Cracked cobblestones split beneath careless feet, and smoke clung to the air like a habit no one bothered to break.
The village breathed slowly—old, tired, uncurious.
Against the tavern wall, Kaelen Morvach leaned back, eyes resting on the hilt of his sword as if it were the only thing in the world that made sense.
People passed him without looking twice.
That was fine.
He had learned early that still things survived longer.
A familiar presence closed the distance—light steps, careless energy.
With a playful shove to his shoulder, Ira broke his stillness.
"Still can't make a spark, huh?"
She jogged up beside him, a shriveled vegetable clutched in her hand, her grin sharp but familiar.
"I swear, you're just empty metal… useless."
Kaelen barely reacted. Only a small, tired smile tugged at his lips.
Laughing, she leaned closer, eyes glinting.
"Oh, don't give me that look. You know I'm right. Empty metal… that's exactly what you are."
He tilted his head, studying her. When his gaze finally met hers, it was warmer than she expected.
"Come on, Ira. It's not like I don't have any magic."
"Besides, magic or no magic, I'm determined to pull through."
A soft chuckle slipped out of him.
Her composure cracked instantly. The grin she'd been holding burst free—genuine and unguarded.
Watching her laugh, something shifted in Kaelen's chest.
He'd seen her smile a thousand times—but this one was warmer.
Before he could stop himself, the words escaped.
"Wow… you're beautiful."
His heart kicked violently. He rubbed his fingers hard into his palm, grounding himself.
Without missing a beat, her fist smacked his shoulder.
"Obviously!"
She spun away dramatically, pigtails snapping across his face.
"I'm the most beautiful in the village. So you've got some competition… hmm!"
The moment shattered.
A sharp, thin laugh cut through the square—followed by the rhythmic clack-clack of polished leather on stone.
A sound too expensive for this street.
Caelum stepped around the corner, silk sleeves pinned back to avoid the grime. He didn't look at Kaelen. He looked at the ground, nose wrinkling as if the very air offended him.
The rune on his wrist didn't just glow—it hummed, a low vibration that made teeth ache and skin prickle.
"Still playing in the dirt, Ira?" he asked, voice airy, bored.
He finally looked up, eyes sliding over her with clinical pity.
"I heard a rumor you were still waiting for a spark. Fifteen years."
A pause.
"At what point does a blessing just become a birth defect?"
Heat rose in Ira's neck.
The shame curdled—twisting into a need to hurt something. Anything.
Her knuckles went white around the vegetable.
She hurled it.
It burst against Caelum's boot in a wet, pathetic spray of pulp.
Caelum didn't flinch. He looked down at the stain, then back up—disgust settling in.
"You see?" he said calmly.
His gaze flicked past her, finally acknowledging Kaelen.
"This is what happens when you let the Unmarked mingle with the stalled."
A thin smile.
"You start acting like animals. Because you have nothing else to reach for."
Kaelen moved.
Not dramatically.
Not loudly.
He stepped into Caelum's space—tall, solid, unavoidable.
"You're getting mud on your shoes," Kaelen said flatly.
"Maybe you should go find a rug to stand on."
The air thickened.
Windows creaked open. Doors cracked just enough for watching eyes.
No one interfered.
To challenge a noble—even a child—was treason.
Caelum laughed out loud, sharp and cold.
"Oh? And who are you supposed to be?"
His eyes swept Kaelen—clothes, sword, posture—and curled with amusement.
"Ah. Of course. The unmarked stray."
Then, smiling wider, he looked back to Ira.
"Fitting, really. A girl whose rune sleeps, standing beside a boy who never had one worth naming."
Kaelen's jaw tightened.
"At least mine answered," Caelum continued lightly.
"Yours?" He tilted his head.
"Perhaps it knows better."
Kaelen didn't move.
"Bold words for someone hiding behind bloodlines."
"Bold?" Caelum stepped closer. "No. Honest."
He gestured lazily between them.
"You're both unfinished things. Half-blessings. Mistakes the Titans forgot to correct."
Kaelen's voice stayed steady.
"Magic or no magic, I can still make my mark."
Caelum scoffed.
"We'll see. One day I'll wear knightsteel."
"And when I do, this village—and failures like you—will crumble into footnotes."
A thin line of blood stained his lip where he'd bitten too hard on his own words.
Kaelen didn't flinch.
"Empty threats from empty boys leave empty echoes."
Caelum spat on the stone.
"I hope you're ready, Kaelen."
He turned and walked away, silks brushing the ground.
Only after he was gone did the village breathe again.
Ira didn't look at Kaelen.
Her eyes stayed on the dirt, fingers clawing at her arms as if scraping off Caelum's gaze.
"How could he…" she hissed. "Compare me to you."
Her voice trembled—then hardened.
"A boy with no essence. No blessing. Nothing."
She wasn't speaking to Kaelen.
She was speaking to the version of herself the village had already buried.
Kaelen's hand, reaching out, stopped mid-air.
"Oh," he said softly.
"You're just like them, aren't you?"
Her reaction was violent. She shoved his hand away.
"This only happened because of you!"
Her scream cracked through the square.
"How could he compare me to someone who can't even control his soul essence?!"
Kaelen flinched—not from the volume, but from the finality.
The villagers emerged fully now, whispers crawling over his skin.
He looked at her.
Quietly. Reflexively.
"It's not my fault."
Her anger sharpened.
"Not my fault? I feel like tearing your throat out!"
The light in his eyes dimmed.
The warmth he'd been holding went quiet.
His eyes dulled—like a room someone forgot to keep lit.
He stepped back.
One step.
And another.
Reality caught up to her too late.
The rage collapsed. Tears spilled as she ran after him.
"Kaelen! I'm—I'm sorry! I didn't mean—"
He stopped.
Not because of her voice.
Because he was done moving.
He didn't turn fully. Just enough.
"It's fine," he said calmly. "You were angry."
As she reached for him, his hand slipped away.
"I have to go."
While walking away, the words slipped out—his voice deadened, monotone.
"DON'T. BOTHER."
He paused, raised his head to the sky.
His voice softened.
"Don't bother apologizing."
Then he continued walking.
She froze.
The space around him felt wrong—not violent.
Just… aware.
It wasn't Kaelen.
But whatever looked through her eyes in that moment decided she wasn't worth explaining anything to.