It was dawn.
Kael opened his eyes—not from the stir of sound, but from the heaviness of thought pressing on his chest like a stone.
Beside him, Lyria lay motionless in the hush of early morning. Her cloak was half-tossed over her, rising and falling gently with her breath. Through the canopy above, soft strands of golden light streamed down, dancing across her skin. Her hair, loose and untamed, gleamed like threads of molten sunlight—a queen's crown even in slumber.
Kael's eyes lingered longer than they should've. The gentle slope of her side, the steady rhythm of her chest, and nestled between the soft curve of her breasts, the amulet—glowing faintly, as though even in sleep, she guarded it with her very soul.
He cleared his throat quietly, gaze shifting, heart pounding louder than it should.
It's fully dawn now... I guess it's fine to wake her.
He reached out to touch her shoulder, fingers brushing just above her cloak—then her eyes snapped open.
"You pervert," she murmured, voice raspy with sleep, yet unmistakably accusing.
"What?!" Kael jerked his hand back like he'd been stung.
"I could feel your eyes on me. You watch people sleep often, or am I just special?" she teased, a slow smirk forming.
Kael scoffed, trying to mask his guilt. "I did no such thing."
Lyria gave a soft, knowing laugh. "You're a piece of work, Kael. How long've you been up?"
"Since first light," he replied, voice quiet. "Why?"
"You get any sleep at all?"
"I tried… but it's hard to rest when your mother's being tortured for something she probably doesn't even understand."
Her playful air faded. Guilt softened her gaze. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "Alright. Ask what you need to."
Kael's eyes darkened, a weight tightening in his chest. "First off… what exactly did my father steal?"
She drew a breath, her hand resting instinctively on the amulet. "This," she said simply.
His brow furrowed. "Wait, you mean—"
"Yes. I figured you'd wonder how I ended up with something like this."
She sat up slowly, fingers brushing over the crimson stone.
"Your father found where Fractalis—the amulet, once worn by Garrik Veymar—was sealed. The story goes, he broke through the enchantments guarding it… and took it."
Kael's voice rose with disbelief. "He's done a lot of things, but this? This doesn't sound like him. Not without a reason."
"I thought the same," Lyria said, eyes distant. "I remembered Garrik as a man of honor… of principle. So I went looking for him. Needed to hear the truth for myself."
Kael nodded slowly. "He's good at staying hidden when he wants to be."
"Oh, I found that out. After weeks, I finally crossed paths with him—an old path near a guild village. He looked worn. Tired. Said barely a word and led me to this run-down shed in the woods."
She paused, a flicker of memory softening her tone.
"It was tiny. Barely enough space to lie down. There was a thin mat by a window, a crooked table covered in parchment, a cornered-off latrine… but it was enough for him. Always was the simple kind, your father."
Kael allowed himself a faint smile.
"We sat. He handed me water, and just as I was about to question him, he spoke first. Said, 'I'm sure you've heard the rumors. That I stole the Fractalis. Broke the balance. Just—hear me out.'
"And I did. I watched his face, listened closely. He looked… heavy. Like the weight of the world sat on his shoulders, but his spine never bent. He said, 'The Harbinger has plans for the Fractalis that will undo everything. I tried to warn the Guild. Begged them to act. But they ignored me. Laughed, even. I couldn't let the world fall because they wouldn't believe me.'
"I asked what his plan was."
She looked at Kael now, something fierce in her eyes.
"He told me: 'Find Kael. Give him the Fractalis. Tell him to head south. He'll find Torin in a monk's temple—where the skulls whistle.'
"And then… he gave it to me. Just like that. It glowed in my palm, warm… alive. He'd even made a chain for it, like he'd prepared this moment long ago. That answered everything I needed to know."
"What about him?" Kael asked, voice tight. "What was he going to do?"
"He just smiled… tired and distant. Said, 'I'll do what I can. But the fate of everything depends on the two of you. One last thing… tell Kael his old man is proud of him. And remind him… beer doesn't take away your pain. It just delays it and makes it worse.'
"After that, I left… searching for you. But at every turn, I was ambushed. Fallen were everywhere. And, well… you know the rest."
Kael stared, his expression unreadable. Jaw tight. Eyes wide.
"I… I don't know what to say."
"It's a lot, I know."
His voice was quieter now. "Earlier, the Fallen said… the Harbinger feeds on Dad's screams."
Her expression faltered. Her voice dropped.
"Then he's… likely already dead."
Kael sat frozen, something deep inside him cracking. Rage began to simmer, searing its way through the numbness.
"I swear…" he said, voice shaking, eyes blazing. "I'll kill every last one of those damned monsters. And that bastard Harbinger—I'll drag him to hell myself."
Kael stood up almost instantly, brushing the dirt from his clothes in quick, impatient swipes.
"Where do you think you're going?" Lyria asked, still seated.
"There's no point wasting time sitting around," he said, already stepping forward, his voice clipped with urgency. "There's a village nearby. We can restock on supplies there."
She sighed and sprang to her feet. "Wait for me, you idiot!"
He glanced back with a half-smirk. "You want to tag along now?"
"What?!" she snapped, catching up to him. "Didn't you hear what Garrik said? The fate of the world is riding on the two of us!"
He chuckled under his breath, but the amusement faded just as fast. Mid-step, he faltered. His body stiffened as a sharp pain lanced through him—deep and pulsing like a second heartbeat, slow and ominous.
"Try not to—" he started, but winced as the pain surged again.
Lyria caught the change in his expression. "What is it?"
Kael placed a hand over his side, where the wound throbbed with unnatural heat. "That's… weird," he muttered.
She arched a brow, stepping closer. "What's wrong, little hawk?"
"I said don't call me that," he growled, though it lacked real bite.
He straightened, shaking off the ache with forced bravado. "It's nothing. I'll be fine."
Lyria didn't press. She just gave him a long, unreadable look, then nodded.
"Alright, little hawk," she said with a sly grin, following him down the path.
He sighed. This is going to be a long journey.