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  The lingering hush after the spar had not quite faded when Kael’s hidden eyes unintentionally met Killian’s oceanic-blue gaze. In that fragile moment, everything around them seemed to decelerate. The hum of the breeze dulled. The rustle of grass dimmed. The low voices of Quin and Quirl became background echoes.

  To Killian, time fractured. Asael’s silver hair shimmered over Kael’s black braid. Two silhouettes became one—overlapping, undeniable. His breath stilled. His fingers unconsciously brushed the collar of his cloak, grounding himself as a tremor of memory passed through him.

  Kael, who had turned to walk back with Quirl at his side, was calm, but inside—storming. Quirl, scribbling fervently into a small leather-bound notebook with every pointer Kael had murmured during their spar, barely noticed the way Kael’s expression had shifted. Yet Killian saw it. Felt it.

  Kael stopped beside the tree, his gaze trailing the grass to find his discarded cloak. Just as he bent slightly, a gloved hand extended from his side, holding the cloak toward him.

  He looked up. Killian.

  Kael’s hand reached out for the cloak, fingers brushing against the glove—but before he could pull it away, Killian’s low, velvet tone lanced through the silence.

  “Sir Kael… do you perhaps know someone named… Asael Kian Ravenwood?”

  The name landed like a blade.

  Kael’s fingers froze.

  The cloak remained between them, held limply.

  His heartbeat thundered in his ears. Loud. Relentless. Deafening. He hadn’t heard that name in so long—from another’s lips. Especially not his. The way Killian spoke it… it was as if the name carried sorrow. Longing. A memory weighted with emotion that only Kael recognized for what it truly was.

  Kael’s body tensed.

  His head snapped up.

  Beneath the cloth hiding his eyes, he looked. Truly looked at Killian.

  And Killian’s heart stuttered.

  It wasn’t just the pause in Kael’s movements. It was the silence. The inhale. The presence.

  Quirl, standing nearby, lowered his notebook slightly, blinking. “Asael…?” he murmured. Quin, who had just stepped closer, stilled entirely, glancing between the two.

  But the weight of the moment belonged only to them.

  Kael’s voice was calm when it finally came. Cold. Controlled. But something lingered beneath it.

  “…That name,” he said, “belongs to someone who has long ceased to exist.”

  Killian’s eyes widened ever so slightly.

  Kael took the cloak gently from his hand, not looking away.

  “And why,” he asked, tone still leveled though his fingers curled tightly around the fabric, “does Sir Killian seek that name?”

  Killian hesitated. For the briefest instant, the veil over his heart threatened to lift. The sorrow etched across his face was subtle, but for Kael—who knew every flicker of that once-familiar gaze—it spoke volumes.

  “…Because,” Killian said softly, “I knew him.”

  Kael looked away. “Then you knew a ghost.”

  Quin’s brows furrowed. Quirl glanced again between the two, uneasy.

  Kael draped the cloak over his shoulder, his movements precise. Quiet.

  “I apologize,” Kael added flatly, “but ghosts hold no place in the present.”

  With that, he turned, the cloth covering his eyes fluttering gently as the night breeze swept past them, leaving Killian standing in the wake of his retreating presence—more haunted than ever.

  The silence after Kael's retreating footsteps should have been final, but it wasn't.

  Killian stood still, his chest tightening painfully around the words Kael had just spoken—"Ghosts hold no place in the present." It was supposed to be a cold, detached statement, but to Killian, it was a cruel blow. A wound reopened.

  His lips trembled before he bit down hard to suppress it. But no amount of pressure could stop the quake in his voice when he shouted after him, loud enough for all three to hear—

  "How can you say that...!"

  Kael’s steps halted. Quirl and Quin both stopped, confused and tense, turning slightly to glance back. But Kael didn’t move, didn’t speak. He merely turned his head slowly—as if 'looking' at Killian, even with his eyes hidden beneath the cloth.

  For a breathless moment, their gazes locked—Kael’s hidden, Killian’s oceanic blue eyes visibly dimmer than usual, shadowed by something more than just the falling dusk. The pain written across his face was not subtle. It twisted the edges of his expression, made his jaw tighten, his brows draw together with a grief that refused to remain buried.

  Beneath his cloak, Killian’s fists clenched.

  Quin felt his throat tighten from the tension. Quirl, older and usually unreadable, flinched from the weight in the air. He understood now, at least a piece of it.

  "Sir Killian… asked about Asael Kian Ravenwood…" Quin murmured quietly to Quirl, who only gave the barest of nods.

  The name lingered like a phantom between them.

  Finally, Kael exhaled—a soft, cold breath. He turned more fully now, facing Killian’s broken stare. And with a voice that tried so hard to stay calm, it cracked just barely:

  "Perhaps... Asael’s death was necessary for some to rise. Not everyone mourns the same ghosts."

  He spoke of himself as if detached, like reading lines of a history that didn’t belong to him. But the words scraped raw against his chest. Saying it aloud was a strange and bitter kind of self-harm.

  He couldn’t stop the way his fingers gripped the edge of his cloak.

  Killian’s eyes closed.

  Then he whispered, barely above the wind—but clear enough to be heard:

  "How about people... who never wished for his death?"

  That sentence hit Kael harder than he could prepare for. His breath caught. His entire body froze, stiff and taut.

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  A memory slammed into him like a crashing wave.

  A storm-ridden sky. Blood soaked into the ruins. The cold weight of the world slipping away from his grasp. A hand gripping his lifeless body, trembling, refusing to let go. And a voice. That voice, choked with tears, screaming his name again and again.

  "Asael! Asael, please! I'm sorry! Don’t—!"

  And the last thing he saw… a stormy gray jade necklace swinging from a neck and a trembling hand.

  Kael’s heart pounded wildly, chaotically. His breath was shallow, his frame barely holding steady.

  Killian saw it—the trembling in Kael’s shoulders, the way his head slightly lowered like he was struggling to hold something back.

  Regret instantly filled him.

  He took a single step forward, then paused. His voice dropped—quiet and heavy with remorse:

  "Forgive me. I shouldn’t have asked something... that no longer belongs to this world."

  And then he walked past Kael, who remained silent—unmoving, still trembling slightly.

  Killian didn’t turn back. He couldn’t. If he did, he feared he might break.

  Behind him, Quin lowered his gaze. Quirl didn’t speak a word.

  Kael… simply stood there.

  Alone, trembling.

  And remembering.

  The woods grew quiet, wrapped in an uneasy hush as Kael stood beneath the shade of the whispering trees. His composure wavered, the storm inside finally clawing through the veil of calm he always wore.

  “I want to be alone,” Kael's voice came, low and steady—yet beneath it, a tremble lay buried.

  Quirl and Quin exchanged glances but didn’t argue. They had long since learned that Kael did not speak lightly. With a wordless nod, they backed away slowly, each step heavy with silent worry. Even as they gained distance, their eyes lingered on Kael’s figure—still as stone, haunted by something they didn’t dare name.

  Not far off, Killian returned to the encampment. His steps were uneven, weighed by the raw ache clenching his chest. Sir Serenn, ever observant, noticed at once. A quick glance to Liu beside him confirmed it—Killian's demeanor had shifted. The weight he carried had returned, the same shadow that had followed him ever since Lord Asael's death six months ago.

  Killian wordlessly walked to a quiet alcove behind the tents. Once out of sight, he reached beneath his cloak and pulled out a pendant—a stormy gray jade, dull in the starlight. Fingers trembling, he gripped it tightly and lowered his head, knuckles pale.

  The world around him blurred.

  No one approached. No one dared. Those who had long followed Killian understood what the jade meant, what it carried.

  Some time passed before Quirl emerged from the trees, alone. Serenn stepped forward at once, the tension in his stance betraying his worry.

  “Where is Sir Kael?” Serenn asked calmly, though his tone held steel.

  Quirl bowed his head, his voice barely above a murmur. “Sir Killian asked Kael if he knew of the late Lord Asael Kian Ravenwood.”

  Serenn stiffened.

  Quirl continued, “Kael didn’t answer right away. But after Sir Killian said something like ‘how about those who never wished for his death’... something in Kael cracked. He told us he wanted to be alone. I stayed close, but I didn’t approach. Quin is keeping watch now.”

  Serenn sighed deeply, his expression softening. “Lord Asael and Lord Killian were childhood friends. They’ve been together since Lord Killian was eight and Asael was just five. We came here today... because Lord Killian insisted. He wanted to offer prayer for Asael’s peace.”

  Quirl only nodded, understanding now the depth behind the name spoken.

  Far within the forest, Kael's knees gave out as he dropped to the grass. The cloth tied over his eyes was yanked away, tossed aside as his hands clawed the earth beneath him.

  His lips bled as he bit down hard, stifling the sounds of his grief. Stormy gray eyes brimmed with unshed tears before finally spilling—quiet, relentless.

  Memories pierced him like thorns.

  Killian’s voice.

  Killian’s sorrow.

  The way he passed by—Kael nearly reached out to stop him. To say something. To say I’m sorry. But his voice had died in his throat.

  Now he could only cry, curled inward, a ghost of himself beneath the darkening sky.

  Quin watched from a safe distance, his heart aching at the sight. He had never seen Kael like this—so broken, so raw.

  Kael’s fingers dug into the grass as he trembled. Who am I crying for? he asked himself, tears falling freely now.

  He remembered someone crying desperately in his final moments… someone calling his name with such pain it carved into his soul.

  Asael…

  The sky darkened. Stars blinked awake above. Kael’s red-rimmed eyes lifted to the heavens as he hugged his knees, quiet sobs breaking in the hush of night.

  Then—

  Footsteps.

  A shadow appeared beside him. A gloved hand rested gently on his head, wordless and steady.

  Kael’s breath hitched. That simple act—soft, grounding—shattered the dam again. His eyes brimmed, voice silent, but his soul cried louder than ever.

  Why do I feel this way…?

  Ashen’s betrayal… Asael’s death, himself?…

  All blurred into a single ache Kael could no longer untangle.

  Back at the camp, Killian exhaled deeply and tucked the jade necklace beneath his tunic again. His gaze turned to the stars—mirroring the ones Asael once dreamed beneath.

  A quiet step brought Liu to his side. The loyal knight offered a flask of water.

  “Drink, my lord,” Liu said softly.

  Killian accepted it with a nod, his voice quiet. “Thank you… Liu.”

  The night settled in. The fire crackled gently nearby. The scent of roasted meat wafted through the breeze. Crickets sang to the silence.

  And the pain lingered—unspoken, shared between the living and the ghosts of those they had lost.

  The night was calm, but within it, Quin felt the weight of sorrow heavier than any storm he’d ever endured.

  From a respectful distance, Quin stood quietly, eyes fixed on Kael’s trembling form. He watched the silhouette of the man who had stood unshaken before nobles and knights alike, now folded onto the ground, clutching at the earth as if the grass itself might anchor him. The moonlight revealed the streaks of tears shining on Kael's cheeks, and the faint rustle of the wind carried the sound of his choked sobs.

  Quin's hand reached out instinctively, but he stopped, fingers curling into his palm. Let him grieve. Let him break apart if he must. I’ll stay close.

  Eventually, Kael’s sobs quieted, though the echoes lingered in the air. He sniffled, wiped his face roughly with the back of his hand, and lifted his eyes to the sky. The stars blinked down like silent witnesses.

  Then, Kael spoke, voice hoarse like it had been dragged across thorns:

  “Quin… would you accompany me? I… I want to find someone important to me.”

  Quin turned his head slowly, his gaze meeting Kael’s stormy gray eyes, still red from crying. In that moment, he didn’t see the powerful enchanter or the cloaked guide. He saw a man, haunted and lost, finally willing to seek.

  “I’ll accompany Master Kael wherever he wants to go,” Quin replied softly, his voice firm with promise.

  Kael stared at him for a moment, then nodded once. “Thank you, Quin.”

  In his grip, the cloth that once hid his eyes was clutched tightly. Slowly, he refolded it and covered his eyes once again, not with the intent to hide—but to guide. Then, with newfound steadiness, he adjusted his cloak, leaving the hood behind. No more hiding. He needed to be found, to find—and to be seen.

  His long black hair, now freed, caught in the breeze as he stood. A low chime followed—an ornament dangling at the end of his braid catching the wind with a soft, delicate sound.

  Kael bent and retrieved the wooden pole from the grass, the same one he had discarded earlier, gripping it with renewed determination.

  “Let’s go,” he said.

  Quin stood with him, silent and steady, the loyal shadow behind the man who now stepped forward not as a ghost—but as Kael.

  When Kael and Quin emerged from the forest’s edge, the moonlight spilling behind them like a quiet curtain, all heads turned.

  Gasps didn’t ring out—but there was a stillness, a hush as though nature itself held its breath. No hood shadowed Kael’s face now. His pale skin was kissed by moonlight, his delicate jawline and hidden eyes not visible beneath strands of wind-swept black hair. The ornament in his braid swayed gently with each step, its soft chime a ghostly echo.

  He looked ahead, chin slightly lifted, seemingly unbothered by the attention—but his fingers tightened slightly around the wooden pole.

  Across the camp, Killian’s eyes had risen. The moment he caught sight of Kael, his breath hitched. He turned his gaze away abruptly, the sharp pain in his chest threatening to surface again.

  Liu, beside him, had paused mid-sentence, stunned.

  “…He looks…” Liu whispered, not daring to finish.

  Killian’s hand moved unconsciously to his chest, fingers curling around the stormy gray jade hidden beneath his tunic. The weight of it felt heavier than ever.

  He didn’t speak. He couldn’t.

  Kael walked forward, letting the whispers trail behind him like ghosts. He didn’t look at anyone. Only at Quirl, who was arranging a simple meal beside the fire.

  Quirl looked up, startled by the sudden attention—and then stunned into silence.

  Kael’s presence now carried something different. Something fragile and unhidden. Something real.

  And yet, only Quin walked beside him, as if to say: I’ve seen him break. And I’ll follow him into whatever comes next.

  The fire crackled. The night held its breath. And Kael, with trembling steps, was no longer just a shadow of the past. He was the man who would walk toward it.

  The soft rustle of leaves in the night breeze whispered through the clearing, mingling with the low hum of conversation and the crackle of fire. As Kael stood quietly, the cloak slipping from his shoulders and his hood left behind, a soft chime echoed with each movement from the silver ornaments braided into his long, dark hair. His features were finally revealed beneath the veil he had worn for so long — delicate, pale, and hauntingly familiar to a face many had only seen in dreams or memories.

  Quin stood silently beside him, his presence steady and unwavering.

  Quirl, who had been arranging kindling and tending to the evening fire, turned his head at the sound of approaching footsteps. His eyes found Quin first, then drifted to Kael. There was something in Quin’s gaze — quiet steel and fierce loyalty — that made Quirl sigh softly. He rose, brushing dust off his palms, then approached.

  Without a word, Quirl reached out and ruffled Kael’s hair in a familiar, brotherly gesture — not one of subservience, but of affection. “You’ve always been our little master,” he murmured, his tone low, “but you’re also our little brother.”

  Kael blinked in quiet surprise, lips parting — but before he could speak, Quirl gave a small nod, as if already understanding.

  “You don’t have to say anything,” Quirl added with a soft smile. “We’ll follow you, no matter where.”

  Kael’s lips curled into the faintest smile — a gentle, shy curve that bloomed like the first light of dawn. It was fragile, almost unsure, but in that moment, it was his most sincere expression. That single smile caught the attention of Quin, Quirl, Liu, Serenn — and even Killian, who glanced toward them just in time to see it.

  And just like that, it cracked.

  Kael’s soft smile faded as his hidden eyes met Killian’s oceanic blue gaze. The air between them stirred — a quiet weight, heavy with unspoken emotion. Kael hesitated, then bowed slightly in Killian’s direction, a respectful motion that caused the chime in his braid to sing softly again. Even now, Kael protected Killian’s identity, tucking his reverence into a humble gesture.

  Someone in the group called out, breaking the spell. “Everyone! Come eat before night settles!”

  Kael turned his head away and slowly made his way to where Serenn sat. His long braid swayed gently behind him, the silver ornament catching the firelight, gleaming like a memory.

  He sat beside Sir Serenn in silence for a few heartbeats, his wooden pole resting beside him, before finally speaking in a hushed voice, “Sir Serenn… what brings this envoy to the Salvation kingdom?”

  Serenn turned to him, his face calm and composed. “Our Lord Killian has business in the capital. But before we continue… he wanted to visit this place first. There were rumors about the silverstone in Salvation, and… someone he needed to honor.”

  Kael’s fingers curled slightly into the fabric of his cloak. “Someone important to him?” he asked, his voice tentative, hesitant, as though afraid of the answer.

  Serenn sighed, following Kael’s hidden gaze — which had drifted to Killian, who was now watching his men share laughter over the fire, yet not joining them. There was a quiet melancholy in Killian’s posture.

  “He’s never been the same since that person's death,” Serenn admitted. “It’s been six months, yet… it still haunts him. He lost someone more than important — someone irreplaceable.”

  Kael’s breath caught in his throat. His heart stuttered.

  Six months ago…

  He leaned closer, voice low and uncertain. “Did… did this person die six months ago?” A pause. “Asael… Kian… Ravenwood?”

  Serenn froze.

  His eyes widened and darted toward Kael, startled. His voice was barely a whisper, tight with surprise. “How do you—”

  But Kael only smiled — bitter, aching, quiet. The kind of smile one wears when looking into a mirror and not recognizing who’s looking back.

  “…I could see it,” he said softly. “How much Killian cared for Lord Asael.”

  He didn’t speak of memories, or dreams, or the fractured soul he carried in silence.

  He only lowered his head, hiding the pain behind the same gentle smile that now held more sorrow than serenity.

  Serenn’s gaze lingered on him — as if trying to see through the quiet mystery of the boy beside him. But for now, he said nothing, sensing that Kael carried more truth than he could yet share.

  Above them, the stars blinked to life, and the gentle wind carried the scent of grilled meat and wildflowers. Around the fire, laughter still echoed — but Kael sat quietly, tucked in the edge of the circle, holding a truth only the stars and ghosts could understand.

  And somewhere across the fire, Killian touched the jade stone beneath his tunic again — as though his soul was aching for something long gone, never knowing it sat just a few feet away.

  To be continued...feel free to comment and follow the story if you feel this story worth reading... :)