At dawn the village stirred. Dagan boasted of the feast, boys crowded him, and the elders praised the hunt. None looked at Kael. He did not care. The truth he carried was heavier than their words.
When the others busied themselves with chores, Kael slipped away. The Ashwood Vale welcomed him with its damp air and low mist. The trees loomed tall, their roots rising like knotted fists. A silence hung beneath their branches, as though the forest itself was watching.
He stopped by a fallen oak, its trunk hollowed by rot, and sat cross-legged against its roots, closing his eyes.
The pulse came faint at first, hidden beneath the steady beat of his heart. He inhaled slowly, letting his breath settle until even the sound of rustling leaves fell away. He reached inward, searching.
The rhythm rose. A thread of warmth coiled in his chest, tracing lines through his arms. It felt fragile, like grasping smoke, yet with each breath it grew clearer. He followed it, guided it, pressing the current toward his fingertips.
Heat surged through his body. His skin prickled, sweat beading on his forehead. For a heartbeat his senses sharpened beyond belief: he felt every groove of bark beneath his palm, every vibration in the soil from the smallest insect. The world seemed to open to him.
Then the flow scattered. His breath caught. His body sagged as though he had run for miles.
Kael gasped, eyes opening wide. His chest heaved, yet his mind blazed with clarity. It was real. He had touched it.
Not enough.
He shut his eyes again. This time, he slowed everything further. Inhale. Exhale. The warmth rose steadier, clearer. He nudged it carefully, as if moving pieces on a board. His hand tingled with heat, strength building in his fingers.
A dry leaf drifted down, landing on his palm. He felt more than its weight — he felt the veins beneath its skin, the crackling life that once flowed through it. For a breathless moment, he felt as though he could crush stone or split wood with that same hand.
The flow broke again, leaving him trembling. But the fire it left behind still burned inside him.
Then the ache hit. His stomach growled, sharp and hollow, as if the feast from the night before had vanished into nothing. His body craved more, meat and bread to match the fire that now demanded fuel.
Kael wiped sweat from his brow, a crooked smile tugging at his lips. Hunger in the body. Hunger in the spirit. Both gnawed at him, both demanded to be fed.
He rose, legs unsteady but eyes steady as iron. The first stage was his. He had no name for it, no words to describe it, but he knew what it meant.
The Vale was no longer just a forest of shadows. It was a vault of strength waiting to be claimed something Kael knew for the first time in his life, he would claim it.