Chapter 11: The Weight of Knowing

Arasha found Kael sparring alone in the fog-drenched morning. He moved like a man haunted—strikes sharp, transitions flawless, but his eyes distracted.

"You're not sleeping," she stated, approaching with her arms crossed.

"Neither are you," he countered without missing a beat.

She stepped beside him. "You're troubled."

Kael's hand trembled very slightly but of course, Arasha didn't miss it. 

"I know things I shouldn't," he finally admitted. "Things that don't make sense. Places, people… events. I shouldn't know any of it, but I do."

He didn't say "game." He didn't say "another world." But she sensed the weight of truth.

"Does it help us?" she asked, straightforward as always.

He hesitated. "It could save lives. But if I act too soon, or too bluntly, it might change things for the worse. Or make people start asking why I know so much."

She looked at him—really looks. And then speaks, low and steady.

"We don't get to choose the truths we're born with. Only what we do with them. Use it. Quietly, wisely. And if it ever threatens the people… tell me."

He met her gaze. "And you'd trust me, even then?"

"I already do," she answered. "That's why you're here."

****

Around the central war table, Arasha, regal and composed, stands at the head. Sir Garran, her ever-vigilant second-in-command, looms to her right—his arms crossed, eyes sharp.

Kael, dressed in the black-and-silver leathers of a field scout, stands before them with a map spread open and strange notations marked in a code unfamiliar to any of them.

"Here, here and here. There will be rifts opening along the Thine river and another rift will open on the west near the forest Omar," Kaelen declared, tapping the map, "they'll open one after the other. Once that happens, we'll lose all access to the Thine river which is the main water way used for transportation. That means resources and man power will be cut."

Sir Garran's voice cut the tension like steel drawn in court.

"And how do you know this?" he questioned. "No scout has reported any movement east. No known rift surge has triggered there. Yet you speak like it's already happened."

Kaelen didn't flinch. "Because my awakened abilities have a way to let me know about crucial information about the rifts."

Sir Garran stepped forward, face a stone wall of skepticism. "With all due respect, Commander," he stated to Arasha, "this man has been here less than a year. We don't act on dreams or riddles. His plan is untested, his information unverifiable, and even if he has great potential— it's not enough to gamble the lives of the knights in the Order."

Kael met Sir Garran's stare without blinking. "I'm not asking for blind trust. I'm asking for a chance. One chance to prove I can stop it."

Sir Garran frowned. "And if you're wrong? We commit troops to a phantom threat while real dangers press from the south. It's a gamble with lives."

Arasha was silent for a long moment, her fingers steepled as her eyes scanned the map… then Kael's face.

Finally, she spooke, voice calm and deliberate.

"Kael, you will lead the strike team. You'll command it yourself. And you will answer to me directly."

Sir Garran's head jerked in disbelief. "Commander—!"

"If he fails," Arasha cut in coolly, "I'll pull him from the field myself. But if there's any chance we can stop this disaster before it begins, I'd be a fool not to try."

Kaelen exhaled, nodding once. "Then I won't let you down."

Arasha's voice hardens. "See that you don't."

The reports arrived exactly when and where Kael had predicted.

Every rift, every tear in reality, every monstrous incursion—all pinpointed with terrifying precision.

Sir Garran, bloodied and bruised from the battle, approached Arasha in the aftermath, watching Kael give triage orders to the medics like he was born for it.

"He didn't guess," Sir Garran muttered, still catching his breath. "He knew. Every move. Every counterattack. Down to the cursed terrain itself."

Arasha's gaze didn't leave Kael.

"Then he's either a prophet," she stated softly, "or something even rarer—a man with knowledge of the truth."

****

Arasha stood amidst the latest battlefield, surrounded by her knights and the newly awakened warriors, overseeing the aftermath of yet another closed rift. Smoke lingered in the air, the scent of burnt flesh and arcane residue thick on her tongue. The casualties were fewer this time. 

Thanks to Kael's warnings.

Her gaze drifted toward him, standing at the edge of the field, his sword still in hand. His face was unreadable, his golden eyes shadowed.

The more accurate his predictions became, the more withdrawn he seemed.

Arasha, ever observant, noticed the shift no matter how subtly Kael tried to mask it. His usual sharp wit was dulled, his posture tenser, his smiles—scarce.

This would not do.

The sun was dipping beyond the horizon when she found him in the training grounds, going through a relentless sword routine. His strikes were precise, almost mechanical, as if trying to silence something within himself.

Arasha approached with measured steps, her own blade already drawn.

"Kael."

He stilled, then turned, expression carefully neutral. "Commander?"

She tilted her head. "Spar with me."

Kael hesitated, then nodded.

The first clash of their blades rang sharp in the cool evening air.

Arasha pressed the attack, forcing Kael to move, react, and focus. Each strike carried the unspoken question: What is troubling you?

Kael countered, his movements fluid, but she could feel it—his hesitation.

He was distracted.

Arasha pushed harder, forcing him into a parry that sent vibrations up both their arms.

"You haven't been yourself," she finally said, voice even as their swords locked.

Kael's jaw tensed. "I don't know what you mean."

Arasha raised a brow, disengaging before striking again, forcing him back.

"Your predictions are flawless. Too flawless," she continued, reading every flicker of emotion in his expression. "Yet, the more you're proven right, the more withdrawn you become."

Kael remained silent, dodging instead of answering.

Arasha narrowed her eyes. "Kael—"

"I'm fine," he cut in, too curtly.

Arasha let the silence stretch between them before stepping back, lowering her sword.

He needs space…sigh I better not push. For now. 

"If you say so."

They ended the spar soon after, both breathing steadily from the exertion. The cool night air settled between them as Arasha wiped her blade clean, preparing to leave.

"Rest well," she said, turning to go.

But Kael grabbed her wrist.

Arasha glanced down at his firm grip before meeting his eyes.

"…Why?" she asked, her voice quieter.

Kael hesitated, then his grip tightened.

"Be careful," he said, low and serious. "And never go alone."

A warning. A plea. A truth wrapped in concern.

Arasha studied him, the unspoken weight in his gaze.

Then, she smiled.

"Worried about me, Kael?" she teased lightly, but her tone held a gentleness she rarely showed.

Kael didn't answer.

Arasha gently pried her wrist from his grasp and took a step back.

"Good night, Kael."

And with that, she walked away.

Kael remained standing there, staring at his empty hand, the lines of his face etched in something unreadable.

****

Arasha stood in a vast field of golden flowers, their petals swaying under an unseen breeze. The sky above was endless and bright, yet the light did not blind her. A familiar warmth settled in her chest.

Then, she saw her.

Her mother stood before her, cloaked in a flowing gown that shimmered like moonlight on water. Her eyes, the same fierce yet full of love, just as Arasha remembers. Yet, deep in her mother's eyes held sorrow and warning.

"You must be vigilant, my child," her mother said, her voice carrying across the dreamscape like a whisper and a command all at once.

Arasha's lips parted to respond, but the scene shifted violently.

Darkness.

The scent of blood, ash, and sorrow.

She was lying on the ground, pain lancing through every fiber of her being. The world blurred, but a single figure loomed above her.

Kael.

His face was contorted in pure agony, eyes wide, his body trembling as he clutched her.

Tears streamed freely down his cheeks, landing hot on her skin. His mouth moved, over and over, whispering the same phrase desperately, frantically.

But she couldn't hear him.

She tried to reach for him, to wipe away his sorrow, but her fingers wouldn't move.

Then, the world turned to black.

Arasha gasped awake, heart pounding like war drums.

Her breaths came in short, uneven bursts as she took in her surroundings—her office, the mage light slightly flickering, the scattered documents on her desk.

A nightmare?

What does such a dream mean?

She pressed a hand to her temple, trying to recall the words Kael had spoken, the warning from her mother, but they slipped from her grasp like water through her fingers.

"What was that…?"

Shaking her head, she pushed herself up from the chair, body aching from yet another night spent working instead of resting.

She needed to clear her mind.

Arasha moved to the small washbasin in the corner, splashing cold water onto her face, letting the chill pull her back to reality.

Then, she looked up.

Her reflection stared back at her in the mirror.

Her eyes, sharp and unwavering—yet there, streaking down her cheeks, were faint, glistening tear stains.

Her breath hitched.

She touched her face, fingers ghosting over the remnants of emotion she did not remember expressing.

A strange unease settled deep in her chest.

She did not cry.

Not in sleep, not in pain, not in sorrow.

Yet…

Her reflection did not lie.

Something was coming.

Something she was not prepared for.

Perhaps Kael's change have to do with what is coming…

I better make plans and anticipate the worst.