him alone so easily.
"The season's about to get truly fertile and good," one of the men said as they drew closer, his voice loud enough to force its way into Kael's ears.
Kael didn't bother to stop. He didn't even look at them. He just nodded, more out of reflex than acknowledgment. The names of these men had long since slipped from his memory, and he had never cared enough to ask.
"We're sorry about your grandmother," Kael glanced at the second man, his voice dripping with false sympathy. The man had a thick mustache, which twitched as he spoke. "It was a real tragedy. We feel for you."
Kael's jaw tightened. Another nod, though the words rang hollow in his ears. He didn't care for their condolences, not after everything. Not after they had tried to cast him and his grandmother out into the streets.
But they pressed on.
"You followed her, didn't you?" the mustached man asked, curiosity now lacing his voice. "What happened? Did you find her body?"
Kael's hand clenched around the handle of the plough, his knuckles turning white. The question hit him like a hammer, forcing him to stop mid-step. His breath caught in his chest, a sharp, bitter rage bubbling up before he could push it back down. Slowly, he turned his head, his gaze locking onto the man who had spoken.
The man's smug expression faltered when he saw the look in Kael's eyes. He swallowed nervously, his bravado fading under the weight of Kael's silence. But Kael said nothing. He didn't trust himself to speak. He simply stared, the cold fury simmering beneath the surface, making his presence feel larger, more dangerous.
After a tense moment, Kael turned away again and resumed walking toward the tree. But before he could reach it, he felt a hand clamp down on his shoulder. The touch was heavy, forceful, and unwelcome.
"I thought your grandmother taught you manners," the man sneered, leaning in.
That was the final crack. Kael's hand moved before he even realized what he was doing. The plough swung upward in a swift, controlled arc, the blade stopping just inches from the man's face. The man's eyes went wide with shock, his breath catching in his throat as he stumbled backward, falling onto the ground in his haste to escape the blow. His companion let out a startled yelp, jerking away in fear.
The scream they let out brought Kael a dark, twisted sense of peace.
"Maybe chaos is what brings me peace," he thought bitterly.
He stood over them, his breath steady, his grip tight on the plough as he looked down at the two men who now cowered before him. His voice was low and dangerous when he finally spoke, his words cutting through the air like a blade.
"You talk about her — or my family — one more time," Kael growled, his tone deathly calm, "and I will rip out the roots of your generation with my curse."
Their eyes widened with a mix of fear and disbelief. They scrambled to their feet, backing away with hurried, panicked movements, their bravado completely shattered. They mumbled something under their breath, too afraid to speak clearly, and turned to flee, nearly tripping over themselves in their rush to get away from him.
Kael watched them go, his chest still heaving, his heart racing with adrenaline. He stood there, alone in the field, his hands trembling ever so slightly as he lowered the plough.
He walked slowly to the tree, sitting down beneath its shade, his body heavy with exhaustion.
As he washed his hands in the cool water from the stream nearby, memories of that night flashed unbidden through his mind. His grandmother's screams.
They had all heard her cries. They had all seen what happened. But no one had helped. Not a single one of them.
He scoffed inwardly at the thought.
They had rushed to see. But not to save.
Kael took a deep breath, pushing the memories down as he began to eat. The food was simple but it was enough to fill the ache in his stomach.
As he ate, he felt his hands trembling again, not from fear but from the adrenaline still coursing through him. He cursed inwardly, forcing himself to take deep breaths like the Sage had taught him. Inhale slowly, hold, exhale.
It helped, a little. The trembling subsided, though the turmoil in his mind didn't.
He finished his meal in silence, ploughed for another hour until the field was done, and then gathered his things to head home.
The farm wasn't far from the house, but Kael preferred to eat in the field rather than go back midday. His grandmother had always packed his meals for him, knowing he would feel too lazy to return during the day.
He remembered how the Sage had taken over that role, seamlessly filling the gaps his grandmother's absence had left behind.
The first time she had handed him his tiffin, he had been caught off guard, standing frozen in the doorway. She had come out with that soft, knowing smile, the same one that always seemed to hide more than she let on. He had felt overwhelmed in that moment, a rush of emotions he hadn't been ready to confront. So, instead of thanking her, he had rushed off to the farm, avoiding her eyes.
Now, as he entered the house, it was unusually quiet. The Sage was nowhere to be found. He washed his feet and hands outside before heading to his room for a shower.
Tomorrow, he would be leaving for Vyrimka Sadan with Professor Aldwin for the competition. The event was just two days away, on the 22nd, and his professor had made it clear that no one was allowed to accompany him. No exceptions.
But the idea of leaving without the Sage made him slightly uneasy. Her presence always calmed him, cleared the fog in his mind. Without her, everything felt more chaotic, more overwhelming.
After his shower, Kael walked through the house, his unease growing as the sun began to set. The shadows stretched long across the floor, and the sky darkened with thick clouds, but still, the Sage had not returned.
Growing worried, he finally spoke aloud, his voice cutting through the silence.
"Where is the Sage?"
There was a pause before the voice answered, slow and almost hesitant.
"Do you know what today is?"
Kael's frustration bubbled over. "I'm not in the mood for riddles," he snapped. "I need a direct answer. Do you know where she is?"
The voice didn't respond right away, and Kael's impatience mounted. His fists clenched at his sides.
Finally, the voice answered, its tone calm and measured. "She's at the Temple of Zarae."
Kael frowned, confusion knitting his brow. "But she goes there every night after dinner," he said.
It was a routine. Every night, she would ask him if he wanted to accompany her, even though she already knew his answer. And every night, she would smile that knowing smile and leave without him.
"Tonight is different," the voice continued. "On the 20th of every leap year, the people of Altara worship Zarae. Sage Nagasth has gone to join them in worship."
Kael's heart hardened. He wanted nothing to do with Zarae. Nothing to do with the Garuthma or their rituals. The very thought of it made his skin crawl.
He turned away from the window, walking to the kitchen with heavy steps. He cooked himself a simple meal, avoiding looking at the window, avoiding the thoughts that tried to crowd his mind. He ate quickly, cleaned up, and went to his room, determined to focus on studying for the competition.
When he sat at his desk, the open books in front of him an attempt at distraction, the words blurred together. His thoughts kept drifting back to the empty house, to the Sage's absence, and a gnawing unease that twisted in his gut.
He was finding it harder to concentrate, harder to focus on the looming competition. The very same competition that had once felt so crucial now felt like a mere distraction from the storm brewing in his mind.
The truth of it was clear, though he had been avoiding it for some time now: he was becoming dependent on the Sage.
And that dependence scared him.
Kael rubbed a hand over his face, leaning back in his chair as the heavy weight of realization settled over him. He was relying on her too much, and it was dangerous.
Deep in his heart, he knew exactly what would happen.
The Sage would be gone, either by choice or by force, taken away from him just like everyone else who had ever mattered. And when that happened, he would be left alone again — hurt, broken, and more vulnerable than ever. The very idea of it was unbearable, a familiar ache he had felt too many times before.
He couldn't let that happen.
Not again.
How long can one blame the deities anyway?
So, before she could hurt him, before he could become the cause of her demise — because wasn't that always the way? — he would distance himself. Pushing people away before they could leave, before they could be taken from him, was the only defense he had left.
A soft sigh escaped him, the kind that carried the weight of exhaustion not just from the day's labor but from the constant battle he fought inside himself. He had done it before — shutting down, building walls so high that no one could climb them. He could do it again. It would hurt, of course.
The Sage had become a comfort to him, her wisdom something he had started to rely on, but comfort was fleeting. It always had been.
His mother had disappeared without a trace, his grandmother had screamed into the night and vanished into the darkness. It was just him.
And the Sage. For now.
But he couldn't let her become another name added to the list of people lost because of him.
Her role was clear — to guide him, to show him the right path. That's what she said has been the purpose of her presence in his life. Nothing more.
His role was equally defined — to learn everything she had to teach, to take her wisdom and use it to navigate through everything. That's it. That was all there was supposed to be between them. Nothing more.
No attachment. No deeper connection. It couldn't be allowed.
That's it.
Better alone than the cause of someone else's suffering.
Tomorrow, he would leave for Vyrimka Sadan with Professor Aldwin. Perhaps the physical distance from the Sage would help build the emotional distance he so desperately needed. The competition would serve as a distraction, something to focus on besides the sinking feeling in his gut.
He would throw himself into it, as he always did with his work, let it consume him until there was no space left for anything else.
It was the only way he knew how to survive. And the only way he knew to save.