Darkness.
Not the soft shroud of night that yields to starlight, nor the cozy black of a closed room. This was hunger made tangible—an endless maw that swallowed light, sound, even the very sense of self.
Kael was… there. He couldn't feel ground beneath his toes or air against his skin; he existed in a space where up and down were meaningless, where his own heartbeat was a distant drum echoing from somewhere beyond his reach.
"…Where am I?"
The words left his lips, but they didn't travel—they bloomed in the void like ripples in thick tar, stretching and warping before bouncing back to him seconds later, distorted into something that barely sounded like his own voice.
Then shapes began to form. Not solid things, but wisps of shadow that coagulated into blurs—like smoke caught in water, shifting and sliding whenever he tried to focus. They grew denser, taking on the rough outline of bodies… dozens of them, arranged in a perfect circle around him.
"…People?" he whispered.
They wore what looked like masks, but the edges bled into the darkness, making it impossible to tell if they were carved from stone or woven from the void itself. Every line was fluid, every form uncertain.
A feeling crept into his chest—not fear, not yet, but a cold prickle of wrongness that settled deep in his bones, like water seeping into cracks.
Then one moved.
It stepped forward with a grace that didn't belong to flesh and bone—gliding rather than walking, closing the distance between them in the blink of an eye. Even up close, its face was a blank canvas of shadow.
But in its hand… something caught the idea of light. A sharp edge, a gleam that cut through the murk.
A blade.
Kael's breath hitched. "Hey—wait—"
Too fast. Faster than thought.
The figure lunged, and the blade sank into his chest with a sound like tearing cloth and grinding stone—SHNK—and pain exploded through him, hot and searing, so real he could taste iron on his tongue.
"NO—!"
SMACK.
The pain shifted—from his chest to his cheek, sharp and stinging. Kael's eyes snapped open, and he shot upright, clutching his face as the world swam into focus: rough stone walls, a single barred window letting in thin gray light, and in front of him, a small woman with silver hair twisted into a tight bun, her face etched with wrinkles and fury, holding a gnarled wooden stick mid-swing.
"YOU'RE FINALLY AWAKE, YOU STUPID CHILD!" she snapped, her voice like gravel and honey mixed together.
Kael blinked, the dream's echo still thrumming in his veins. "…Granny?"
"DON'T 'GRANNY' ME!" She smacked him again, this time on the top of his head, and he yelped. "Beaten senseless again! Thrown in the city lockup again! When will you learn that picking fights with every thug in Raventhorn Crossing won't get you anywhere but six feet under?!"
"Okay, okay!" Kael held up both hands, rubbing his scalp. "I'm awake! No need to brain me this time…"
"Wait… why am I even here?" Kael frowned, looking around properly. "I thought I was still locked up in that cold jail cell?"
Griselda clicked her tongue sharply, whacking his shin lightly with her stick. "I was already on my way over there just to scold the living daylights out of you, you dumbass kid! But when I got to the cell, what do I find? You laid out cold on the stone floor, your whole head covered in blood, not even moving a finger! So I hauled your heavy ass out of there, brought you back here and patched you up properly."
"Ah! Right!" Kael slapped his own forehead hard, the fog in his mind clearing instantly.
Fragments of that night came rushing back all at once — the dim, reeking alley… the mysterious man shrouded in a thick dark robe… and then that terrifying blow that hit him like a falling boulder, sending him slamming violently into the stone wall. Everything had turned black right after that.
Griselda crossed her arms over her worn linen tunic. The smell of dried herbs and wood smoke clung to her, warm and familiar. "I should've let whatever brute left you like that finish the job. Might've knocked some sense into that thick skull of yours."
Kael let out a weak chuckle, leaning back against the wall. "…Missed me, huh?"
She fixed him with a glare that could curdle milk. "You're lucky you're still a hair shy of eighteen. If you weren't, the guard captain would've tossed you in the deep cells—where the rats are bigger than your fist and the only light comes from mold."
Kael exhaled, the air leaving his lungs in a slow rush. "…So I'm free to go?"
"For now." Griselda's voice hardened. "While other kids your age are training with mana weavers, learning to read maps, or working to build something for themselves… you?" She paused, her eyes sweeping over him—over the cuts on his jaw, the tear in his tunic, the scuff marks on his boots. "Your life's a cycle: fight, get caught, heal up, repeat."
Kael scratched at his cheek, looking away from her gaze—toward the barred window, where a sparrow hopped on the sill. "…Yeah… about that…"
"I'M NOT FINISHED TALKING!" She raised the stick again, and Kael flinched back.
"OKAY, OKAY! I'm sorry! I swear I won't do it again!"
SMACK.
The stick came down on his palm this time, not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to make a point. "You swore that last month. And the month before that. 'Sorry' doesn't patch up broken ribs, boy."
Kael winced, but then straightened his shoulders, a grin tugging at his lips—but this time, it wasn't the lazy smirk she was used to. There was steel in it, sharp and bright.
"I mean it this time," he said, his voice quieter but steadier. "I'm leaving Raventhorn Crossing. For good."
Griselda blinked—just once, but it was enough to show her surprise. "…Oh?"
"I'm going to buy a Sigil Plate at the market," he continued, leaning forward. "Save up enough for passage on a trade caravan. Get out of this dump."
Her brow furrowed. "…You're not planning to steal the coin for it, are you?"
Kael scoffed, pressing a hand to his chest. "As if. I'm not that desperate."
He reached into the pocket of his tunic—his fingers finding only empty cloth.
"…Huh?"
He searched again, faster this time, digging into every fold and seam. Nothing. Panic fluttered in his chest, sharp and cold. "No, no, no—"
"Looking for this?"
Kael snapped his head up. Griselda was holding a small leather pouch, worn soft at the edges, and she tossed it lightly in her palm—clink-clink-clink, the sound of metal hitting metal.
"HEY—!" Kael shot forward, but she tossed it to him before he could reach her. He caught it in one hand, fumbling it open just enough to see the glint of copper and silver coins inside. Relief washed over him so hard his legs went weak.
"…I thought I lost it" he muttered, running his thumb over the pouch's stitched edge. "Thanks, Granny."
She turned away, busying herself with adjusting the latch on the door. "You can thank me by staying alive long enough to use it. You'll be released at dawn tomorrow. Stay put, rest up. It's safer for you here."
Kael tilted his head, frowning. "…Safer from who?"
Griselda glanced back at him, her eyes dark with something he couldn't name. "You know exactly who."
Kael clicked his tongue, slumping back against the wall. "…Yeah… that guy."
"Drevan," she said, the name heavy on her tongue. "The one you borrowed from. He doesn't take kindly to people who 'forget' to pay him back."
Kael sighed, running a hand through his messy dark hair. "…Right. Him."
Silence settled between them—thick, heavy with things unsaid. Then Griselda turned to look at him, her gaze lingering on his face, then his hands, then traveling down his body as if she were seeing him for the first time.
Kael shifted under her stare, suspicious. "…What? You planning to sell me to a circus? I told you, I don't do tricks."
SMACK.
The stick tapped his forehead. "What kind of fool do you take me for? As if anyone would pay to see you prance around!"
"THEN WHY ARE YOU STARING?!" Kael rubbed his head, glaring.
Griselda paused, her expression softening for a moment—just a moment—before she let out a slow breath. "…Your body," she said, her voice quiet now. "There's something strange about it."
Kael blinked. "…What about it? The guards say the same thing when they chase me—'Kid moves like a ghost.' I just thought I was fast."
Her eyes narrowed. "…So they noticed it too…"
"Noticed what?"
She stepped closer, her weathered hand reaching out as if to touch him, then pulling back at the last second. "I've tended to your wounds more times than I can count. Stitched up cuts that should've left scars, set bones that healed faster than they should have."
Kael frowned. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Griselda tapped just below her right eye, where a thin silver line ran from her temple to her cheek—an old scar he'd never asked about. "…Because I can see it. The power that lives in people. Not everyone can—not truly—but I've been able to since I was young a girl."
Kael froze, staring at her with wide eyes. "…You can see through me?"
A beat of silence.
"…YOU PERVERTED OLD HAG!"
SMACK.
"AFTER EVERYTHING I JUST SAID, THAT'S THE PART YOU LATCH ONTO?!" She raised the stick again, but this time she didn't hit him—she pointed it at his chest. "I'm talking about aura, you fool! The energy that flows through every living thing!"
Kael straightened up, finally listening. "…Okay. Okay, I'm sorry. What about my aura?"
Griselda exhaled slowly, her voice dropping to a whisper. "You have the same presence as the Varkhûn Clan. The weight of it… like standing at the edge of a canyon, feeling the pull of the earth below."
"Varkhûn?" Kael repeated, the word foreign on his tongue. "Never heard of them."
"They're warriors from the north—from Drakthar, a land of mountains and black stone. Their power is called Gravaryn, named after its founder, Gravaryn Will. Anyone who possesses the power of Gravaryn has the Will Heart, which lets them manifest Will Aura. Those with stronger will can even coat their weapons in this energy, and all wielders gain enhanced physical abilities as well." She paused, her gaze sweeping over him again. "And every true member of their clan bears a mark to prove it."
"A mark?" Kael blurted.
"A sigil that appears on their skin the moment their power awakens," Griselda explained, her tone grave. "It's always pitch black, etched right over the heart where their Will Heart resides. The design is a rugged, solid shape like a heart itself, crowned with a ring of sharp, jagged spikes—like the mountain peaks of their homeland, and like the unyielding will of their founder. It lies faint and still when they're at rest, but when they channel their power, it glows with a deep, heavy light. The stronger their resolve, the brighter it burns, and faint luminous veins will spread out across their skin as they unleash their abilities."
She leaned in slightly, her eyes searching his. "But that's exactly what doesn't make sense. You have the aura. The speed. The strength that heals faster than any normal man's. But look at you…" Her raked over his chest, his arms, every exposed inch of skin. "No mark. Not a single line."
Kael's eyes widened. "So… I'm supposed to have a tattoo or something? From a clan I've never even heard of?"
"Some use mana crystals to test for potential before awakening," she said, turning away. "Or find someone like me who can read auras. But you… you're walking around with the power of a warrior clan in your veins and no idea how it got there."
She moved toward the door, her hand on the latch. "Get some rest. Leave tomorrow. Do whatever you want with that… earned money of yours."
"It wasn't stolen," Kael muttered, clutching the pouch to his chest. "Someone gave it to me. A traveler passing through. Said I had 'good eyes.'"
Griselda waved a hand, dismissing him. "Whatever. Just don't come crawling back here when you get into trouble again."
"HEY—!" Kael called after her as she opened the door. "You old bat! At least tell me what this Gravaryn stuff can do!"
She paused in the doorway, her face half-hidden in shadow. "Figure it out yourself. Some things are better learned by doing."
Then she was gone, the door clicking shut behind her, leaving Kael alone with the gray light and the sound of his own breathing.
Griselda stepped into the corridor, the stone cold beneath her worn boots. The guard at the end of the hall nodded at her—she'd been coming here to check on Kael for years, and they'd long since stopped questioning it.
Her expression hardened, the gruff mask she wore for him falling away to reveal worry etched deep in her lines.
"…I'm certain of it," she murmured to the empty air. "The Varkhûn aura is unmistakable."
"…But there was something"
She shook her head, scoffing at herself. "Tch. I must be getting old. Seeing things that aren't there."
She turned and walked away, her steps steady, but her mind racing. If he really is Varkhûn… going to Drakthar could save him. Or get him killed.
Kael lay back on the thin straw mattress, staring at the ceiling—at the cracks that looked like rivers, branching across the stone.
"…Varkhûn Clan," he said aloud, the words feeling strange in the quiet room. "Gravaryn."
A grin spread across his face—slow, then wide. He'd always known he was different, always felt like he was holding back somehow, like there was more to his body than muscle and bone.
"Maybe I should go there," he said, his voice low. "Drakthar. See what this clan is all about."
He closed his eyes, but the image of the void from his dream was still there, and with it, the gleam of the blade. Was that a vision? Or just a dream?
"…I always thought this was normal," he muttered, his hand resting lightly over the pouch of coins. The metal was cool against his skin. "Guess not."
He opened his eyes again—they were sharp now, focused in a way they'd never been before.
"…First, I get the Sigil Plate. Then I find a caravan heading north to Drakthar."
He paused, his grin fading slightly as he thought of the man waiting for him outside, and the robed stranger who'd nearly killed him.
"…First problem," he said, a slow, mischievous smile returning. "How do I not get killed by Drevan the moment I step outside?"