Kael ran.
Sleep had left him haunted. In the cold, broken hours before dawn, he dreamt of Nalaya—her smile bathed in sunlight, her voice humming lullabies to the child she would never meet. But the warmth would rot, twisted into screams, the sound of whips cracking, the stench of blood and sweat. Then came the laughter—the cruel, mocking laughter of the slavers shouting, "Look at these apes dance for us!" as Kael fought in the pit, fists against bone, silence against mockery.
He awoke screaming, drenched in sweat, his chest heaving with panic. His fingers dug into the dirt, trembling, as if trying to claw back into the dream, to find her one last time.
He remembered the lullaby Nalaya used to sing each night, as her soft hands traced the curve of her belly:
"O little flame, rest in the deep,
While stars above begin to weep.
No chain can reach, no whip shall find,
The light you hold inside your mind.
Sleep, my ember, quiet and warm,
While I still hold you through the storm."
Her voice was gentle, never shaken, even when her back was lashed raw. Nalaya had a way of defying pain with love. When the masters tried to humiliate her, she held her chin high and sang. When Kael returned bruised and broken from the pit, she would kiss his knuckles and whisper, "You are still my man. No cage can take that."
He had once said to her, "You deserve more than this."
She smiled sadly. "You are more than this. That's enough for me."
The memory crushed him.
The Maw swallowed him whole. Branches tore at his skin. His body ached. His stomach burned from hunger. Still, he pressed forward, running from the weight of the past and the price of freedom.
That was when he heard it.
A voice—sharply cut by terror.
A woman's scream.
Kael's body reacted before his thoughts did. He ran through tangled vines and crooked roots, limbs burning. The scream came again, closer this time. Then he saw it.
A massive bear, its fur like scorched soot, towered over a young girl who cowered beneath the twisted arms of a fallen tree. The beast's maw was open wide, revealing jagged yellow teeth. Its eyes were feral, fixed on its prey.
Kael didn't think. He didn't hesitate.
He roared and lunged, catching the bear's attention just as its paw swiped toward the girl. The claws missed her by inches but found Kael.
Pain exploded in his chest. He was thrown back, but he scrambled to his feet, blood soaking through his torn shirt.
The bear charged.
Kael met it halfway.
His fists were hammers. He ducked, rolled, and stabbed at its side with a sharp bone shard he'd carried since the pits. The beast howled, spinning, raking its claws along Kael's back. He ignored the pain, striking again—until the girl's scream rang out once more.
It distracted the beast. Kael seized the moment, driving the bone deep into its throat. Blood sprayed.
The monster collapsed.
Kael staggered, breath ragged. His chest was warm—wet. He looked down.
A claw mark, deep and brutal, ran across his ribs. He dropped to one knee, then fell.
His vision blurred.
The girl knelt beside him, crying out. Others emerged—dark silhouettes painted in red war marks and ash. The Sakkari tribe.
"He saved me!" the girl cried, clutching his hand. "He saved me, Father—we have to take him!"
One man, tall and battle-scarred, stepped forward. "He's an outsider. He may bring danger."
"But he didn't run," the girl whispered. "He bled—for me."
The tribe stood in tense silence.
Kael's vision dimmed. His last breath was ragged.
Then—darkness.
Unseen by any of them, a black feather drifted from the trees above and landed beside Kael's hand.
In the days to come, the wind would whisper of war.