The enclave traded in ashes and bones. Survivors scavenged and bartered remains for sustenance and supplies. Kael moved among them silently, observing the rituals of survival. He stole what he needed without attention, pockets filled with bread and water, careful to avoid the gaze of others.
Each corpse he passed flickered, tempting him. Each time he resisted, a fragment of memory returned, a faint reminder of who he had been before the hunger woke. But the Sight remained, ever-watchful, ever-demanding.
Kael realized the enclave was a fragile society, built on rules, fear, and fleeting trust. One misstep, one uncontrolled feed, and the walls of Ember could collapse. The cost of power was not just personal it was potential devastation for those who still clung to life.
He sat against a wall, closing his eyes, and listened. The whispers of the dead were louder than ever, but Kael felt, for the first time, the weight of responsibility pressing down with equal force.