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The next day, Kael woke up with the sensation that every muscle in his body had been consumed by the fire of an invisible battle.
The light of dawn filtered through the wooden shutters, drawing golden lines across the stone floor.
Each breath sent a painful shiver through him, but it wasn't his body's fatigue that gnawed at him—it was his soul's.
His dream from the night before still haunted him. Those frozen stares. That total silence. And that phrase that kept echoing:
"You will save them… but at what cost?"
Kael lay there for a few minutes, staring at the ceiling. His heart beat too loudly, as if refusing to follow the rhythm of the world.
A soft voice pulled him from his thoughts.
— "Kael… are you coming?" asked Erya, already dressed, tying her hair into a high ponytail.
He turned his head toward her and attempted a smile. — "Yeah… I'm coming."
She looked at him for a moment, as if trying to pierce through what he was hiding behind his calm tone. But she eventually shrugged, not pressing further.
The group left the village shortly after. The morning air was fresh, filled with the scent of damp earth and crushed flowers. The streets, still decorated from the festivities, seemed to have forgotten the war. But Kael hadn't forgotten anything.
They walked in silence along the eastern road.
Lyric whistled a cheerful tune, trying to break the monotony.
Thane brought up the rear, his imposing silhouette outlined by the rising sun.
Erya, between them, occasionally glanced at Kael. He seemed absent, his gaze lost somewhere beyond the horizon.
— "Hey," Lyric said suddenly, tapping Kael's shoulder. "If you keep making that face, we'll have to bury you alive before the next village."
Kael blinked, surprised. — "Huh?"
— "You know, that face of a guy who just found out wine's banned for life," he added with a wide grin.
Erya shook her head, amused despite herself. — "Lyric, one day your jokes will earn you a sword to the ribs."
— "Maybe, but at least I'll die laughing," he replied, winking at her.
Thane gave a faint smile.
Even Kael let out a breath of laughter—but it sounded hollow, empty.
No one dared to point it out.
The day stretched on, marked by walking and training.
Whenever they stopped, Kael would distance himself from the group, grabbing his sword to train alone.
His movements were precise, methodical, almost mechanical.
With each strike, you could feel the restrained rage, the silent fear.
Erya often watched him from afar, arms crossed, a worried crease between her brows.
— "He's wearing himself out," she murmured to Lyric.
— "Yeah… looks like he's trying to fight the wind," Lyric replied, more serious than usual.
— "It's not the wind," Thane said calmly. "It's something else. Something he's keeping to himself."
Erya clenched her fists. — "Then he needs to talk. Tell us what's eating at him."
— "And what if he can't?" Lyric added.
Silence fell. Only the sound of blades slicing the air reached them.
Kael trained until nightfall.
His hands bled, his muscles trembled, but he kept going.
He struck again and again, until his arms refused to move.
When he finally collapsed onto a rock, panting, the sun was disappearing behind the hills.
The sky blazed orange and purple.
"If strength isn't enough…" he thought, "then I have only one option left."
The Time Artifact.
The mere name sent shivers through elders and scholars alike.
A relic from the First Cycle, capable of rewriting the fabric of the world.
But it belonged to the Demon King—and anyone who approached it without his blessing never came back alive.
Kael knew that.
And yet… he no longer feared death.
What he feared was reliving the scene from his vision—those corpses, that field of ruins, their lifeless faces.
— "No matter what it takes…" he murmured. "Even if I have to become what I hate."
Night fell. The group set up camp near a lake.
The fire crackled softly, casting orange glows on their faces.
Lyric prepared the meal while humming, mixing herbs with no method at all.
Erya watched him, half amused, half exasperated.
Thane carved wood to feed the flames.
And Kael, off to the side, sharpened his blade.
— "Not sleeping?" Lyric asked, mouth full.
— "Not yet."
— "Honestly, you're worse than me. Even demons sleep more than you."
— "Maybe they have less to lose," Kael replied without looking up.
Silence fell.
Lyric set down his spoon, slightly embarrassed.
Erya looked at Kael for a long moment, then whispered:
— "You don't have to carry the world alone, Kael. We're here, you know."
He looked up at her, his gray eyes shining in the firelight.
— "And what if you weren't anymore?"
She frowned. — "What do you mean?"
— "Nothing… just a thought. Forget it."
But she didn't forget.
That night, they fell asleep one by one.
Kael stayed awake, eyes turned toward the sky.
The stars shone, impassive, indifferent to human torment.
He closed his eyes.
He dreamed.
The village of Valdros reappeared, bathed in golden light.
Musicians played, children laughed, his friends danced among the crowd.
Everything was identical to the post-battle celebration.
But this time, he felt something was wrong.
The air was too calm.
The colors too vivid.
And suddenly, one by one, the faces turned toward him.
Lyric stopped laughing.
Thane lowered his head.
Erya stepped forward—her eyes filled with tears and anger.
Kael backed away, trapped by their stares.
— "Why?" Erya asked, her voice broken.
— "I… I didn't mean to…"
— "You said you wanted to protect us," Thane intervened, "but look."
Around him, the villagers melted like wax, their silhouettes dissolving into the air.
He tried to run, but his legs were rooted to the ground.
Lyric approached slowly, a sad smile on his lips.
— "You still don't get it, huh?"
Kael trembled. — "Get what?"
— "It's not time you want to save, Kael. It's your guilt."
Silence fell.
Then a voice, deep and ancient, rose behind him.
"You will save them… but at what cost?"
He turned around and saw a silhouette in the shadows.
His own reflection.
Its eyes were empty.
Its smile… inhuman.
"The hero will become the end."
The world exploded into fragments of light.
Kael woke with a start.
His heart pounded wildly.
The fire had gone out, leaving only glowing embers.
The others slept peacefully.
Everything seemed normal.
But he knew nothing was.
He left the camp, knelt by the lake.
The calm surface reflected his face—but the water vibrated, as if trembling from an invisible breath.
His eyes looked darker than before.
He placed a hand on his chest.
Beneath his fingers, a dull, foreign warmth pulsed slowly.
As if time itself beat within his heart.
"I'll do what's necessary… even if I lose everything."
A cold breeze brushed the lake's surface.
And in that nearly imperceptible breath, he thought he heard that phrase again—from a future he hadn't yet betrayed:
"Keep that smile… even if one day, I'm no longer of this world."
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