Buried in Silence

The night air carried a quiet stillness, broken only by the rustling of leaves and the distant sounds of the camp beyond the castle walls. The stars stretched endlessly above them, their glow faint against the looming uncertainty of tomorrow. Kael and Seraphina sat side by side on the grassy hillside, a comfortable silence lingering between them.

Seraphina had leaned her back against Kael's shoulder, her warmth a contrast to the crisp evening air. Neither of them spoke for a while. They didn't need to.

Then—footsteps.

Light, purposeful, and completely unsurprising.

Kael didn't even need to turn his head. "You're late, Zirath."

A sharp scoff. "You disappeared from camp, you idiot. I knew you'd be sulking somewhere."

From the darkness, a familiar figure emerged—broad-shouldered, arms crossed, and wearing that ever-present smirk. Zirath, with his dark, tousled hair and sharp crimson eyes, strode toward them with the confidence of a man who always knew where to find his friends.

But Kael barely had time to process Zirath's approach before—

Impact.

Zirath lunged, tackling both Kael and Seraphina in one powerful leap.

"Damn it—!"

The three of them collapsed in a tangled heap of limbs and laughter. Kael grunted as Zirath's weight knocked the air out of him, while Seraphina let out a rare, startled gasp.

"Zirath, you ass—"

"Oh, shut up." Zirath grinned. "We're all about to risk our lives tomorrow. This might be the last chance I get to crush you."

Kael shoved at his chest, but Zirath didn't budge. Instead, he shifted, resting his head beside theirs as all three of them lay sprawled on their backs, gazing up at the night sky.

For a moment, none of them spoke. The stars twinkled above, the gentle hum of the wind filling the silence.

Then, Seraphina chuckled softly. "You're heavy."

"Muscle." Zirath grinned. "Unlike this twig over here."

Kael scoffed. "I could throw you off this hill if I wanted to."

"You could try."

Seraphina shook her head. "You two never change."

They didn't. Not really. No matter how much they trained, no matter how many battles they fought, at their core, they remained the same.

After a long silence, Kael sighed, his voice quieter. "...Are we ready for tomorrow?"

Zirath's smirk faltered, if only for a second. Then, he exhaled through his nose. "Ready or not, we're going."

Kael clenched his jaw. He already knew that. But it didn't make it easier.

Seraphina's voice was softer when she spoke. "We'll come back."

Kael didn't answer.

Zirath finally turned his head to look at him. "You always do this."

Kael blinked. "Do what?"

"Take everything on your shoulders." Zirath's voice held none of its usual teasing. "You're not carrying this alone, Kael. We're in this together."

Seraphina hummed in agreement. "We always have been."

The words settled something deep inside Kael.

For all his doubts, for all the weight pressing down on him—he wasn't alone.

Zirath, Seraphina… They would be there.

Just like they always had been.

Tomorrow would come. But tonight, they had this.

________________________________________

The first light of dawn painted the sky in soft hues of gold and violet. The air was crisp, filled with the quiet sounds of soldiers preparing for departure.

Kael tightened the straps of his armor with practiced ease. Around him, soldiers moved in disciplined efficiency, checking weapons and securing supplies.

Zirath stood nearby, stretching his arms. "No turning back now."

Kael gave him a look. "You were planning on turning back?"

Zirath grinned. "You wish."

Seraphina approached, her expression calm yet focused. "They're calling for us."

Together, they made their way toward the gathered forces.

At the front of the assembly stood Commander Alden, a battle-worn man with silver-streaked hair and a gaze as sharp as a blade. He regarded the gathered soldiers, his expression grave.

When he spoke, his voice carried across the clearing with quiet authority.

"You all know what's at stake."

Silence fell.

"The Embervein Shard is a key to something greater. We do not yet know its full power, but we do know this—if it falls into enemy hands, Eldoria is lost."

A ripple of tension passed through the soldiers.

"You have all trained for this. You are the best we have." The commander's gaze swept over them. "But let me make one thing clear."

He stepped forward.

"This is not just another mission. This is a fight for the future. And if you are not prepared to lay down your life for it—leave now."

No one moved.

Kael's grip tightened on his sword.

The commander exhaled, his gaze steady. Then, with a firm nod, he said, "Mount up."

A sharp rustle of movement followed—soldiers pulling themselves into their saddles, adjusting reins, checking weapons one last time. The usual chatter before a journey was absent. No jokes. No small talk. Just the quiet tension of those who understood the weight of what lay ahead.

Kael swung onto his horse, the leather of the saddle creaking beneath him. He glanced to his side—Zirath was already set, rolling his shoulders, eyes forward, his usual smirk nowhere to be seen. Seraphina adjusted her cloak, her fingers brushing over the hilt of her sword.

Kael opened his mouth to say something—anything—but he closed it just as fast. What was there left to say?

They met each other's gazes. That was enough.

A horn sounded.

The horses lurched forward, hooves pounding against the earth as they rode toward the horizon. The wind caught the edges of their cloaks, carrying the scent of the cold morning air.

Kael tightened his grip on the reins, his thoughts silent.

___________________________________

His voice shacked a little while saying those words~

The tavern had fallen into an unnatural silence.

The moment Kael finished his tale, the flickering torchlight cast long shadows across the wooden walls, reflecting the weight of his words in the stillness that followed. No laughter, no clinking of mugs—only the distant whistle of the wind outside, slipping through the cracks of the aging structure.

Liora sat frozen, her hands gripping the edges of her cloak, knuckles white. She had felt it—the ache in Kael's voice, the weight of memories pressing against him like a storm barely held at bay. For all his strength, for all his unreadable expressions, she could see it now.

Beneath it all, Kael was still carrying the past on his shoulders.

The bards, who had moments ago been full of mirth, were now staring, their fingers hovering over their instruments as if uncertain whether to continue playing. The innkeeper, a stout man with a perpetually amused expression, was gripping his towel a little too tightly, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard.

And then there was the elf bard.

She was staring at Kael—no, not just staring. Her golden irises were wide with recognition, her lips parted as if words had failed her.

"...White Fang."

It was barely a whisper, but it shattered the fragile quiet like thunder.

Kael's gaze flickered toward her, the tension in his shoulders tightening just slightly. He said nothing, but his fingers curled faintly on the wooden table.

Liora felt her heart skip.

The air in the room changed in an instant. Conversations that had been softly murmured at the surrounding tables cut off mid-sentence. A chair scraped against the wooden floor as someone shifted too quickly, as if instinctively distancing themselves.

The words hung in the air like an omen.

A man at a nearby table paled, his drink slipping from his fingers, the mug clattering to the floor with a dull thud. The barmaid, who had been serving a patron, took an unsteady step back, her tray nearly tipping over. The bards, once entranced by Kael's tale, now wore stark expressions of fear.

One man, seated in the farthest corner, muttered something under his breath. His voice was barely audible, but Liora caught it.

"Gods preserve us…"

The recognition spread like wildfire. Faces turned, eyes widened, murmurs ignited into hushed conversations.

"The White Fang?"

"Is it truly him?"

"He's supposed to be dead…"

"No—he vanished after the war, didn't he?"

Liora felt an icy chill crawl up her spine as she glanced at Kael. He wasn't reacting—not outwardly. His expression remained unreadable, his golden eyes calm, steady. But she knew better.

He was measuring the room. Calculating.

Even now, he was assessing the situation like a soldier on a battlefield.

Elara, who had remained still until now, finally moved. Her arms were crossed over her chest, but her narrowed eyes glinted dangerously beneath her hood. Unlike the others, there was no surprise in her face.

Only displeasure.

Liora had seen that expression before—the look of someone watching a mistake unfold before their eyes.

The elf bard slowly stood from her seat, her gaze never leaving Kael's. A mixture of awe and trepidation filled her features, as if she couldn't decide whether to bow in respect or run in terror.

"You… you're him," she whispered. "The White Fang of Eldoria."

Kael exhaled slowly. He leaned back in his chair, tilting his head slightly, before speaking—his voice quiet, measured.

"That name hasn't been spoken in a long time."

It should have been a simple statement, but the weight behind it was undeniable.

The elf bard took a step closer. Liora noticed how her hands trembled slightly at her sides, how she fought to keep her voice steady.

"They say you vanished after the war," she continued. "That you disappeared with the ruins of Eldoria." Her eyes searched his face, as if looking for something—confirmation, perhaps. "Some believed you were dead. Others… feared you still walked among us, waiting for the right time to return."

Liora felt her breath hitch.

She turned back to Kael, watching for any shift in his expression, any sign of discomfort. But he gave none.

Instead, he merely regarded the elf bard with that same unreadable look. And then—softly, almost absently—he chuckled.

"People say many things."

But the air remained thick with tension.

The murmurs in the tavern only grew louder, whispers brushing against the walls like restless ghosts.

"I heard he took down an entire legion by himself…"

"They say his blade was drenched in the blood of thousands."

"He fought alongside Eldoria's greatest warriors…"

"No, he was more than that—he was their executioner."

Liora clenched her fists.

She hated this.

Hated the way people talked about him as if he were a legend, a ghost story whispered in the dark. Hated the fear in their eyes, the uncertainty.

Kael was sitting right in front of them. He wasn't some war-forged monster, nor a vengeful specter.

But they didn't see him. They saw the White Fang.

Elara finally moved, standing from her seat with deliberate slowness. The motion was small, but it carried weight.

Enough to silence the murmurs.

"I suggest," she said, her voice calm but firm, "that we end this conversation here."

Her emerald eyes swept across the room, taking in the fearful faces, the hushed whispers.

"This is an inn," she continued. "Not a battlefield. Not a war council." Her gaze flicked toward the elf bard, and for the first time, there was something sharp behind her expression. "Or a stage for old ghosts."

The elf bard stiffened.

Kael said nothing, but his lips curled slightly—not quite a smirk, but close enough.

Liora exhaled, trying to ease the tension knotted in her chest.

The room remained still for a few heartbeats longer, then—gradually—the noise returned. Conversations restarted, hesitant at first, but eventually flowing back into the usual tavern hum.

The fear had not vanished entirely. But it had been pushed aside, buried beneath forced laughter and the clinking of glasses.

Kael picked up his drink, taking a slow sip.

The elf bard, still visibly shaken, hesitated before speaking again—this time, her voice lower, more careful.

"…You never confirmed it."

Kael raised a brow. "Didn't I?"

The bard frowned slightly but said nothing more. Instead, she let out a quiet breath, rubbing the bridge of her nose.

"I suppose it doesn't matter," she muttered. Then, after a pause, "You still get the horses. A story like that is worth far more than three."

Kael's smile was faint. "Generous of you."

The bard shook her head, as if trying to clear her thoughts. "You'll find them at the stables in the morning. Consider it a deal."

And with that, she turned, moving toward the bar, her hands still trembling slightly.

Liora's shoulders sagged in relief.

Kael set his drink down, his golden eyes flickering toward Elara.

"You disapprove," he said.

Elara's gaze was steady. "Of your recklessness? Always."

Kael chuckled softly, but there was something knowing in his expression.

Liora watched the exchange in silence, her mind still racing with everything that had just unfolded.

The weight of a name. The ghosts of the past. The legend of the White Fang.

And as she looked at Kael—truly looked at him—she couldn't help but wonder:

How much of that legend was real?

And how much of it still haunted him?