The salt-crusted door of the hut didn't creak; it groaned under the weight of a presence that silenced the very wind outside.
Lira stood up instinctively, her hand flying to the dagger at her belt, her blue Mana flickering weakly in her exhausted state. Quon let out a low, uncertain rumble from his throat, his hackles rising.
Standing in the doorway was a man who looked like a mountain carved into human form. He wore heavy, travel-stained furs over a tunic of deep emerald, and a massive broadsword was strapped to his back—a blade that looked like it had tasted the blood of giants. His hair was a wild mane of dark iron-grey, and his eyes held the same piercing intensity Alhen's once had.
Kaelen of Eldervale. The Lion of the North. Alhen's father.
He didn't look at Lira. He didn't look at the shattered bowl on the floor. His gaze locked onto the slumped, white-haired figure sitting by the window—the boy who didn't even turn around at the sound of the door opening.
"So," Kaelen's voice was like grinding stones, deep and resonant. "This is where the 'Hero of the Valley' came to hide."
Alhen flinched, his shoulders tensing, but he remained staring out at the ocean. "Go away, Father. There's nothing left here for you to claim."
Kaelen stepped into the small room, the floorboards creaking under his massive boots. He walked until he stood directly behind Alhen. The shadow he cast swallowed the boy whole.
"I heard the rumors in the mountain passes," Kaelen said, his voice devoid of pity. "They said a boy with silver hair defied a High Inquisitor. They said he burned his own soul to save a Weaver and a Fen-beast. I expected to find a warrior resting. Instead, I find a coward nursing a broken ego."
Alhen finally spun around, his face pale and his grey eyes flashing with a sudden, bitter fire. "A coward? I burned my core, Father! I can't feel the Wave! I can't even lift your sword! I am a hollowed-out husk, and you come here to mock me?"
He tried to stand up to face the man, but his knees shook violently. He had to grab the edge of the table to keep from falling. The sight was pathetic—a once-vibrant Tier 3 prodigy reduced to a trembling invalid.
Kaelen didn't reach out to catch him. He didn't offer a hand. He simply watched, his expression unreadable.
"You think the 'Wave' was your strength?" Kaelen asked quietly. "You think that because you can no longer command the wind, you are no longer an Eldervale?"
"I am nothing!" Alhen roared, the effort causing him to cough, a sharp pain blooming in his chest. "I have no power! I am a disabled man in a world that eats the weak! Look at my hair! Look at my hands! I'm a ghost, Father! Just let me fade!"
Kaelen suddenly reached out—not with a hug, but with a lightning-fast grip. He seized Alhen by the front of his tunic and hauled him upward, forcing the boy to stand on his own weak legs.
"Listen to me, boy," Kaelen growled, his face inches from Alhen's. "The world didn't give you that power. The blood of your ancestors did. And that blood is still in your veins, whether it hums or whether it sits in silence. You saved a life at the cost of your magic. That is the choice of a King. But sitting here waiting for the tide to take you? That is the choice of a corpse."
He shoved Alhen back onto the stool. "I didn't trek across the Forbidden Peaks to find a corpse. I came to find my son."
Kaelen turned to Lira, his gaze softening only a fraction. "Pack the bags, girl. We leave at dawn. If he can't walk, I'll drag him. If he won't eat, I'll force it down his throat. But he will not die in this salt-box."
Alhen looked at his father's broad back, his vision blurring with tears of shame and exhaustion. "Where... where are we going? There's nowhere for someone like me."
Kaelen paused at the door, looking back over his shoulder.
"We are going to the Iron Monasteries of the South," Kaelen said firmly. "If your soul is broken, we will forge you a new one. One made of iron, not light."
Alhen looked down at his trembling hands. For the first time since the battle, a tiny, cold spark of something other than despair flickered in his chest. It wasn't the Wave. It was something harder. Something heavier.
The journey wasn't over. It had just become a much steeper climb.