The morning sun rose behind a curtain of mist, casting golden hues across the enclave's moss-covered stones. Smoke curled gently from the central fire, where the embers of the Rite of Burning still glowed faintly from the night before. They had let the flames carry Darian into the sky in silence, as was custom. No words were spoken during the rite, for the dead could not hear them but Cael had whispered his anyway.
"I'm sorry, Father. For not being stronger."
The scent of cedar and ash lingered, mingling with morning dew as the small gathering assembled to see Cael and Fen off.
Cael stood near the gate of the enclave, his pack secured, his father's twin blades strapped to his back. Fen was beside him, tightening the final strap on his own gear. His golden-brown hair, usually wild and tangled, had been pulled back with a strip of leather. The boy though only two years younger than Cael had the bearing of someone older. His bright, observant eyes, one pale gray and the other dark brown, flicked across the group as though trying to memorize every face.
Old Maret stepped forward, his weathered hands gripping his cane. His eyes were red-rimmed but resolute. "This place has stood for nearly two centuries," he began, voice gravelly but strong. "It will stand long after the two of you are gone. But while you're out there... carry its memory with you. You are the last of your lines Cael, son of Darian. Fen, blood of Aldan. Let your ancestors walk beside you."
"We'll make them proud," Fen said quietly, and Cael nodded in agreement.
Korr approached next, his arms crossed, the sleeves of his dark coat fluttering in the wind. He studied Cael for a moment, then held out a small object a smooth, flat stone carved with a sigil.
"Take this," Korr said. "Wards off minor spirits and keeps you warm at night. It's not much, but it's a comfort when things get dark."
Cael took the stone, feeling the faint hum of essence within it. "Thank you… for everything. You saved me back there."
Korr grunted. "You'll repay it by surviving. And by keeping him" he jerked his chin toward Fen "from getting killed."
"I'm right here, you know," Fen said, raising an eyebrow.
Korr ignored him. "You're heading into broken lands. Abandoned roads. There's no one coming to help you if you screw up. So don't screw up."
Cael gave a tired smile. "We'll try our best."
Old Maret hobbled over to Fen and placed something into his hand. "The flask," he said. "The enchantment will replenish it twice a day. Water, tea, even broth if you ask kindly. But don't get greedy it'll cut you off for being rude."
Fen laughed softly. "I'll say please, then."
Maret nodded. "Good lad. And here" He handed a small leather pouch to Cael. "Dried rootbread, smoked lichen, and three sunfruit seeds. If you're stuck somewhere for a week, you won't starve."
"Thank you," Cael said, and meant it.
There was a long pause.
No one quite knew how to say goodbye.
Finally, Old Maret stepped forward and, to everyone's surprise, wrapped Cael in a brief but firm embrace. "Go," he said. "And don't look back. Not until you've done what you need to do."
Fen looked back just once.
Cael didn't.
The first hour of the walk passed in silence. The woods welcomed them like an old friend, its leaves whispering with the wind. Sunlight slanted through the trees in shifting beams, playing off the bark and moss as if dancing to the rhythm of their footfalls.
"So," Fen said eventually, glancing sideways, "how do we do this?"
"Do what?"
"Traveling together. I've never done it with someone before. Do we talk? Do we keep quiet? Is there a rule?"
Cael chuckled. "I think the rule is: don't annoy the person walking beside you."
"Ah. That might be a problem."
"I figured."
They crossed a small stream around midday. Fen refilled the enchanted flask while Cael sat on a rock, pulling off his boots to rest his sore feet. The air was filled with birdsong and the gurgle of water over smooth stones.
Fen returned and flopped beside him. "So what's your plan after the trial?"
Cael didn't answer right away. He stared at the stream, remembering the moment his cores had returned violent and quiet all at once. His father's last breath had filled the world with silence. And then, from that silence, light and shadow had bloomed again in his chest.
"I don't know yet," Cael finally said. "I think I'll know after I finish it."
"Yeah," Fen said softly. "Same."
That night, they set up camp beneath a towering elderpine, its roots forming a cradle for their sleeping mats. The fire crackled low, casting long shadows across their faces. Cael kept watch while Fen drifted to sleep, arms crossed and legs pulled tight to his chest.
Cael stared into the flames, absently turning the ward-stone over in his palm.
He missed his father.
Not just the man he'd been in the last few weeks, frail and fading but the man who had taught him to hunt. Who used to sing low songs around campfires, who once laughed so hard he spilled stew all over his armor. The silence his death left behind was louder than any scream.
"Hope you're watching," Cael whispered. "I'm going to get this right. Just… be patient with me."
He didn't hear Korr, miles away at the enclave, standing before the cold hearth and whispering a quiet goodbye of his own.
He didn't know how many people were praying for him.
But that night, with the stars stretched wide above him, Cael felt a calm he hadn't known in days.
The journey had just begun.
They would cross the Ashen Pass in three days' time. After that, the broken salt plains of Sirdel. Then the border of the Trial Lands, where young warriors seeking to become Ashwalkers faced trials crafted by fate, not man.
But for now, the path was easy. The sun was warm. The road was soft.
And Cael walked beside someone who, for the first time in a long while, felt like a friend.