The light in Kael's room was soft when he woke again. The fever in his head had eased a little. The weight in his chest was still there, but it no longer crushed him. He breathed slow. Quiet. A little steadier than before.
Then the door opened.
A shadow stood there. A tall young man, broad shoulders, calm eyes, and a face that looked both older and younger at the same time.
Finn.
His friend. His brother in spirit. The one he had last seen when he was thirteen.
For a full breath, neither of them moved.
Finn seemed frozen. His lips parted, but no sound came out. His eyes widened as if he was looking at something holy, something too unreal to touch.
And Kael felt something heavy break inside him.
Not pain. Not fear.
Recognition.
"Finn…" Kael whispered.
That was all it took.
Finn stepped forward with a sharp breath. The sound was small, almost a gasp, almost a sob. His steps were uneven, like his legs weren't ready for this moment. Like his body could not keep up with the storm inside him.
When he reached the bed, he sank to his knees.
"Kael…" Finn's voice cracked. One word. Just one. But it held the weight of seven lost years.
Kael reached out, fingers shaking. Finn took his hand with both of his own, holding it as if he feared it might vanish if he let go.
For a moment, they only stared.
No words were needed.
Tears came without warning. Not loud tears. Not sharp cries. Just quiet rivers that ran down their faces and broke open seven years of silence.
Finn bowed his head.
"I thought you would never wake," he said, voice low and thin. "I talked to you every month. I sat in this room for hours. I told you everything. I told you when I won my first academy match. I told you when I failed my first practice. I told you when I broke my arm. I told you when I thought I lost my way. I told you when I tried to change myself. I told you when I felt alone." His breath shivered. "I told you when I wanted to see you again, even if it was just for one minute. Just one."
Kael closed his eyes. The words sank into him like warm rain.
"You came?" Kael asked softly.
"Every time I could," Finn said. "Even when the world felt wrong. Even when people forgot you. Even when the king's men tried to erase your name. Even when your bed looked like a grave that refused to accept its guest."
Kael opened his eyes again.
"Finn, I did not hear you," he whispered. "I did not feel you. I did not know anything."
Finn smiled, sad and bright at the same time.
"You were not meant to," he said. "A sleeping mind does not hear. A silent soul does not speak. But I still came."
Kael nodded. His throat hurt.
They sat like that—hands held, breath slow, tears drying on their skin.
After a long while, Finn stood and pulled the chair closer. He sat down beside Kael, leaning forward with quiet intent.
"You look different," Finn said. "You look older. But your eyes… your eyes are still you."
Kael let out a faint breath. "I do not feel older."
"You will," Finn said, with a soft, wise tone. "The mind takes time to reach the body, but it always does."
Kael looked at his own hands again. Large. Strong. Adult hands. Hands that he barely understood.
"I lost seven years," Kael murmured.
"You lived seven years in silence," Finn corrected. "Your body grew. Your spirit survived. Time did not take everything from you."
Kael looked at him.
"You speak like a monk now."
Finn shrugged with a faint smile. "Life has strange ways of teaching. Pain is the most honest teacher."
Kael nodded slowly. "I know that too well."
For a moment, the air grew heavy.
They both fell quiet. Not because they ran out of words, but because some truths were too deep to touch with speech.
Kael broke the silence first.
"What happened to you in these years?" he asked.
Finn leaned back and breathed out.
"I learned that strength is not in fists or speed or power," he said. "Strength is in patience. In control. In the calm you hold when the world tries to shake you." He looked at Kael carefully. "I learned that waiting is a form of loyalty. And I learned that hope is a kind of courage."
Kael listened, letting each word settle inside him.
"And you?" Finn asked. "What do you remember?"
Kael closed his eyes again. The memories were sharp, cold, and broken.
"I remember pain," he said quietly. "I remember fear. I remember people asking questions I could not answer. I remember wanting everything to stop. And then… darkness. A long darkness with no voice and no sense."
Finn's face tightened. "You do not have to tell me."
"I want to," Kael said, surprising himself. "Not to relive it. But to understand it. To take the weight out of the memory by placing it into words."
Finn nodded slowly. "Then speak."
Kael breathed. Steady. Controlled. He spoke in a low tone.
"I felt like I died," he said. "Not on the outside. On the inside." He touched his chest lightly. "Like something broke in me. Something that is still broken."
Finn reached out and rested a hand over Kael's.
"You are not broken," he said. "You are healing. Healing and breaking are almost the same thing. Both hurt. Both change you. But healing leads forward."
Kael looked at him with tired eyes. "How did you grow so wise?"
"Pain," Finn answered simply. "And waiting."
Kael gave a small, faint smile. "Then we have both grown."
Finn nodded.
They spoke for hours.
Not like children.
Not like teenagers.
But like men whose minds had been shaped by time, fear, and deep thought.
Their words were simple, but each word carried weight. Meaning. Depth.
They talked about the past, the years missed, the days lost.
They talked about Rowan. About Zara. About the academy.
They talked about the world that had changed while Kael slept.
Finn told Kael how he trained, how he struggled, how he grew into a calm, sharp-minded young man who saw the world with clear eyes.
Kael listened with quiet hunger. Every detail felt like a thread tying him back to the world he had been forced to leave.
Kael told Finn about the darkness he felt, the strange dreams, the broken sense of time inside him. He described how waking up felt like stepping into a life that did not belong to him.
Finn listened without judgment. Without fear. With the stillness of someone who understood the shape of wounds that could not be seen.
Sometimes they fell silent, not because they were done speaking, but because silence itself had become a form of truth.
At one point, Finn said:
"Kael, life is strange. It gives without asking. It takes without warning. But you are here now. And that is enough to begin again."
Kael looked at him deeply.
"And you are still my friend," Kael said. "That is enough to stand again."
Finn smiled, slow and warm.
"Always."
The sun moved across the window, turning the light from gold to soft white. The air grew warmer, calmer. For the first time since waking, Kael felt a sense of peace touch the edges of his mind.
He glanced at Finn.
"You waited for me," Kael said.
Finn looked back with steady eyes.
"You came back," he replied. "Both are equal."
Hours passed like minutes.
When Rowan peeked into the room later, he found the two boys—now young men—still speaking, still holding on to the thin thread that linked their old life to this new, unfamiliar one.
Kael looked at his father, then at Finn.
For the first time in seven years, he did not feel lost.
He felt found.