"Lastly," said the voice, as deep as thunder beneath water. "You woke up… Zepherwind?"
The phrase rolled through the darkness of the cave. Kairen blinked hard, sight still lingering in green illumination. The man standing next to him was a tall blur initially — robes of mist, hair of white and indigo. The air around the man rippled with a faint shimmer, the stones themselves humming to the beat of his breathing.
Kairen attempted to sit up. Pain pierced his chest. He collapsed backward with a hiss.
"Still impatient," the stranger whispered, crouching beside him. His hand, which was warm and calloused, lay lightly across Kairen's ribs. "Be quiet. The wound remembers more than the blade."
A soft golden light leaked from his palm. The pain receded. Kairen could breathe. He gazed up at the man's face — creased, weathered, and yet oddly vibrant, as though sculpted by centuries of laughter and loss.
"Who… are you?" Kairen struggled.
The man smiled, a glint of humor beneath his beard. "Names come after breakfast. For now, rest."
The words were strangely reassuring. The buzzing of the moss-lit cave dissolved into darkness once more.
When Kairen opened his eyes next, warm daylight filtered through a round crystal window. He was covered by a woven blanket smelling of smoke and herbs. Aching, he was, but raw pain had departed. His wounds had been carefully cleaned and wrapped by someone.
Outside, he heard laughter, wooden hammers, and the whistle of mountain wind. He turned his head; the room was small, its walls smooth stone veined with glowing blue crystals. Shelves held jars of roots, scrolls, and a few humming stones that cast gentle light.
"You're awake," said a cheerful voice.
A boy tall enough stooped in, holding a bowl of hot soup. His dark short hair was bound with a piece of cloth; his smile seemed to have never encountered despair. "About time. Thought the mountain put you to sleep for a week."
Kairen blinked. "Who are you?
"Roric," the boy said, placing the bowl on the ground. "Official resident porter, part-time chef, and unofficial lifesaver. The old man instructed me to feed you before you pass out again."
"The old man?"
Roric smiled even broader. "You'll meet him soon enough. Eat first. Trust me, he won't say a word until you have something hot in your belly."
The aroma of the soup struck Kairen — herbs, grains, something earthy and sweet. His stomach rumbled. He raised the bowl, wary, then took a sip. The warmth seeped through him like sunlight after winter.
Roric sat against the wall, observing. "Good. You eat like a man who fought a demon swarm."
Kairen cracked a weak smile. "Feels about right."
Footsteps sounded at the doorway. Two girls appeared — one tall and confident, the other peeking shyly from behind her shoulder.
The tall one's auburn braid swung as she walked, a basket of glowing leaves in her arms. "Roric, you're going to scare him again."
"I'm being polite!"
"You're staring at him like a hawk," she said, rolling her eyes. Then to Kairen, more gently, "I'm Arya. Don't mind him. He means well. Mostly."
The smaller girl stepped forward, clutching her hands together. Her hair was pale, almost silver, catching the light like threads of frost. "I-I'm Ola," she whispered.
Kairen offered a soft smile. "Nice to meet you. I'm Kairen."
Ola's cheeks went pale pink. Arya elbowed her with a grin. "See? He's not going to bite."
Roric snorted. "Not unless he's hungry."
"Shut up, Roric."
The friendly bantering warmed the room. Kairen hadn't known how much he'd missed ordinary voices — laughter, minor spats, the kind of calm that didn't culminate in screaming. For a moment, he nearly forgot the cave, the demons, the agony.
But the question still lingered. "That man," he said softly. "The one who saved me. Who is he?"
The three exchanged knowing looks. Arya set her basket down. "You'll find out soon enough," she said. "Come on. He's waiting."
They helped him outside when the sun reached its peak.
The sight stole his breath.
Aethelgard unfolded before him like a different world — a wide plateau surrounded by cliffs and shrouded in floating clouds. Crystal-pierced trees glimmered, leaves dancing on the breeze and singing softly like glass. Rivers of silver water flowed through emerald terraces. Houses were sculpted out of living rock, windows shining with trapped starlight.
Children ran over wooden bridges that were suspended over the mist, laughing. In the distance, a group of shining birds wheeling through the thin air, wings leaving light behind.
"This…" Kairen breathed. "This can't be real."
"It's real enough," said Arya proudly. "The Sanctum of Aethelgard. Hidden from the world for centuries."
Ola, who marched with them, whispered so quietly he nearly missed it. "The mists protect us. They warp light, sound… even mind. Nobody finds us unless the Sage permits it."
"The Sage?" Kairen inquired.
Roric gestured over toward the opposite side of the plateau, where a giant tree burst up from the center of the valley. Its trunk glimmered with silver-striped bark, flowers radiating like moonlight. Near its roots, a tiny shrine glowed softly with power.
"He's there," Roric said. "He's always there."
They walked across a thin bridge over a running brook. The air grew heavy with silent strength; even the wind traveled more slowly. Kairen felt it in his very bones — a constant thrum, the same rhythm that had filled the cavern before he fell.
Closer to the base of the tree, an old man sat cross-legged on a flat rock, eyes closed, palms up. The earth surrounding him was etched with symbols that glowed softly. The soft tinkle of bells wafted on the air.
"That's him," Arya breathed.
The man's eyes opened.
They were dark, endless — but within them there ran the faint light of faraway stars.
"So," he told her, his smile slow and pleased, "the mountain breaker stirs again."
Kairen blinked. "You're always saying that. Who are you?"
The old man stood smoothly, robes rustling against stone. "Ah, etiquette. Sorry. You may address me as Rishi Vanamali — guardian of this shrine, and guardian of those the mountains don't kill."
He executed a small, mocking bow. "Some of you address me as Sage. Some call me mad. I prefer the former."
Arya fought down a laugh. Roric grinned. Ola concealed her smile behind her hands.
Vanamali shifted his attention back to Kairen. "How are you feeling?"
"Like I got kicked by a mountain," Kairen grumbled, rubbing his ribs.
Vanamali laughed. "Then the mountain taught well."
His good humor was light, but his gaze examined Kairen intently — not his injuries, but something deeper, hidden.
Kairen paused, then asked, "My friends… are they safe?"
"For the moment," Vanamali replied gently. "You yanked them out of death's mouth. You did a fine job."
Kairen breathed shakily, relief washing over him. "Then I must find them. My mother too. She must think I'm—
"Gone?" Vanamali completed the sentence for him. "Yes. And for now, she has to think it is."
"What?" Kairen moved closer, confusion changing to alarm. "No. You don't see. I have to make them know that I am alive! I can send a message, anything—"
"You can not," Vanamali stated softly.
"Why not?"
The air shifted. The hum of the valley seemed to quiet.
"Here," said the sage, his hand sweeping to the cliffs around them, "is walled by the mists. No light, no magic, no thought passes through its boundaries. It is the Sanctum's law — our protection, and our bane."
Kairen shook his head. "I'll go, then."
Vanamali sighed, her eyes almost sad. "And step right into the storm that rages outside? You would not live."
"I've endured worse!" Kairen bellowed, rage and terror shattering his voice. "I can't stay here while everyone believes I'm dead!"
The wind picked up, rustling the sage's robes. Amber motes flashed for an instant around him. When he answered next, his voice was hard as steel but not ungentle.
"You are mistaken, child. I do not hold you here out of fear. I hold you here because the world is not prepared to gaze upon what you are."
Kairen stiffened. "What… I am?"
Vanamali drew closer, each word chosen. "You believe I stumbled upon you by accident? The mountain summoned. The earth itself shook when your strength awakened. You are a container of something immense — something greater than gods or kings."
"I don't know," Kairen whispered. "It just happened. I couldn't stop it."
"Of course not." Vanamali's eyes softened. "Because it is bound."
"Bound?
He nodded. "The light that burned in the cavern, the energy that almost reconstituted you — it is bound within you. Secluded."
Kairen's pulse accelerated. "What do you mean by 'bound'?"
Vanamali looked at him for a long time. The joking tone was gone. The face of the sage seemed to age abruptly.
"It was not by chance that your back bears that design," he spoke softly.
Kairen's breath had left his body. "You've seen it?"
The sage bowed his head. "I have. And I know what it is."
Kairen's thoughts whirled. The mark — the wing-shaped lines that shone blue when he fought. Everyone had labeled it his "mark of power." His teachers, his mother, even the books had said so. "It's… just my mark," he said dully. "Every vessel has one."
Vanamali's eyes sparkled wanly, sorrow shadowing their depths. "Yours is different."
Kairen stepped closer. "Different how?"
Vanamali put a hand on his shoulder. His touch was firm, stabilizing, but there was mass behind it — a truth bearing down on silence.
"That thing on your back," he said, his voice low.
"It is not your gift. It is your cage."
Kairen caught his breath. "My… cage?"
"The mark you bear was not to give you power," the sage went on. "It was to conceal it."
Kairen's mouth dried out. "Conceal… it?"
Vanamali nodded once, his eyes unblinked. "You bear within you a power that even the gods once feared. To keep it dormant, they imprisoned it."
Kairen looked at him, horror and disbelief entwined. His heart thundered in his ears. "You mean the mark on my back?"
Vanamali's voice dropped to a whisper, the words sinking into the still air like stones into deep water.
"That is no mark, child," he said.
"It is a seal."