The morning smelled of ash and death.
They broke camp in silence. The corpses of the assassins still lay scattered across the clearing, flies already gathering around open wounds. Ruvan tried not to look as he packed his bedroll, but his gaze kept drifting to the body he had killed.
Or rather… the body that Solrend had killed for him.
The corpse was burnt straight through the chest, a blackened hole smouldering where his heart had been. The man's mouth hung open, frozen in a final scream. His eyes were clouded, staring at nothing.
Ruvan turned away, bile rising in his throat.
The Walk Away
They left the clearing, riding single-file through the early morning gloom. Mist drifted between the trees like ghostly dancers. Branches dripped with last night's rain, cold drops spattering against Ruvan's cloak as they passed.
No one spoke.
Every time Ruvan blinked, he saw the assassin's corpse. Burnt. Empty. Erased.
His stomach twisted tighter with each step of his horse. He could still feel the surge of energy Solrend had poured through him. It had been hot, blinding, vast – like trying to hold a river of molten steel in bare hands. And when it was over, all that remained was silence and death.
I didn't even swing properly, he thought. The blade… it did it itself.
Elion's Kindness
They stopped to rest midmorning. Kellan set snares along the deer trails while Elion sat beside Ruvan on a mossy rock. The healer's golden eyes were calm and warm as dawn.
"Talk to me," Elion said gently.
Ruvan shook his head, staring down at his hands. They were shaking again, just like last night. "I… I didn't mean to kill him like that. It just… it just happened."
Elion laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. "You protected yourself. And you protected us."
Ruvan clenched his fists. "But he… he was a person. Even if he was trying to kill us. He had a family. A life. And I just… I erased it. Like it was nothing."
Elion's fingers tightened gently. "Death is never nothing," he said softly. "It always costs something. To them… and to us."
Ruvan swallowed hard. His chest felt tight, as if Solrend's energy still burned there. "Then why… why does this blade choose me? I'm no killer. I don't even know how to fight properly."
"Maybe that's exactly why it chose you," Elion said. "Because you don't want to kill."
Kellan's Caution
Kellan returned, his boots silent on the damp grass.
"We should keep moving," he said, eyes flicking briefly to Ruvan. There was something guarded in his gaze. "No telling if those assassins had allies nearby."
He didn't say You did well. He didn't say You saved us.
He just strapped his sword back to his belt and walked to his horse.
Ruvan watched him go, a lump of ice settling in his gut. Kellan had seen what Solrend did. Had seen how effortlessly it had burned a man alive.
And now he looked at Ruvan like… like he was something dangerous.
Onward
They rode west in silence.
Ruvan kept his hood up, trying to hide from Kellan's wary glances. The forest seemed quieter today. No birdsong. No rustling underbrush. Only the creak of their saddles and the occasional clink of Solrend's hilt against his scabbard.
They passed under towering firs draped with grey-green moss. Sunlight fell in dappled beams across the path, lighting drifting motes of pollen and dust.
At midday, they stopped by a stream to let the horses drink. Kellan checked their packs while Elion refilled their waterskins.
Ruvan crouched by the bank, staring at his reflection rippling in the water. His face looked pale and gaunt. Dark shadows ringed his eyes. He reached up and touched his cheek, half-expecting it to feel scorched.
But it was just skin. Damp with sweat and cold mist.
The Confession
Elion approached, kneeling beside him. "Drink," he said, offering a waterskin.
Ruvan took it, gulping down the cool clean water. It eased his dry throat but did nothing for the sour taste in his mouth.
"Do you hate me now?" he asked quietly.
Elion tilted his head. "Why would I hate you?"
"Because…" Ruvan's voice cracked. "Because I killed him. Because I didn't even… I didn't even think. I just wanted him to stop."
Elion laid his hand over Ruvan's. "Listen to me," he said softly. "You didn't choose to become a killer. You chose to protect. That is a different thing, even if the result looks the same."
Ruvan shook his head. "Kellan doesn't think so."
"Kellan has seen too many people use power for cruelty," Elion said. "He doesn't hate you. He fears what this sword makes you."
Kellan's Guarded Words
When they rode again, Ruvan forced himself to ride beside Kellan.
"Why won't you look at me?" he asked bluntly.
Kellan glanced over, his dark eyes unreadable beneath his tousled hair. "I'm looking at you right now."
"That's not what I mean," Ruvan said. "You're… different today. Cold. Distant."
Kellan sighed. "I'm not angry at you, kid."
"Then what?"
Kellan was silent for a while. Only the rhythm of hooves on packed earth filled the gap between them. Finally, he said:
"I've seen men who carried weapons like yours. Weapons with… minds of their own. And it never ends well."
Ruvan swallowed. "Do you think I'll become like them?"
Kellan didn't answer.
And that silence was sharper than any blade.
Nightfall Fears
They camped in a hollow between two ancient elms, their roots twisted like sleeping serpents. Kellan set a perimeter of tripwires and dangling tin scraps to warn of intruders. Elion tended the horses and prepared a thin stew of mushrooms, herbs, and dried rabbit.
Ruvan sat apart from them, Solrend resting across his lap. He ran his thumb along the chipped edge, feeling the faint pulse of energy deep within the steel. It felt like a heartbeat… but not his own.
Who are you? he wondered. Why do you burn so easily?
The blade did not answer. Only a faint warmth flickered under his hand, like a sleeping animal stirring in its den.
Elion's Prayer
After dinner, Elion sat beside him, staff across his knees. He began to sing softly – an old prayer in the language of the Eastern Monasteries.
"Lai ka silen, lai ka doran…"
The words curled like incense smoke through the quiet camp, settling peace into Ruvan's restless chest.
"What does it mean?" he asked.
Elion smiled faintly. "It means: May the light within you remain yours, untouched by shadow."
Ruvan closed his eyes, letting the words soak through him. He felt the tension in his shoulders ease, if only a little.
Kellan's Final Words
Before sleep, Kellan crouched beside him, poking the dying embers with a stick.
"You did good yesterday," he said quietly. "Don't let it swallow you. Don't let it own you."
Ruvan looked up sharply. Kellan's face was in shadow, but his voice carried a rough, honest warmth.
"You think I won't?" Ruvan asked.
Kellan grunted. "I think it's your choice. Just remember… power never comes free. Especially not that blade's."
He stood and walked away, leaving Ruvan alone with the crackling fire and the silent pulse of Solrend beneath his fingers.
Dreams of Ash and Bone
That night, Ruvan dreamed again.
He stood in a throne room of black stone, its pillars cracked and weeping molten ash. The crowned figure from his earlier dreams sat upon a crumbling throne, face hidden by shadows. At his feet lay a great chained creature with burning eyes and broken horns.
The figure spoke, voice echoing with ancient grief:
"You have taken the first life. Now the blade knows your worth."
Ruvan fell to his knees. "I don't want this. I don't want to be a killer."
A gloved hand extended, touching his brow. It burned like ice and fire together.
"Then be more than a killer. Be its master. Or become its feast."
The creature at the figure's feet snarled, chains rattling as it lunged against its bonds. Its eyes burned with hunger and despair.
Ruvan woke in darkness, tears streaking his cheeks, Solrend clutched tight against his chest.
The Morning Resolve
When dawn came, he rose before the others. The sky was pale lavender, streaked with thin orange light. Mist coiled through the trees, silent and secretive.
He strapped Solrend to his back, feeling its weight settle against his spine.
Be its master, he thought. Not its feast.
He didn't know what that would require. But he knew one thing:
He would never let that burning power consume him again. If the blade was alive… it would learn to obey him.
Because he would fight. And he would be worthy.
No matter how much blood it took.