There he stood, close at my side. After that, nothing but quiet.
It was Sorin.
Kael would keep circling back - weeks maybe, or longer - for the precise second things changed, yet never quite piece it together. Here lies its sharp edge. A person assumes such weighty instants make noise. They imagine time stretches thin, offers space to act, even just look clearly. Reality skips ahead. The shift slips through the silence between thoughts; glance over and what remains is only history.
Suddenly it struck him - Sorin should've stood at his side. Moving ahead during the clash, they'd advanced as one when the opposing force cracked, regrouped, then shattered once more. A short pause followed, quiet almost like calm, pressure lifting just enough for Kael to rise, pivot, ready a remark - simple words meant for only Sorin - and yet, no answer came because the space stayed empty.
His eyes dropped before his thoughts did, revealing a truth he'd known but never named.
Sorin lay flat, facing upward. Sky filled his gaze, steady and wide awake. A hole marked his chest - no discussion, just damage done. Thought clung to him, sharp and unfinished. His stare held still, caught mid-idea.
Kael lowered himself next to the man, one knee pressing into the dirt.
On his knees without recall of how he got there. Hands gripping Sorin's coat, voice repeating the name - same rhythm folks fall into when names lose power but mouths keep moving anyway.
Sorin turned his eyes toward the man. A flicker crossed his face - familiarity, then another thing, maybe a try at his normal teasing way, the chuckle that jumped in ahead of any punchline, though now it stayed away. Only the effort showed. Just the outline remained.
His gaze remained fixed, yet no longer saw. The world stayed visible, though he did not take it in.
There he stood, Kael did. Still.
He lay still while the fight rolled on, careless of where he fell. Feet crunched by in dirt and grit. A voice cracked out directions nearby. Into the earth an arrow slammed, four paces off, shaking like it meant to speak.
Stillness held him in place.
This froze him - no fear, no strategy, just thought collapsing at an edge too sharp to grasp, like a machine locking up mid-turn. Ahead of Bren, that is where he said he'd stay. The real cause behind the fighting - that is what he swore he'd uncover. Tasks filled the hours, movements faced outward, steps that made sense of each morning. Yet here lay Sorin, staring upward, breath gone, and every plan cracked apart beneath the weight.
Out of the smoke came Ysse. One look told her everything. Her hand landed on Kael's shoulder - not soft, but sure, like dragging a body up from drowning.
He left, she stated. Without harshness. Simply fact.
Kael turned his eyes toward her.
"Bren is behind the supply line, wounded but standing," she said. "Orren is with him. We need to move."
Back he glanced toward Sorin. Open eyes met his gaze. That look - trying, yet falling short - stayed fixed in place.
He stood up.
He went.