Kael left the enclave before nightfall, accompanied by silence and the faint hum of the Sight. The Witch had warned him not to go alone, but this was something he needed to see with his own eyes.
The land told a story as he followed the trail.
Villages lay empty, not destroyed, but emptied. The souls were gone not lingering, not fragmented consumed. Entire populations reduced to hollow echoes. Kael felt it in his bones, a gnawing absence where life once burned bright.
The hunger recoiled in fear and fascination.
Whoever had done this was like Kael, but unrestrained. A mirror warped by indulgence.
Kael knelt in the center of one abandoned settlement, closing his eyes. The Sight flared painfully, showing him the remnants of the Devourer's passing: soul-threads torn violently, memories ripped apart and swallowed whole.
He staggered, gasping.
This was what he could become.
Power without limit. Hunger without conscience.
For the first time since awakening the Sight, Kael felt something close to terror not of the dead, but of himself.
"I won't be that," he whispered.
But the hunger answered softly:
You could be stronger.