Heir of Embers

The trees began to thin as Kael moved closer to the smoke, 

each step stirring ash-stained soil beneath his boots.

The trail he'd spotted from the ridge curled between crooked branches, 

rising in slow spirals—like breath from something half-asleep.

Twilight deepened. 

The wind shifted.

And with it— 

a scent.

Charcoal. Burnt meat. Old sweat.

Someone had been here.

He stepped into a clearing, 

tucked behind a black boulder, and stopped.

A small firepit sat nestled in the roots of a leaning tree, 

its stones scorched black.

The flames were gone— 

but the wood still smoldered, 

low orange light pulsing like a dying heart.

Kael scanned the scene.

A bedroll, half-unraveled. 

Torn cloth snagged in bark. 

A metal cup tipped into the grass.

Bootprints—fresh.

Messy. Deep.

Whoever left… ran.

What were they running from?

He knelt beside the firepit, 

hand hovering above the embers.

Still warm.

Not more than an hour gone.

He blew softly. 

The charred wood flared back to life—timid flames licking upward.

They were just here.

Kael's gaze drifted to the tree line.

Something tugged at the edge of his senses— 

not System-born, 

not instinct.

A stillness in the wind. 

A hush in the leaves. 

A presence in the flame.

The fire was watching him.

His eyes landed on a nearby tree.

A mark had been carved into the bark— 

a flame, crossed out by a single diagonal slash.

Ash clung to the grooves. 

Old enough to crack. 

Fresh enough to whisper meaning.

Kael rose slowly, 

his hand drifting toward the hilt of a weapon not yet summoned.

Then—

A rustle.

Behind him.

Low. 

Intentional.

Kael turned.

Eyes narrowed. 

Breath caught.

But the forest only answered with wind.

Still— 

he wasn't alone.

Behind a tree, 

a voice spoke up.

Real. 

Not a hallucination.

Not a past version of himself.

"You've got to soften up man! You can't make friends wearing a face like that!"

"Sends shivers down a guy's spine!"

Slowly emerging from behind a tree, 

a young man around a similar age.

He had warm brown skin

and sharp grey eyes that shifted like storm clouds.

There was a faint scar carved along his jaw. 

At a glance, he had a lean, agile build.

A charcoal colored scarf adorning his neck.

At his hips, sheathed dual blades.

Their hilts, engraved with runes resembling dancing flames.

A bright smile graced the stranger's face— 

not the slightest hint of discomfort.

"Name's Riven. Pleased to make your grumpy-faced acquaintance."

Kael didn't move.

He stared.

Jaw clenched. 

Shoulders tense. 

One hand hovering near his hip—ready to summon Ashreaver at a breath's notice.

A full minute passed.

Riven's smile began to twitch. 

Slight. Strained.

Kael's voice cut the silence like a blade.

"What do you want?"

Riven blinked. Then—

"Oh?! It speaks!"

He muttered under his breath, "What do I want? You're the one who barged into my little sanctuary and ruined my dinner. Unreasonable, stinky ba—"

"I can hear you."

A long, exasperated sigh. 

Riven threw up his hands.

"Yeah, yeah, man. I know—you can't be too careful in the ___." 

He gestured vaguely at the woods. 

"But I swear, you won't meet anyone more trustworthy than me."

Kael narrowed his eyes.

"Sounds like something someone untrustworthy would say."

Riven's eyes widened. 

He dropped into a perfect mockery of Kael's voice:

"Sounds like something someone untrustworthy would say."

Then, a finger-pointed accusation: 

"You're untrustworthy!"

Kael almost choked on a breath. 

Was this guy serious?

Riven clapped his hands together.

"Okay. Look. We can't just stand here awkwardly forever. It's almost dark, I'm starving, and you look like you haven't slept in a thousand years."

He bent down, nudging a small pack near the firepit.

"Here's the deal: I share what's left of my food. We take turns doing night watch. I'll sleep first—so you know I'm not blowing ash up your ass."

Kael's posture eased.

His shoulders sagged. 

Fists uncurled. 

His breathing slowed.

It had been so long since he felt even the faintest thread of trust.

But something about Riven—

Something said it was okay to loosen his grip.

He stepped forward. 

Offered his hand.

Ash-coated. Burnt. Human.

"Alright, you can call me Kael. Here's to a non-lethal cooperation… heh."

Riven rolled his eyes and clasped it.

"Here's to a non-lethal cooperation, Stinky Guy With An Evil Laugh."

The sun finally dipped below the horizon. 

Dusk settled over the world, 

and moonlight trickled through the trees like silver breath.

They sat across from each other, firelight flickering between them— 

casting long shadows and half-lit truths.

For a while, neither spoke.

Then—

Kael's voice broke the quiet.

"So... how'd you end up here?"

Riven didn't answer at first. 

He watched the flames twist, 

their reflections dancing in Kael's eyes.

Finally, he exhaled.

"My team and I were out searching for food."

His voice was low. 

Even.

"We were ambushed by Screechers. Dozens of them. We didn't stand a chance."

He reached down and stirred the embers with a stick— 

watching them glow, then dim.

"Half of us stayed to fight. Create a distraction." 

A pause. 

His jaw clenched.

"They told me to run. I didn't want to—was gonna hold the line too."

He gave a short, bitter laugh.

"But those idiots knocked me out cold and stashed me in a ditch like a sack of grain." 

"When I came to… they were all gone.

The crackle of the fire filled the silence that followed.

Then, softer—

"I've been trying to get back to camp for ten days." 

"They probably think I'm dead."

Kael stared into the fire.

The silence stretched.

Ten days alone… 

Watching your people die. 

Thinking you were abandoned.

It shouldn't have hit him so hard. 

But it did.

An ache—not his own—shivered in his chest. 

And a memory.

Blood on stone. 

A dying torch. 

Elijah.

He exhaled through his nose.

"They sound like idiots," he muttered, eyes still fixed on the flame. 

"Brave, lovable, stupid idiots."

Riven chuckled, low and dry. "Yeah. That's the kind of people I end up with."**

Kael looked up, his expression hidden in shadow. But his jaw unclenched.

"Hope your camp's still out there."

"Yeah..." Riven rubbed the back of his neck. "They're a strong bunch."

Another beat of silence.

Then—

"You got anyone you're trying to get back to?"

Kael hesitated.

His hand flexed slightly at his side—an unconscious motion, as if reaching for a memory that refused to be held.

Riven caught the shift in his posture. His voice softened.

"Hey… it's okay if you don't want to share."

Kael didn't answer at first.

Then finally, with a shake of his head—

"Not anymore."

A pause.

Riven's tone softened.

"I'm sorry, Kael. If you ever want to talk about it… I'm here."

Kael blinked once. The fire crackled between them.

"Thanks, Riven."

Then—like sunlight breaking through storm clouds, Riven slipped back into his usual grin.

"Alright, buddy. I'm gonna get some rest."

He stood with a stretch, joints popping. "Time to go pretend I'm a caterpillar."

He pointed lazily over his shoulder. "Wake me up if you're dying. Or if something tries to eat your spleen. Either or."

With that, he flopped into his bedroll, rolled onto his side, and tugged the scarf over half his face.

Just as Kael thought the conversation was over—

"Nice trick with the fire, by the way."

Kael blinked. 

"…Huh? What do you mean?"

No answer.

Just the soft rise and fall of breath.

He stared at Riven's back—now bundled in the bedroll, completely still.

A faint snore followed.

Kael narrowed his eyes.

His mind drifted—to the clearing, the cold embers, the way the flame had flickered back to life beneath his breath.

He was watching.

He glanced back at the fire, now burning low.

"Hmph."

He's not as simple as he seems.