T
The boy didn't return the next morning.
Kaelen remained at the edge of the village, sitting on a stone worn smooth by time and weather. He didn't sleep, not really—just rested with his back against the post of a broken fence, eyes half-closed but listening. Always listening.
The wind here was different. It didn't carry screams or fire. Just distant chatter, the murmur of life lived quietly.
By midday, another figure approached. Smaller than the first boy—barely past Kaelen's knee. Dirty sandals slapped against the dirt as the child stopped in front of him, head tilted up, squinting against the sun.
"You're the man who doesn't sleep, right?" the girl asked.
Kaelen didn't answer.
The child didn't seem to mind. "Mom said I should bring you something to eat. You don't look like you eat much."
The girl held out a woven basket. Inside—warm bread, a small bowl of root stew, and two slices of dried meat. Humble, but made with care.
Kaelen didn't take it. The boy frowned.
"Are you sick? You walk funny," she said, eyes scanning the bandages beneath Kaelen's sleeve.
Kaelen finally moved. Slowly. Carefully. As if his body had forgotten how.
"Just tired."
It wasn't a lie.
He reached out for the basket—and flinched. Not from the food, but from the boy's hand brushing against his. Just for a second. Just enough to pull him into a memory he didn't ask for.
He jerked his hand back.
The girl blinked, startled but not frightened. "You okay?"
Kaelen closed his eyes for a breath. When he opened them, the child was still there. Still looking up at him with that naive, terrifying trust.
"I'm fine," Kaelen muttered.
"You can come to our house if you want," the girl said. "Mom made extra stew. And my dad says it's polite to help people who look like walking scarecrows."
Kaelen almost chuckled. Almost.
He stood, slower than he would've liked. His knees ached. A deep ache, from the last few days.From a body that had once carried armies on its back, now dragging itself toward a quiet porch in a nameless village.
The girl led him without fear. Through the narrow paths, past homes patched with cloth and clay. No soldiers. No banners. Just people. Living.
The girl's mother was waiting. She was thin but bright-eyed, a scarf around her neck, hiding a cough she failed to stifle. Her husband met them with a tired smile and a strong grip—too warm for someone Kaelen had just met.
They said nothing about the Hollowed Spine at his side. Nothing about his scars or silence. Just offered a seat, a bowl, and a moment.
Kaelen didn't thank them. Didn't know how.
He simply sat down.
For a moment, just one... the weight on his back felt a little lighter.