The horizon stretched endlessly before Kaidan, its vast expanse both freeing and suffocating. The twilight's soft hues cast a glow over his striking features—a face that seemed almost otherworldly. His angular jawline, high cheekbones, and flawless skin made him look older than his thirteen years, but it was his mismatched eyes—one a piercing blue, the other a fiery orange—that drew attention, their intensity almost unsettling. His raven-black hair fell in unkempt waves just above his shoulders, framing his face in a way that accentuated his sharp, ethereal beauty. The soft hues of twilight painted the sky, but Kaidan barely noticed as he trudged through the wilderness. His mismatched eyes—one blue, one orange—scanned his surroundings constantly, searching for any sign of pursuit. The weight of a hastily-packed satchel dug into his shoulder, its contents a pitiful reminder of the life he'd left behind.
Kaelith was gone, reduced to ash and ruin. The memories of smoke, fire, and screams still clung to him, a shadow he couldn't escape. But survival demanded focus. Each step he took away from the remains of his village was another step toward an uncertain future.
The forest was dense, its towering trees casting long shadows in the fading light. Kaidan moved cautiously, his lithe yet wiry frame betraying the strength hidden within his slender build. Though young, he had the posture of someone forced to grow up too soon, his movements deliberate and measured. His small blade was clutched tightly in one hand, a stark contrast to his otherwise noble, almost regal bearing. He'd learned enough from Alric to know the dangers of the wild—both human and beast. When he finally found a secluded clearing nestled between two boulders, he allowed himself a moment of relief.
Kaidan set down his satchel and scanned the area, his heart pounding. The clearing was enclosed enough to feel safe, with only one narrow path leading in or out. He gathered a few fallen branches and fashioned a crude barricade at the entrance. It wasn't much, but it would give him warning if someone approached.
Satisfied with his efforts, Kaidan sat against one of the boulders, exhaustion weighing heavily on him. He opened his satchel, taking stock of his supplies: a half-loaf of stale bread, a waterskin, a worn blanket, and a small pouch of dried berries. It wasn't much, but it would keep him alive—for now.
His hands trembled as he held the bread, the enormity of his situation crashing down on him. Kaidan had always known the comforts of Kaelith—a warm meal, a sturdy roof, the steady presence of Alric. Now, he was alone, thrust into a world that seemed impossibly vast and indifferent.
He leaned back, his mismatched eyes fixed on the darkening sky. "What now?" he whispered to himself. The question lingered in the air, unanswered.
His thoughts churned, a chaotic mix of fear, anger, and determination. He'd managed to grab supplies before fleeing, but how long would they last? Where would he go? The wilderness was unforgiving, and Kaidan knew enough to understand that his survival depended on quick thinking and adaptability. But even as he tried to plan his next move, the image of Kaelith in flames refused to leave his mind. The laughter of the raiders echoed in his ears, a haunting reminder of what he'd lost.
Kaidan's grip tightened around the small blade. "I'll survive," he muttered, as much to convince himself as to declare his intent. "I have to."
But the words felt hollow. He was only thirteen, a boy who had never ventured beyond the safety of his village. The world outside Kaelith was an unknown, and the Flow within him, still wild and untamed, added another layer of uncertainty. What had he become? What did it mean?
As the night deepened, the fatigue of the past days caught up with him. His eyelids grew heavy, and his thoughts blurred into fragments. Kaidan's breathing slowed as sleep overtook him, the blade slipping from his grasp.
A Life Before Ashes
In the quiet stillness of sleep, memories surfaced—fragments of a life before the flames. Kaidan was no longer in the wilderness but in the warm embrace of his earliest years. He saw the faces of Alric and Mirin Solivare, the parents who had taken him in when no one else would.
Kaidan had been left at the orphanage as an infant, wrapped in a simple cloth, with nothing to indicate his origins except his mismatched eyes. The matron of the orphanage had looked upon him with pity but spoke of the challenges of placing such an unusual child. Many saw his eyes as an omen—of what, they couldn't agree. Some whispered it was a blessing from the Flow, others a curse that would bring misfortune.
Alric and Mirin had arrived at the orphanage during the height of a brutal winter, seeking a child to complete their family. Alric was a broad-shouldered man with weathered skin and kind gray eyes, his strength tempered by a gentle demeanor. Mirin, slender and sharp-featured, carried an air of quiet resilience. Her dark hair was always tied back, and her piercing green eyes missed nothing.
When the matron had presented Kaidan to them, bundled tightly against the cold, they'd both paused. The infant's mismatched gaze had been striking, almost otherworldly. Alric had knelt first, his large hands cradling the child with unexpected tenderness.
"He's got a fighter's spirit," Alric had said, smiling faintly. "Those eyes…they're not a curse. They're a gift."
Mirin had been less certain, her gaze lingering on Kaidan's face. "A gift can still bring trouble," she'd murmured. But as she watched the infant reach out with tiny fingers, grasping at Alric's scarf, her expression softened.
"Trouble or not," she said finally, "he deserves a chance."
And so, Kaidan became a Solivare. They had raised him with love and care, teaching him the value of hard work and kindness. Alric had shown him how to till the fields and mend tools, while Mirin had shared stories of the world beyond Kaelith, instilling in him a quiet curiosity. They'd known life wouldn't always be easy, but they'd never expected their peaceful existence to be torn apart.
The Weight of Loss
Kaidan stirred in his sleep, the memories bleeding into the present. The warmth of Alric's voice, the soft touch of Mirin's hand—they felt achingly close, yet impossibly far. When he awoke, the cold reality of the wilderness pressed against him like an unwelcome intruder.
The faint glow of dawn crept over the horizon, casting long shadows across the clearing. Kaidan sat up slowly, the ache in his limbs a reminder of his restless night. He glanced at his makeshift barricade; it remained undisturbed. For now, he was safe.
But the weight of his situation had not lessened. The supplies in his satchel wouldn't last long, and the wilderness offered no guarantees. Kaidan's mismatched eyes reflected the light of the rising sun as he stared into the distance. The boy from Kaelith was gone. In his place stood someone new—someone who had to survive, no matter the cost.
As he gathered his things and prepared to move, Kaidan whispered a quiet promise to the memory of his parents.
"I'll make it. I'll find a way."
With that, he stepped forward into the unknown, the path ahead shrouded in uncertainty but alive with possibility.