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  Killian’s hands lingered for a fraction of a second after lifting Kael onto the horse, his grip tightening involuntarily as a ghost of a memory flickered behind his eyes. That movement—Kael’s subtle struggle, the way his weight had settled so lightly in the saddle, the barely-there hesitation before whispering a thanks—was a mirror of someone he had once known. Asael.

  The name struck him like a thunderclap in his chest. His pulse quickened, breath hitching as his mind reeled through the fractured remnants of the past. The image of Asael, eyes alight with determination yet filled with a quiet loneliness, merged almost seamlessly with the figure before him. No. It couldn’t be. Asael was… He clenched his jaw, exhaling sharply as he forced the thought away.

  Still, an unease settled within him as he mounted his own horse. His hands felt unusually heavy on the reins, and though his posture remained poised, there was an invisible weight pressing against his shoulders. He cast a lingering glance toward Kael, whose hooded figure rode with practiced stillness, as if the act of existing was carefully measured. The soft clink of ornaments on Kael’s braid whispered through the wind, unsettling him even further.

  Their journey continued into the forested path, the rhythmic clopping of horse hooves blending into the quietude of the encroaching wilderness. Silverstone’s grounds lay not far from their route, the air growing thick with the scent of damp earth and aged wood. The party moved in structured formation—Quirl leading, Quin at his side, Killian positioned just behind them, with Serenn and Kael slightly to his right. Killian’s trusted knight rode beside Kael, flanking him protectively, while the envoy followed in a disciplined line.

  When Quirl raised his hand, signaling a halt, the horses’ pace slowed until they came to a standstill. “We should proceed at a gentler pace,” Quirl advised. “The deeper we go, the more likely we are to attract unwanted attention from magical beasts. Especially now—their senses are erratic leading up to certain days.”

  Killian nodded in agreement. The envoy adjusted their speed, easing into a steady walk. At first, the journey felt ordinary. The occasional rustle of small creatures in the underbrush provided a false sense of tranquility. Kael, however, remained unnaturally still, his head tilting slightly as if catching the whispers of the unseen. His blindfolded eyes, veiled yet all-seeing, caught glimmers of spiritual energy in the air.

  Then, the silence came. Too sudden. Too absolute.

  A single cricket’s chirp was the only sound that cut through the oppressive stillness. The air grew heavier, charged with an invisible energy that made Serenn shift uncomfortably in his saddle. Kael’s fingers twitched, his senses honing in on something unseen. Then—a deafening roar split through the trees.

  Kael flinched, raising a gloved hand to his right ear as if shielding himself from the reverberations. The horses snorted, some shifting uneasily. A few of the younger envoys cursed under their breath, gripping their reins with uncertainty.

  Quirl and Killian exchanged sharp glances before Quirl barked, “Quin, stay close to Kael.”

  Quin, already gripping the hilt of his sword, responded with a firm nod. “Understood.”

  Killian turned to his trusted knight. “Protect Serenn.” The knight rode forward, positioning himself between Serenn and the unseen threat, blade drawn.

  Kael slowly lowered his hand, his expression unreadable. But beneath the cloth that shielded his eyes, his gaze was locked onto the origin of the sound, pinpointing the presence of something unseen. A second roar tore through the silence, causing Kael to suck in a sharp breath. His body tensed before he exhaled slowly, lifting his hand and pointing toward a specific direction.

  Quin and Quirl needed no further instruction. They immediately understood, exchanging brief nods before turning to Killian. “We’ll check it out,” Quirl stated.

  Killian hesitated for a moment before finally nodding. “Take my knight with you. Be careful.”

  Without another word, the three disappeared into the dense undergrowth.

  Serenn, shifting slightly closer to Kael, finally spoke. “Sir Kael… that magical beast… is it dangerous?”

  Kael’s head turned toward Serenn, his voice soft yet firm. “It is dangerous… for me. And it is not… for them.”

  Before Serenn could question his cryptic words, the clash of metal rang out through the forest, followed by an ear-piercing shriek. The entire envoy turned in the direction of the sound, their grips tightening on their weapons.

  Killian remained silent, listening carefully to Kael’s measured breathing, to the tension in his frame. The blond knight was rarely so contemplative, but something about this moment felt significant. Then—footsteps. Heavy and rapid, thudding against the forest floor. The gust of wind that followed was enough to make Kael’s hood shift slightly, revealing a glimpse of his pale features beneath.

  Red eyes emerged from the darkness. A magical beast, sleek-furred and predatory, lunged toward them.

  Killian’s instincts kicked in, his hand flying to his sword. But before he could unsheathe it, a slender, gloved hand extended in front of him, stopping him in his tracks.

  Kael.

  The moment stretched, a silent command woven into the air between them. And then—the unmistakable sound of steel piercing flesh.

  Quin and Killian’s knight struck at the same time, their blades plunging deep into the beast’s side. The creature let out a strangled cry before collapsing onto the dirt with a dull thud. Silence followed, thick and heavy, as the rest of the envoy stood in momentary shock.

  Killian, recovering quickly, masked his expression, giving a brief nod to his knight as he flicked his blade clean of blood. Quin did the same, their actions precise, efficient.

  The trusted knight turned to report. “The magical beast was lingering at the perimeter of an unusual spiritual mana force within the forest. Sir Quirl is investigating further.”

  Kael, seemingly unbothered, lightly pulled at his reins, guiding his horse toward Quin. “Where is Quirl?” he asked, voice calm.

  Quin exhaled, glancing toward the darkened tree line. “Checking something deeper inside.”

  Killian, overhearing, swung his leg over his saddle and dismounted smoothly. “I’ll go take a look.”

  Kael hesitated before murmuring, “I want to go too.”

  Killian stilled for a moment before turning slightly, his sharp blue gaze catching the way Kael’s hood had fallen back, revealing more of his face. His mind barely registered the details—only that Kael’s presence unsettled him more than it should. That quiet defiance, that sense of familiarity.

  A shadow of an old memory.

  Killian exhaled through his nose, his voice softer than usual. “You can come.”

  Kael remained silent for a few moments, then carefully slid off his horse. He landed with a feigned stumble, only to be caught swiftly by Quin, who sighed and handed him his wooden pole. “Be careful.”

  Kael merely nodded, adjusting his grip on the pole as he stepped forward, guiding himself with practiced ease. Killian walked ahead, his pace slower than usual.

  The forest loomed before them, dark and waiting.

  The forest was dense, its towering trees forming a thick canopy overhead. The filtered sunlight barely reached the moss-covered ground, casting eerie shadows in every direction. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth, the distant rustling of unseen creatures occasionally breaking the silence. It was within this oppressive quiet that Kael and Killian walked side by side, though neither spoke a word.

  Kael kept his pace measured, his wooden pole tapping lightly against the ground as he guided himself forward. His concealed eyes remained unreadable behind the cloth, but his avoidance of Killian’s presence was intentional. Killian, on the other hand, kept his gaze ahead, unwilling—or perhaps unable—to break the silence with words he didn’t have.

  Then came a sudden noise from behind. A muffled grunt, the distinct rustle of disturbed grass, and the soft chime of Kael’s ornaments as he stumbled over a thick root that jutted from the earth. Killian halted, glancing back just in time to see Kael catch himself, straighten his posture, and let out a quiet sigh. Unconsciously, Kael rubbed the tip of his nose, as if erasing the embarrassment of his misstep before resuming his silent walk forward.

  Killian blinked, his brows furrowing slightly. That gesture—it was too familiar. For a moment, a flicker of something unsettled in his chest. But he shook the thought away. "It must be just a coincidence," he murmured under his breath before continuing on.

  Neither of them spoke, though inwardly, Kael cursed himself. He wasn’t blind—not truly—so why had he stumbled? His own irritation gnawed at him, making him grip his wooden pole tighter. If only his footing had been steadier. If only his instincts hadn’t betrayed him. He exhaled through his nose, forcing the frustration down.

  Minutes passed before they finally caught sight of Quirl. He was kneeling, his sharp gaze fixated on something in the grass. His posture was tense, his fingers curled over the hilt of his dagger, ready to strike. Killian and Kael drew closer, their steps careful against the soft earth.

  Then, without warning, Quirl moved. His dagger flashed as he twisted and slashed outward—straight toward Killian.

  Killian barely had time to react. The blade was fast, the motion precise, but before it could reach him, a sharp, metallic clash rang through the air. Quirl’s dagger had been intercepted. Not by another blade, but by something unseen—something solid. A second later, Kael’s voice cut through the tense silence, loud and furious.

  “Are you out of your mind, Quirl?!”

  Quirl flinched, his expression morphing into shock. He looked up at Kael, who now stood rigid, his wooden pole braced before him, his covered eyes seemingly burning into Quirl with disapproval. “Attacking blindly without knowing who’s approaching you—do you have a death wish?!”

  Quirl opened his mouth to speak but was promptly cut off as Kael advanced a step, raising his wooden pole threateningly. “You could’ve injured Kill-Sir Killian! Do you even think before you act?!”

  Killian, still recovering from the shock of almost being cut, turned his gaze to Kael. His reflexes—so fast. Too fast. But it wasn’t just the speed that caught his attention; it was the sheer authority in his tone, the way his presence dominated the space. It was as if he had completely forgotten his usual quiet demeanor, instead exuding an air of command that forced Quirl into silence.

  “I—I wasn’t thinking,” Quirl finally admitted, looking away as shame settled over him. “I thought it was something else…I wasn’t expecting—”

  “You’ll train later,” Kael snapped, his irritation still evident. “You better make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

  Quirl nodded hurriedly. “I will.”

  Kael exhaled sharply, finally stepping back. His grip on his pole loosened slightly, though his annoyance remained. “Fine.” He seemed to calm himself, though the irritation in his stance was still obvious. “But what’s more annoying than you almost slicing someone’s throat open is…” He trailed off, his expression shifting slightly.

  Killian noticed the change. “What is it?”

  Kael turned his head slightly towards the ground where Quirl had been kneeling before the attack. His lips pressed into a thin line. “That spot. The grass there. It’s…off.”

  Killian followed his gaze. The patch of grass did look unusual—disturbed, almost unnaturally so. He frowned, suddenly more alert than before.

  Quirl, now fully composed, glanced down as well, his expression grim. “That’s why I was so on edge,” he admitted. “Something’s not right about this place.”

  Kael’s fingers tightened over his pole. The air around them felt heavier now, the atmosphere growing more suffocating by the second. And as the three of them stood there, staring at the eerie patch of grass, a chilling realization settled over them.

  Something was watching them.

  Kael’s hidden eyes focused intently on the spot where Quirl had knelt earlier, his senses drawn to the swirling blue spiritual mana trapped within the earth. The glow pulsed in slow, hypnotic waves, as if yearning for release. Slowly, Kael stepped forward, his wooden pole tapping against the ground with a measured rhythm.

  Just as he was about to lower himself, a firm yet gentle grip clasped his wrist. He halted, tilting his head slightly.

  “Kael, it’s dangerous,” Quirl’s voice was low, tinged with caution. His usual playful demeanor was absent, replaced by a quiet intensity. “The source is unknown.”

  Killian remained silent, standing behind Quirl with his gaze fixed on the particular spot. His posture was tense, his mind working through the possibilities of what lay before them.

  Kael’s lips curled slightly. “I just want to take a look,” he murmured, his tone light but unreadable.

  Quirl hesitated before nodding and releasing his grip. Kael moved forward unhurriedly, the ornaments on his wooden pole chiming softly with each step. He knelt on the ground, his cloak pooling behind him as he reached out towards the mana’s glow.

  Unbeknownst to Quirl and Killian, a slow, eerie smile crept onto Kael’s lips. He exhaled softly, eyes hidden beneath his cloth, before whispering something under his breath.

  Killian, sensing something amiss, took a step closer. The air felt heavier. A soft chime from Kael’s ornaments rang, as if signaling something unseen.

  Then—

  A sharp gleam of steel. The whisper of fabric. The dull, muted sound of blade piercing earth.

  Kael’s dagger plunged into the exact spot Quirl had observed earlier.

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  “Be free,” he murmured.

  A blinding light erupted from the earth, spiraling upwards like a column of raw energy. Kael’s cloak billowed violently, his hood thrown back by the sudden gust of wind. The ornaments woven into his long braid clinked together, their soft chimes lost in the howling surge of energy.

  The light was overwhelming. The leaves of the trees rustled wildly, and the very air trembled with the force of the unleashed mana.

  “Kael!” Quirl and Killian shouted in unison, their hands instinctively reaching for him.

  Farther down the path, the envoy’s horses reared, their panic echoing through the trees. The other knights scrambled to control their steeds as the unnatural energy washed over them.

  Then, just as suddenly as it came, the light dissipated. A profound stillness settled over the forest, replacing the previous chaos with a deep, soothing tranquility. It was as if the very air had been cleansed, the oppressive weight from before lifted.

  Kael exhaled slowly, standing with an unhurried grace. He sheathed his dagger effortlessly, his fingers brushing against the polished hilt. His lips curved into a gentle smile, his face tilted upwards as if savoring the purity of the moment.

  But before he could fully enjoy the sensation, Quirl grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him back and forth.

  “Kael! Are you alright?! Any discomfort? Any pain? Are you hurt anywhere?” Quirl’s voice was laced with frantic concern, his grip tight.

  Kael blinked, his dizziness increasing from the sudden shaking. “Quirl, I—”

  “Don’t you ‘Quirl’ me! That was reckless!”

  Killian observed the scene in quiet amazement, his arms crossed. The calculated, mysterious man before them had just performed an act so bizarre and yet… it felt deliberate. As if Kael had known exactly what he was doing all along.

  Just as Kael was about to calm Quirl down, a sharp crack resounded in his ears. His entire body stiffened.

  Then—the pain hit.

  A sharp, searing sensation tore through his chest. It was sudden, unexpected, and unbearable. His breath hitched, his fingers clutching his chest as his knees buckled slightly.

  A strangled cough forced its way past his lips, and a small trail of blood trickled down his chin.

  “Kael!” Quirl’s grip tightened in alarm.

  Killian’s eyes darkened as he took a step forward. “Kael, what happened?”

  Kael, barely keeping himself upright, let out a soft chuckle. “Seems like… it took more out of me than I thought."

  His voice was light, but his body trembled. He pressed a hand against his chest, feeling the slow, dull throb beneath his fingertips.

  Quirl looked near panic. Killian remained tense, his mind racing through what had just happened.

  Kael, despite the pain, simply smiled faintly. He had done what needed to be done. But at what cost?

  He admitted he was reckless but he didn't thought it will cost his own blood to release the trapped souls mana's and somehow the crack he heard earlier. He wipe the blood from his mouth clean before hesitantly look at Killian with Kael hidden eyes. Somehow Killian's oceanic blue eyes reflecting Kael's figure overlapped with Asael's figure.

  Kael who supported by Quirl touch his chest before took a breath and feel around his heart, he focus on feeling his own heartbeat before he can sense a small amount of his green spiritual mana is leaking through the crack he heard earlier and thought is it because he realease the souls mana's that his seal cracked?

  Here's the next richly detailed scene, continuing seamlessly from the previous one:Kael, still supported by Quirl, inhaled deeply. The cold air filled his lungs, yet it wasn’t the breeze alone that coursed through him—it was something deeper. A sharp, delicate pulse emerged from his chest, spreading like warm ink in water. From the cracked seal inside his heart, spiritual mana began to leak. It flowed silently through his blood like a forgotten river breaking free from its stone prison.

  A soft wind stirred around him, whispering against the leaves and lifting the strands of his long hair that draped over his features. The silvery ornaments woven into his braids gave a faint chiming sound, subtle and sacred. Quirl’s grip tightened slightly as he watched the subtle shift in Kael’s presence.

  “...Kael?” Quirl’s voice was gentle but tinged with concern.

  Killian stood a few steps away, his blue eyes wide, almost glowing in disbelief. “The mana…” he murmured.

  A pale green hue shimmered over Kael’s body—a subtle, almost translucent spiritual energy, flowing in gentle waves from beneath his cloak. Both Quirl and Killian exchanged glances, their expressions mirroring the same thought: How is this possible?

  “I thought… his spiritual mana was sealed,” Killian muttered, eyes narrowing slightly.

  Kael slowly lowered his hand from his chest, seemingly unaware of their astonishment. His breath steadied. Behind the cloth covering his eyes, his gaze lifted toward them. The serenity in his expression didn’t match the chaos stirring within.

  Quirl spoke again, almost in a whisper, “Kael… what happened to you? Wasn’t your mana completely sealed?”

  Kael stood quietly for a moment, listening. His silence spoke volumes until Killian stepped closer, watching him intently. “Was it because of what you did earlier? When you released that spiritual mana…?”

  A rare curve of a smile tugged gently at Kael’s lips—faint, distant, but warm in a way that startled Killian.

  “…Yes,” Kael finally spoke, his voice smooth, firm, yet cold—drenched in distant echoes. “There’s a crack in the seal within my heart. Just enough for a thread of spiritual mana to escape.”

  He turned his head slightly, gaze fixed once again on the circle of withered grass where the swirling souls’ mana had been released. The glow had long faded, but the air still pulsed faintly, like a memory refusing to vanish.

  “I can’t use it all the time,” Kael continued. “The leak is small… just a whisper from a storm long buried.”

  As if realizing something, Kael swiftly pulled his hood over his head again, hiding his features, drawing a thin curtain between them once more. The cloth over his eyes fluttered slightly as he bowed his head toward Quirl—a silent gesture that he was alright.

  Then, Kael moved, quietly kneeling to retrieve his wooden pole from where it lay gently on the grass. The pole hummed softly as it returned to his grip, an extension of his body.

  As he stood, something caught his hidden gaze—a flicker of swirling light just beyond the bushes.

  Without a word, Kael approached it, steps light, like a wisp on the wind. Quirl and Killian followed him with their eyes, both on edge. Kael knelt again, parting the leaves with a gloved hand until his fingers brushed against something cool and pulsing with a soft glow.

  He pulled it out carefully—an ancient herb, veins etched with fine gold lines, its stem warm with mana.

  Behind him, Killian and Quirl had begun talking in low voices. Then—

  “Ray—” Kael paused, lips tightening. “I mean… Sir Killian.”

  Killian turned slowly, oceanic eyes narrowing with a flicker of suspicion.

  Kael extended his hand, palm open. The herb rested delicately atop his gloved fingers, pulsing gently. “This is for you.”

  Killian’s gaze shifted from the herb to Kael’s hidden expression. Did he just—? The thought hung heavily in his mind. Did he almost call me by my real name…?

  Does he know who I am?

  The air seemed still again, like the moment was stretching itself, caught between truth and denial.

  Killian reached out, fingers brushing Kael’s glove as he took the herb gently. Its warm energy seeped into his skin, and for a moment, he forgot to breathe.

  Behind them, Quirl’s voice broke the silence, half-cheerful, half-weary, “We should go back. The others might’ve noticed the light.”

  Kael nodded faintly. “Alright.”

  Killian’s voice followed, calm but unsure, “Yes. Let’s return.”

  But even as they turned and walked, side by side under the trees, the unspoken question lingered between them—soft as the wind, but impossible to ignore.

  The fading golden light of evening cast long shadows across the clearing as Kael, Quirl, and Killian emerged from the forest. The rustle of leaves and the distant sound of steel clinking echoed in the air, but it was the trio’s calm and composed return that stole the attention of the envoy’s men. Gasps and murmurs spread like wildfire.

  Killian’s trusted knight immediately strode toward him, concern etched in his features, while Kael’s hidden gaze followed the knight instinctively. At the same time, Quin rushed to Kael’s side, panic flickering in his eyes.

  “Are you hurt?” Quin asked breathlessly, his hand hovering over Kael’s shoulder.

  Kael sighed softly, brushing the loose strands of hair from his face. “I’m alright,” he murmured.

  But Sir Serenn, sharp-eyed and observant, blurted, “Sir Kael… your spiritual mana—it’s flowing, slowly, but it’s there.”

  All eyes snapped to Kael.

  Quirl stepped forward and filled the others in, his voice carrying a mixture of awe and frustration. “It happened during the ritual. Kael released spiritual mana on the circle—it was reckless. The seal in his heart cracked… just enough for a little mana to leak.”

  He gestured toward Killian, who opened his hand to reveal the ancient herb Kael had given him. Serenn’s eyes widened.

  “This… this is a mana-regenerative herb. Ancient. Nearly extinct.”

  Killian nodded solemnly. “We’ll rest here tonight,” he announced. “Prepare the camp. Butcher the beast.”

  Men moved swiftly, dragging the magical beast’s carcass toward a flat patch of earth. Fires were lit, water fetched, and tents raised. Meanwhile, Kael—unburdened by orders—sat quietly against the base of a tree. The breeze rustled the branches above him, and a leaf tumbled gently onto his shoulder before settling in the grass.

  He watched it fall with unreadable eyes. In the quiet, his thoughts whispered to him.

  Even if this body is not Asael’s… I still remember what it was like to wield mana freely. I still remember the pain of losing it. Perhaps… perhaps this is a second chance.

  Footsteps approached, steady and familiar.

  Quin knelt beside him, holding out a leather flask and a small vial. “Sir Serenn said you should take this. It’s a medicinal potion to help with the poison.”

  Kael accepted it with gloved hands, uncorked it, and drank. The potion burned slightly down his throat, but he followed it with water. A soft exhale left his lips.

  “I can feel it less now… just a small trace of the poison remains,” he murmured.

  “Would you like to… remove your eye covering for a moment?” Quin asked gently.

  Kael hesitated. Then, he nodded.

  Quin helped him to his feet, and the two disappeared quietly into the edge of the forest. Curious eyes followed them—Killian’s among them. His oceanic-blue gaze lingered on Kael until the boy was swallowed by trees.

  Within a clearing by a small riverbank, Kael paused. Nearby, a group of men were butchering the magical beast. Kael gave them a small, respectful bow before guiding Quin to help him sit beneath a shady tree.

  Quin stood nearby, alert.

  “I’ll demonstrate now,” he said with a grin.

  Kael gave a small nod, then reached up, pulling down his hood. Soft strands of long black hair shimmered in the fading light. He slowly untied the cloth behind his head, and the covering slipped from his eyes.

  His lashes lifted.

  Stormy gray irises caught the warm glow of dusk, shining like polished stone. He looked ahead to the riverbank, then calmly to Quin.

  A few of the butchering men caught a glimpse of Kael’s revealed features. Whispers stirred among them, but there was something strange—a veil, an unseen force—that kept them from seeing too clearly.

  Kael crossed his legs, leaning back slightly into the tree.

  “Go ahead,” he said softly.

  Quin nodded, stepping into an open space. He began demonstrating a new fighting style he’d been developing. His movements were swift and adaptive, but Kael’s eyes caught each error.

  “You rely too much on your dominant foot,” Kael said, his voice calm, firm. “In a real battle, a well-timed sweep would knock you off balance.”

  Quin adjusted.

  “Also… your third strike—too wide. If an enemy counters, you’ll leave your ribs open.”

  Again, Quin corrected.

  “Now,” Kael said, his voice gentler, “show me your instincts. Don’t think. Just move.”

  Quin did—and this time, his flow improved. Kael nodded slowly, satisfied.

  “You’re finding your own style. That’s what matters.”

  Peace settled into Kael’s chest. For once, there was no pressure. No eyes demanding greatness. Just the wind, the rustling leaves, and Quin’s rhythmic footfalls.

  This… this is what I never had as Asael. Stillness. Freedom.

  Not far away, the men had finished preparing the magical beast for cooking. Fires crackled. Laughter broke out in low murmurs.

  Kael’s eyes closed briefly, soaking in the moment.

  Meanwhile, back at camp, Quirl and Killian stood over a makeshift map, discussing the path to the capital. Plans laid. Assignments given.

  Killian turned to his knight. “Keep watch. Stay sharp.”

  The knight saluted.

  Then Quirl asked the men nearby, “Have you seen my siblings?”

  One of the butchering men straightened. “Sir Quirl—Sir Kael and Sir Quin are by the riverbank. Sir Kael’s resting, and Sir Quin is… training.”

  Quirl nodded. “Thank you.”

  Killian hesitated. Something pulled at him. A curiosity he didn’t quite understand.

  Why… why am I drawn to him?

  He touched the collar of his attire, breathing deeply.

  “I’ll come along,” he said.

  Quirl cast him a knowing glance but said nothing. The two walked together toward the riverbank, the sound of laughter, steel, and fire fading behind them, while the mystery of Kael deepened in Killian’s chest.

  And Kael—under the shade of a tree, his eyes now bare to the world—watched Quin with quiet contentment, unaware of the quiet tide he was beginning to stir in the hearts around him.

  Moonlight draped the silent land like a silver veil. In an open courtyard atop a high cliff, where the winds whispered through the ancient stone arches, Asael stood alone. His long, silver hair—half tied with ornamental clasps that chimed faintly—swayed in the breeze, the rest cascading down his back like a river of moonlight. He wore his ceremonial robes, the regalia of a powerful sorcerer, with runes glowing faintly along the hems. The crystal blade in his hands shimmered with mana, its curved surface catching the moonlight with each elegant movement.

  With grace and precision, Asael moved through a form—each swing an arc of power and beauty—but his steps faltered, unsteady. His foot slipped against the polished stone, the balance nearly lost. Yet, before he could fall, a firm but gentle hand caught him by the waist.

  "Steady," came a familiar voice.

  Asael’s body was pulled into a swift turn, swirling through the open space in perfect rhythm with another. Their motion was like a dance—fluid, unbroken. The ornamental charms in Asael’s hair chimed as they moved. When his footing finally steadied, the hand on his waist loosened.

  Asael turned, his cold gray eyes meeting warm oceanic-blue. It was Rayne.

  Rayne’s face was gently lit by moonlight, his blond hair tousled by the wind. Concern deepened the softness in his gaze. "Asael, are you alright? What are you doing here alone, training?"

  Asael's expression shifted from startled to annoyed. His voice was calm, clipped, cool. "I missed a step. I am correcting it."

  He sheathed his crystal blade with a smooth motion, turning away as if intending to leave without another word. Rayne didn’t follow immediately, simply watching the sorcerer’s back retreat. Then he spoke again, quietly but clearly.

  "Let me help you correct it."

  Asael’s steps hesitated.

  He glanced back, silver strands sweeping across his face. Under the moon’s quiet light, Rayne’s features glowed—his oceanic eyes full of sincerity, his hand slightly lifted in offering.

  A moment passed.

  Then, Asael slowly nodded. “...Very well.”

  Rayne smiled faintly and stepped closer. “Show me your form again.”

  Asael moved with precision once more, his blade slicing the air. When he approached the step he previously missed, Rayne stopped him.

  “Right there,” Rayne said softly, walking toward him. “Your weight shifts too far inward. Try keeping your balance here—” he placed his hand lightly on Asael’s hip, guiding the movement—“and control the turn from the heel, not the toe.”

  Asael repeated the motion. This time, his body flowed like water.

  The smile on Rayne’s face widened. “Perfect.”

  Asael continued the practice, Rayne’s voice calmly correcting every flaw, never harsh—just soft, guiding. Slowly, imperceptibly, Asael’s cold expression began to thaw. A tiny smile touched his lips—brief, delicate.

  Rayne’s heart skipped.

  “Asael.”

  Asael glanced up, “What?”

  Rayne’s words froze on his tongue.

  A voice rang from afar.

  “Asael!”

  Rayne didn’t need to look. He saw the change in Asael’s expression—the light in his eyes, the brief joy. He knew who it was.

  Asael passed him by, brushing close, drawn to the voice of Ashen.

  Rayne stood there, hand half-raised, unsaid words on his lips.

  —

  The memory faded like mist.

  “Kael!”

  He blinked.

  Quin’s voice reached him, drawing him back to the present. “Sir Quirl and Sir Killian are on their way.”

  Kael didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he slowly reached for the piece of cloth beside him, his fingers trembling only slightly as he pulled it over his eyes once more, concealing the storm-gray gaze.

  The breeze tugged at his black hair, the strands shifting as his expression remained unreadable. He could still see it—Rayne’s expression, that night, his hesitation. That one moment where he wanted to speak but didn’t.

  And now...

  Now Rayne stood before him again, not as Rayne, but as Killian—the Crown Prince. Hidden beneath a hood. Still carrying that same quiet kindness.

  Kael’s heart ached faintly. A deep, unspoken ache. He had ignored Rayne’s feelings that night. He had been too drawn to Ashen.

  And he understood perfectly now.

  Footsteps drew near.

  Quin stood and bowed respectfully. “Sir Killian.”

  Kael remained seated, silent, as Killian approached. His hood cast shadows over his face, but Kael’s hidden eyes caught every detail—especially the delicate glint of a silver butterfly earring swaying from his right ear.

  A butterfly.

  Kael’s thoughts stirred. That earring… Rayne had once worn the same symbol during their younger years. He always said it represented a soul’s quiet transformation.

  “Sir Quin,” Killian spoke, his voice as calm as the forest wind, “Your form is improving. Were you training under Sir Kael?”

  “Yes, ...I am.,” Quin replied after some hesitation, but pride flickering in his tone. “Master Kael has been correcting my movements.”

  Killian nodded, then turned slightly, his gaze settling—perhaps unknowingly—on Kael. “You have a skilled eye, Sir Kael.”

  Kael inclined his head slightly. “One simply learns to observe what others overlook.”

  The breeze shifted.

  Kael wanted to ask. What did you want to say that night, Rayne?

  But he wasn't Asael now. He was Kael.

  And some questions were better left unasked—at least, for now.

  Still, his gaze lingered, hidden under the cloth, on the butterfly earring that shimmered like a memory made solid. Without Kael knew that earring is Killian sources of living after he, as Asael died six months ago.

  Killian’s Perspective – Training Grounds by the Riverbank

  The quiet rustle of the river wind stirred Killian’s cloak as he approached the riverbank with Quirl. His oceanic-blue eyes caught the faint glint of motion—a blur of training limbs and unwavering focus. There, under the soft evening light, Quin was sharpening his new movements, every step slightly more refined than before. Just beside him, Kael sat cross-legged on the grass, his back resting against a tree, the swaying canopy above casting broken shadows over him.

  Kael’s eyes were uncovered.

  A flicker of curiosity sparked in Killian’s gaze. But even with Kael’s eyes visible, he couldn’t quite catch the full color of them—it was as if something veiled them from being fully seen. An unseen force. Before he could contemplate further, Quin dashed to Kael’s side, speaking in hushed tones. In one graceful motion, Kael lifted the familiar strip of cloth and tied it over his eyes again. However, he didn’t pull up his hood.

  Killian’s steps slowed.

  He heard Quin greet him politely: “Sir Killian.”

  Kael said nothing. Still seated, he exhaled softly, a sound that brushed past Killian like an echo of memory. Then Kael’s head turned—slow, deliberate. And for a moment, his face tilted upward, his covered gaze directed at Killian. It was a longer glance than expected. A change passed over Kael’s face, fleeting but unmistakable—recognition? Regret? Pain?

  Then, just as swiftly, the expression vanished. Kael sighed and turned his head.

  “Quirl.”

  The single name rang sharp across the breeze. Quirl flinched.

  Kael stood now, his voice carrying the weight of command—calm, cold, and resolute. “How about you train to make up for earlier?”

  Quirl shivered despite himself, his throat bobbing. “Y-yes.”

  He stepped back into the clearing. Quin followed beside him, eyes flicking between Kael and Quirl nervously.

  Kael remained still. Then, with an effortless motion, he reached down and picked up his wooden pole from the grass. He stood, exuding a quiet, commanding presence. He didn’t respond when Quin called out softly, “Master Kael?”

  He simply shrugged off his cloak.

  It fell to the earth with a hushed whisper before Killian unconsciously pick it up and fold it neatly and put on his arms. Beneath, Kael’s lean frame was revealed—elegantly fragile, yet deceptively strong. His long, braided black hair flowed behind him, swaying in rhythm with the wind. Ornaments chimed gently. The cloth over his eyes shifted slightly with his movements.

  He stepped toward Quirl.

  Quirl stopped mid-movement. His grip tightened on his dagger, sensing the shift. Kael’s presence was not simply that of a mentor—it was the presence of someone who had once known combat in a lifetime far before this.

  Killian watched, frozen. A memory surged.

  Asael.

  The stance, the tilt of his head, the whisper of his hair—all of it overlapped with a memory buried deep within Killian. His heart thudded against his ribs.

  Kael’s lips moved. Killian read them clearly. “Shall we?”

  A phrase once said under a moonlit sky.

  Kael shifted into a stance—but changed it, just slightly. Enough that it was unfamiliar. Enough that Killian couldn’t immediately link it to Asael’s style.

  The spar began.

  Quirl lunged. Kael shifted.

  Wood clashed against steel.

  Kael’s pole moved like a river’s current—fluid, precise. He danced around Quirl’s advances, his foot light on the earth.

  “Your footing is heavy,” Kael said, voice cool. “You’ll lose balance in muddy terrain.”

  Quirl hissed between clenched teeth and changed his stance. “I’m not trying to look graceful!”

  “No,” Kael countered, spinning low and sweeping the wooden pole under Quirl’s guard. “But you are trying to survive.”

  The clash intensified.

  “You hesitate on your right,” Kael said again, knocking Quirl off axis. “Your dominant hand. Predictable.”

  Quirl growled, swinging with more force. “Stop analyzing everything—!”

  “Then stop making mistakes.”

  Kael moved—his hair trailing behind him like a silk ribbon. The final strike came fast. His wooden pole swept upward in an arc and halted just a hair’s breadth from Quirl’s neck.

  The two froze.

  Kael stood, composed, not a breath out of rhythm. His head was slightly tilted, his long braid resting against his shoulder. The evening light glinted off the silver ornaments woven into his braid, which chimed gently with the breeze.

  Quirl’s chest rose and fell, eyes wide.

  Quin stood stunned. His lips parted in awe. “He… He didn’t miss once.”

  Killian’s chest constricted. That presence… that cold composure, the subtle shift of breath, the way Kael disarmed his opponent with both body and voice—it was Asael.

  A silver butterfly swayed from Killian’s right ear.

  He didn’t know when he started to grip his collar again.

  Kael slowly stepped back, voice calm. “You’re getting better, Quirl. But don’t fight with emotion. You leave your heart too open.”

  Quirl wiped sweat from his brow, nodding stiffly. “Understood… Kael.”

  As Kael turned, his expression unreadable, Killian swallowed down the name he longed to say.

  Asael…

  The wind blew gently across the clearing, carrying the soft echo of memories long gone… and perhaps, not as far as they seemed.

  To be continued :)