The rhythmic thud of the borhounds' paws against the earth was the only sound that filled the air. Kale rode in silence, his mind miles away from the road ahead. No matter how hard he tried to push the memories aside, they kept creeping back, invading his thoughts. Everything that had happened in Khor’vel lingered in his mind, a burden he couldn’t shake.

  He had thought he was ready. After the meeting with Aeloria, he had felt certain, even confident, that he could handle whatever the world threw at him. But what he had seen in Khor'vel—the twisted creatures, the corrupted bladeweavers, Thalmar’s sacrifice—had shaken him to the core. He couldn't shake the image of Thalmar, his decayed body, and the light in his eyes as he lunged forward to protect him. Kale's mind replayed the moment over and over, each time cutting deeper.

  His fingers tightened around the reins, his knuckles white as he stared blankly ahead. He had seen death before, but this… this was different. The faces of the corrupted scouts, once warriors like him, haunted his thoughts. He had felt their suffering, their confusion, even as they attacked him. And now Thalmar was gone. The man had given his life, and Kale hadn’t even known his name until it was too late.

  He had killed them. His own kind. And the worst part was knowing that if it came down to it, he would have to do it again.

  Rika and Liliana were quiet as they rode beside him. They hadn’t said anything, but Kale knew they had noticed. He caught the occasional glance from Rika, the way her eyes lingered on him a little too long, the slight furrow of her brow. Liliana, too, kept her distance, but Kale could feel her watching, her silence heavier than words.

  They knew something had changed.

  Kale took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, but it felt like the ground beneath him was shifting, slipping away no matter how tightly he tried to hold on. The images from Khor'vel wouldn’t leave his mind—the corruption, the twisted faces of the scouts, Thalmar's sacrifice. Each step forward felt heavier than the last, a weight pressing down on his chest. Aeloria’s Promise, once a symbol of hope, now felt like a burden he wasn’t sure he could carry.

  He had always doubted himself, always questioned if he was strong enough, fast enough, good enough. But now... now the doubts were louder, clawing at him. He wasn’t prepared for this—not the way the corruption had spread, not the way it had hollowed out those who had once been comrades. The more he tried to push the memories aside, the more they anchored themselves in his thoughts.

  Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Thalmar jumping in front of him, shielding him from the blast. The corrupted scouts’ faces twisted with pain and confusion. There had been no choice, no time to hesitate, but that didn’t make it any easier to bear. He had killed them, and it wasn’t the first time he’d taken a life. But this? Killing those who had once fought like him? Who had sacrificed this much? It felt like a piece of his own soul had been chipped away with every swing of the blade.

  The world around him blurred, the rhythm of the borhounds’ strides fading into the background as his thoughts spiraled beyond his control. He had faced battle and witnessed death, but the enormity of this mission, the reality of what he was fighting against, was more daunting than he had ever imagined.

  He knew there was no turning back. There never had been. He had been forced down this path when he picked up Aeloria’s Promise, and no matter how impossible it seemed now, there was only one direction left to go. Forward.

  ***

  The crackling of the campfire was the only sound in the quiet night. Kale was asleep, but his sleep was far from peaceful. His face was twisted in pain, his body restless, and the occasional murmur escaped his lips as if he were battling something in his dreams.

  Rika glanced over at him, her concern growing. The strain of everything they had endured was written plainly across his face, even in sleep. She turned to Liliana. "We need to do something. We need to help him somehow."

  Liliana, floating nearby, didn’t respond immediately. Her eyes lingered on Kale’s restless movements, her expression unreadable, distant.

  "I can't stand seeing him like this," Rika continued. "He’s in so much pain, Liliana."

  "There’s nothing we can do," Liliana replied.

  Rika’s jaw tightened, frustration bubbling up inside her. "He’s not like you, Liliana. He’s not... like you."

  Liliana raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And what does that mean?"

  Rika hesitated, searching for the right words. "He’s not hard like you," she finally said. "He’s good, and he’s kind, and—"

  Liliana cut her off. "There is nothing we can do, Rika. He will need to find a way to control his emotions, or they will get him killed. Get us all killed."

  Rika’s shoulders sagged, her frustration giving way to helplessness. She looked back at Kale, his face still contorted with whatever horrors haunted his dreams. "You think I don’t know that? But he... I just..."

  Liliana’s expression didn’t soften, but there was something different in her eyes. Something colder, yet honest. "You think I don’t feel? You think I don’t have a heart?" Her voice, for just a moment, lost its edge. "I’m like this because I have to be. If you can’t control yourself, you make mistakes. And when you make mistakes, you die. You have to harden yourself, Rika. There’s no other way."

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  Rika looked down. She had known Liliana long enough to understand her, to know why she was the way she was. But that didn’t make it any easier to accept. "I just..." She turned to Kale. "He’s different. I just want to protect him."

  "I know," Liliana said quietly. "But there’s nothing we can do. He has to figure it out on his own."

  For a moment, they sat in silence, the crackling of the fire the only sound between them. Rika’s shoulders slumped as she stared into the flames.

  "I just don’t want to lose him," Rika whispered.

  Liliana stayed silent for a moment, her eyes lingering on Kale before she finally spoke. "Neither do I."

  ***

  Rika stirred awake, her senses alert as the faint light of dawn stretched across the horizon. She blinked against the dull gray glow, but it wasn’t the light that had woken her, it was the steady rhythm of movement, a sound that set her on edge.

  Her hand instinctively went to the warhammer at her side as she sat up, scanning the camp. It took a moment to recognize the source of the noise. Kale.

  He was already awake, his figure outlined against the rising sun. His shirt had been tossed aside, and his skin glistened with sweat. His muscles tensed and strained with every motion as he moved through a brutal series of drills. Aeloria’s Promise was in his hand, cutting through the air with precision, each strike echoing in the stillness of the early morning. His movements were sharp, controlled, but there was something else. Something frantic.

  Rika rubbed her eyes and frowned as she watched him. It wasn’t just regular training, this was something more. His strikes were heavier than usual, each blow landing with an intensity that spoke of more than just discipline. His breath came in harsh, uneven bursts, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he pushed himself harder and harder.

  She got to her feet, but hesitated to move closer. There was something about the way he trained, the way he forced his body through the motions, that told her he wasn’t just sharpening his skills. He was fighting something else. Something inside.

  Kale swung his sword in a wide arc, the blade slicing through the air with a sharp hiss. He immediately followed it up with a quick series of thrusts and slashes, his body moving with a desperate energy. The sound of his blade connecting with a tree trunk sent a dull thud through the clearing. Wood splintered under the force, but Kale didn’t stop.

  Rika stood silently, watching him push himself past the point of exhaustion. His body trembled with fatigue, but he kept going, each movement fueled by something beyond physical strength. His grip on the sword tightened, and his jaw clenched as he pushed himself harder, faster.

  She winced as his foot slipped slightly on the wet ground, but he caught himself before he fell. His breathing was ragged now, almost painful to hear, but still, he didn’t stop.

  "Kale," Rika called out softly, but her voice was swallowed by the sound of his relentless training.

  She stepped closer, her concern growing as she saw the strain on his face, the way his muscles shook with every movement. It wasn’t long before his body gave in, and he stumbled, catching himself with the blade dug into the earth. He stood there for a moment, panting heavily, his shoulders heaving as he tried to catch his breath.

  "Kale!" Rika’s voice was louder now, and she stepped closer.

  He didn’t respond, his grip tight on his blade as he stared at the ground, his chest still rising and falling with exhaustion. For a long moment, the only sound in the clearing was his labored breathing.

  "You’re going to kill yourself at this rate," Rika said as she stepped beside him.

  Kale finally looked up at her, his face lined with sweat and fatigue. His eyes were dark, shadowed with everything that had happened. "I have to keep going," he said, his voice raw.

  Rika shook her head. "Not like this."

  He didn’t argue. Instead, he took a deep, ragged breath and pulled the sword from the ground. His body was shaking, barely holding on, but the look in his eyes was one of stubborn determination.

  "You don’t have to prove anything to us," Rika added quietly. "You’re already enough."

  Kale wiped the sweat from his forehead, his expression softening for just a moment. But he didn’t answer. Instead, he turned back to the training area, gripping his sword once more, and without a word, he resumed his drills.

  Rika sighed, stepping back as she watched him. She could see the storm inside him, the same storm that had driven him to this point. And as much as she wanted to stop him, she knew she couldn’t. This was his battle to fight.

  Kale continued his drills, forcing himself through the motions despite the pain coursing through his body. His muscles screamed in protest, every swing of the sword felt heavier than the last, but he refused to stop. He couldn’t. His mind was locked in a battle he couldn’t win, haunted by the faces of the corrupted bladeweavers and the memory of Thalmar’s sacrifice.

  He swung his sword again, harder this time, but the sword slipped from his grasp, clattering to the ground. Kale’s legs buckled beneath him, and he fell to his knees, his chest heaving as he gasped for breath. The weight of everything—his failures, his fears, his grief—crashed down on him, suffocating him in the silence of the clearing.

  He hung his head, his hands trembling as they dug into the dirt, his mind a storm of anger and helplessness. Tears stung at the corners of his eyes, but he clenched his jaw, fighting them back. He couldn’t break—not now. Not after everything.

  Rika had been watching, her heart aching as she saw him fall. She hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to do, but when she saw the way his shoulders slumped in defeat, something inside her moved. Quietly, she walked over to him, her steps soft against the earth.

  Without a word, she knelt behind him and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into a gentle embrace. She held him tightly, resting her head against his back, offering silent comfort.

  Kale tensed as Rika’s arms wrapped around him, her quiet warmth grounding him in a way he hadn’t realized he needed. For a moment, he was still, his body rigid with the effort of holding everything in. But the dam broke. A sob escaped his lips, followed by another, and before he knew it, the tears he had fought so hard to suppress came flooding out.

  He buried his face in his hands, his body shaking with each ragged breath, as the weight of everything he had been carrying finally became too much to bear. The grief, the guilt, the fear—it all spilled out, raw and unfiltered.

  Rika tightened her embrace, her arms steady and strong around him. She didn’t say anything; there were no words that could ease the pain he was feeling. Instead, she held him, letting him cry, letting him release everything he had been holding back.

  For what felt like hours, Kale wept. He wept for the bladeweavers he had been forced to kill, for Thalmar’s sacrifice, for the fear that he wasn’t strong enough to stop Xeroth. And Rika held him through it all, her presence a quiet reassurance that he wasn’t alone.

  When his sobs finally subsided, Kale remained still, his body exhausted and his mind numb. He felt empty, like a vessel drained of everything it had once held.

  "I’m sorry," Kale whispered, his voice hoarse and broken.

  Rika shook her head, her grip on him tightening for a moment. "Don’t be," she said softly. "You don’t have to carry this alone."

  Kale wiped his face, though the tears still clung to his lashes. He didn’t say anything more, but in that moment, the presence of Rika behind him, holding him, was enough. The weight wasn’t gone, but it felt just a little lighter.