[Fate]

He turned, stepping toward the children—still weeping beside their mother's grave, unaware of the death that had unfolded behind them.

That… was the real reason he had stayed.

Not pity.

Not compassion.

The old man, foolish in his assumptions, mistook Kael's silence for kindness.

He'd lectured him on life and death—on blessings and beginnings.

And now he lay broken in the mud, silenced by the very thing he failed to see.

Kael barely spared him another glance.

His attention was fixed elsewhere.

That feeling.

It crawled up his spine like a whisper from something ancient.

He'd known this sensation for as long as he could remember.

When he found Yue.

When he got Dreamweaver.

When he got the mask of Nerathis

Moments stitched into his path—threads that didn't unravel, but pulled tighter.

It was happening again.

Here.

Now.

Kael had given it a name long ago.

Fate.

Not the poetic kind that nobles muttered in prayer.

But the real thing—dark, absolute, merciless.

And Kael… he suspected he had affinity for it.

No—he knew.

He wasn't drawn to fate.

Fate was drawn to him.

And in front of him now, curled in the rain and clinging to each other like fragile things waiting to be broken—

Were two more threads.

Two children.

Tied to his story.

Tied to his rise.

They didn't know it yet.

Couldn't.

They were still grieving a mother who'd died in the gutter.

Still unaware that their tears had summoned something far worse than hunger or death.

Kael approached them slowly.

Measured.

Silent.

They did not look up.

Did not know that a devil in noble skin had just stepped into their future.

And that he never touched something… without turning it into a weapon.

As Kael approached the two children, the rain softened around him—like even the sky was holding its breath.

They were pale, drenched, but their eyes still shone—not dull with despair, but sharp with fear and something deeper.

Survival.

He extended a hand.

Slow.

Open.

The gesture of peace… or something close enough to fool hope.

They looked up, trembling.

Kael met their gaze.

"Don't be afraid," he said softly.

"I'm not a devil."

Both of them nodded slowly—but their bodies tensed.

Instinct didn't believe him.

Kael let the silence hang, then asked,

"Do you two want to come with me?"

They froze.

Riven turned to Lira.

He was younger—barely able to stand on his own—but she… she had the eyes of someone twice her age.

Hardened. Watching. Thinking.

She stepped slightly in front of her brother and asked, voice low:

"…Why?"

Kael chuckled.

A quiet, cold sound—like wind slipping through a crypt.

They both flinched.

"You're cautious," he said, approvingly.

"I like that. It's the kind of trait that keeps people from dying young."

Then he pointed, with gloved fingers, at the collapsed form behind them.

The old man.

Still.

Unmoving.

They turned to look—and the sight struck them harder than they expected.

He wasn't family.

But he'd always been there.

Old, generous, kind in a world that wasn't.

The shock hit like a slap.

Lira started forward, but Kael raised a hand.

"Don't."

She froze.

So did Riven.

Their lips trembled.

Tears welled again—hot, helpless.

Kael waited.

Let them grieve.

Let the weight settle.

Then, after a moment, he spoke again.

"Do you know what he said to me before he died?"

The children looked up slowly.

"He told me, 'You're not like the other nobles.'"

Kael's face was unreadable now.

Stone and silence.

"Then he said,

'I'm too old now.

But these two children… they still have a future.

Please, take care of them.'"

A soft breath of thunder rolled through the clouds above.

Kael's eyes gleamed beneath his hood.

"And right before he died… he said this:

'This is the end.

And this… this is the beginning.'"

The children froze.

Their eyes widened.

Lira's hand flew to her mouth.

He knew the words.

Their words.

The ones the old man used to whisper when hope felt far away.

Maybe this stranger was lying.

Maybe he wasn't.

But right now, it didn't matter.

They had no food.

No future.

And something in Kael's voice—cold as it was—sounded like purpose.

"…Will we be fed?" Riven asked.

Kael nodded once.

"Deliciously."

Riven glanced at his sister.

She hesitated.

Then gave the smallest nod.

Together, they reached out—small, shaking hands placing themselves in his.

"Okay," they said.

Kael smiled.

Just slightly.

A quiet, curling thing beneath the storm.

But fate—

grasping new threads.

***

The carriage rocked gently as it moved through the wet streets, wheels hissing over soaked stone.

Inside, Kael sat opposite the two children—both stiff-backed, pressed to the edge of their seat like proximity alone might curse them.

They couldn't have been older than fourteen, maybe fifteen.

Still soaked. Still wary.

Kael glanced at them, then leaned back with a sigh.

"I suppose," he said, voice casual, "we should introduce ourselves."

He gestured loosely.

"My name is Kaelion Drenlor. Third son of Duke Drenlor."

Silence.

The kind that could bruise.

Riven blinked.

Lira stiffened.

Kael nodded slowly to himself.

Ah.

So that name meant something to them.

He closed his eyes, resting his head against the carriage wall.

Then—whispers.

Soft.

Urgent.

"...Sister… is Sir Kaelion the same one Mother told us about?"

"The one who was born cursed?"

"A shame to nobility… magic-less bastard—"

"Riven," Lira hissed, slapping a hand over his mouth, sweat beading on her brow.

"What are you doing?! If he hears you, we're dead!"

They both turned slowly to look at Kael.

A vein ticked on his temple.

His eyes were still closed.

But his smile had thinned.

"…Calm down," Kael said evenly.

The silence that followed was… different.

Tense.

But warmer, somehow.

Like they'd stepped onto a frozen lake and hadn't fallen through—yet.

Riven gulped, then offered quickly,

"I'm Riven. I like eating and… and games."

Lira straightened her spine.

"I'm Lira. And I'm not scared of you."

Kael raised a brow, amused.

"Not scared?" he asked. "And why is that?"

She narrowed her eyes. "You look like the villain from one of those bedtime stories."

Kael grinned.

It was not a reassuring expression.

"Well," he said, folding his hands, "those are usually the most interesting characters."

Riven blinked. "…Do you eat children?"

"Only if they're rude."

He didn't blink.

Lira crossed her arms.

"That's… fair."

And just like that, the ice began to crack—not from weight, but warmth.

A strange, crooked sort of warmth.

Soon, they were talking.

Awkwardly.

Cautiously.

Riven asked if Kael ever had sweets.

Lira asked if his mansion had a library.

Kael answered both—yes and yes, though the sweets were poisoned and the books occasionally tried to bite.

They weren't sure if he was joking.

Kael wasn't sure either.

But the children laughed anyway.

The carriage rolled to a smooth stop before the estate gates—tall, wrought-iron things that swung open with a creak that echoed like ceremony.

Kael stepped out first.

The lanterns lining the path glowed gold in the dusk, their soft light dancing across the rain-polished stone.

Shadows stretched long across the gravel.

He turned, offering a hand.

Riven took it first—awkwardly, hesitantly—followed by Lira, who kept her chin high despite the uncertainty in her eyes.

Together, they stood before the mansion.

Massive.

Silent.

Alive in a way buildings shouldn't be.

Riven gaped.

Lira said nothing—but her fingers gripped her brother's hand a little tighter.

Kael ruffled Riven's damp hair with a ghost of a smile.

"Don't be scared," he said quietly.

Riven straightened, puffing out his chest.

"We're not!" Lira added, her voice just a little too loud.

Kael didn't reply.

He just smirked.

Then he raised a hand.

A maid approached swiftly from the side entrance, bowing with practiced grace.

"These two will be staying here," Kael said, voice calm but commanding.

"No questions. No confusion."

The maid blinked, glancing at the bedraggled pair—clothes torn, faces tired, shoes half-falling apart.

Then Kael pulled a pouch from his ring.

It hit her palm with a solid clink.

10,000 gold coins.

Enough to buy a small estate.

"Get them cleaned up. Private rooms. Fresh clothes.

Enroll them in a magic academy. Top tier.

Whatever they need—make it happen."

The maid stiffened, then bowed again, deeper this time.

"As you command, Young Master Kaelion."

The children stared up at him—speechless.

Not just because of the gold.

Not just because of the house.

But because no one had ever spoken for them like that.

Not with power.

Not with weight.

Kael didn't wait for a thank you.

He simply turned, coat billowing slightly behind him, and walked up the steps without another word.

The door opened for him.

And closed behind him like the end of a chapter.

Riven watched him go, eyes shining.

"…Sister," he whispered, "I want to be cool like Sir Kael someday."

Lira's expression softened.

"…Then don't die early," she said, echoing Kael's words with a small smile.

The maid gave them a gentle nod.

"Come. This way."

And as the door closed behind them too, the rain faded.

Their old lives ended at the gate.

And something new—something sharp and uncertain—began in its place.

***

Kael stepped into his room, the door clicking shut behind him with a soft finality.

The scent of rain still clung to his coat—wet stone, stormlight, and something colder beneath.

He barely took a step when a voice sliced through the stillness.

"Where have you been?"

Yue's tone wasn't loud. It didn't need to be.

She sat by the window, half-draped in moonlight, arms folded, eyes sharp.

Her presence filled the space like a drawn blade—silent, but unmistakably dangerous.

Kael paused, one brow lifting.

She didn't wait for an answer.

"If you want the Divine General…" she said, voice low and deliberate,

"…then tonight is your best chance."

Just like that, the air in the room shifted—charged with something electric.

Kael's expression darkened, the storm still dripping from his sleeves… and now, gathering behind his eyes.

###

Author's Note:

Don't worry—Kael won't harm the children.