Kael awoke before dawn, the fire reduced to smoldering embers. The air was cold and damp, but his body no longer shivered. He had grown used to discomfort. It was a companion now, as much a part of him as the body he inhabited.
The faint memory of a dream lingered—a woman's voice, soft and pleading, calling Roran's name.
Kael scoffed and pushed the thought aside. He had no use for ghosts.
Roran's memories surfaced unbidden as Kael broke camp. They weren't vivid flashes like before, but faint impressions—fragments of a life filled with struggle and mediocrity.
Kael let them come.
The boy had been desperate to prove himself, that much was clear. He had tried to be brave, to carve a path in a world that had little room for dreamers. But bravery without strength was foolishness, and Roran had paid the price.
Kael's lips twisted into a smirk as he tied the leather pouch to his belt.
"You were weak," he muttered. "But at least you had the good sense to die somewhere useful."
He began walking, following the faint trails etched into Roran's memory.
The forest was alive with sound as the sun rose—a symphony of rustling leaves, chirping insects, and distant animal calls. Kael moved cautiously, his sharpened spear in hand, his eyes scanning for movement.
Roran's memories had painted the forest as a place of wonder and mystery, but Kael saw it for what it was: a battleground.
Every creature here was a predator or prey, and Kael intended to be neither.
As he walked, he noticed signs of Roran's earlier passage—a broken branch here, a scuffed patch of earth there. The boy had been careless, leaving a trail for anyone—or anything—to follow.
Kael shook his head.
"Sloppy," he muttered. "No wonder you didn't last."
He pressed on, erasing his own tracks as he went.
By midday, Kael's path brought him to a clearing. It was a bleak, empty place, dominated by a jagged boulder and the skeletal remains of a long-dead tree.
Kael stopped.
The clearing was etched into Roran's memory with painful clarity. This was where the boy had fallen, his strength spent, his dreams crushed beneath the weight of reality.
Kael knelt by the boulder, his fingers tracing the faint marks in the dirt.
"He died here," Kael said aloud, his voice devoid of emotion. "A pathetic end to a pathetic life."
But even as he dismissed Roran's failure, Kael couldn't deny the faint echo of desperation that lingered in the air. The boy had fought against the inevitable, clinging to hope until his very last breath.
Kael's gaze hardened.
"Hope is a weakness," he muttered. "And I have no use for it."
As Kael stood, his eyes caught something glinting in the dirt near the base of the boulder. He crouched, brushing away the soil to reveal a small iron pendant.
The shape was crude—a simple circle with a jagged crack running through it—but the weight of it in his hand was oddly satisfying.
Roran's memories stirred at the sight of it. The pendant had been a gift, a token from someone who had believed in him even when no one else had.
Kael smirked, slipping the pendant into his pouch.
"Belief didn't save you," he said. "But maybe this will be worth something."
He turned away from the clearing without a second glance, his stride purposeful.
Kael's stomach growled as the sun climbed higher. Hunger was an unwelcome distraction, but it wasn't something he could ignore.
Roran's memories offered little help— the boy had been an inexperienced forager, and his attempts at hunting had been laughable.
Kael, however, had no intention of starving.
He crouched low, scanning the underbrush for signs of movement. It didn't take long to spot his target: a small hare, its ears twitching as it nibbled on a patch of grass.
Kael's grip on his spear tightened.
He moved slowly, his steps silent and deliberate. The hare remained oblivious, its focus on its meal.
When Kael struck, it was with the precision of a predator. The spear flew true, piercing the hare through the chest.
He retrieved his kill with a grim satisfaction. The hare's blood stained his hands, but he felt no revulsion—only the quiet thrill of survival.
"Adapt or die," Kael muttered, his voice cold. "That's the only rule that matters."
As dusk approached, Kael sat by a fresh fire, the cooked meat of the hare sizzling on a makeshift spit.
The meal was meager, but it was enough to stave off the gnawing hunger in his belly. As he ate, Kael's thoughts turned to the future.
Magic.
The word had haunted him since his arrival. The rune that had saved him, the whispers that had lured Roran into the forest—everything pointed to the existence of powers beyond his understanding.
But power was never freely given. It had to be taken, earned through effort and sacrifice.
Kael's gaze hardened as he stared into the flames.
"I'll find it," he said, his voice low and firm. "Whatever it takes, I'll find the truth of this world's magic."
The forest around him seemed to hum with approval, as though the very land recognized his resolve.
Kael smiled, a dark, predatory smile.
This world was brutal, unforgiving. But so was he.
And he would carve his place in it—one step at a time.