The blood of the rabbit was everywhere. Kael had made quite a mess of it in the name of making sure it stayed dead. He undid the trap carefully from around its leg and stabbed it a few more times for good measure, just to be certain. Only then did he disassemble the crude spear, sling the carcass over his shoulder, and start heading back toward his cave. He moved fast through the trees. He didn't want to run into whoever had set that trap, and he definitely didn't want to lose his first real meal to some scavenger that might smell the blood on the wind.
The carcass was heavier than he expected. The silver-grey fur was matted with blood and dirt, and the thing's long claws kept catching on branches as he walked. By the time he reached the cave, his arms were burning and his back was soaked with sweat. He dropped the rabbit onto the ground with a heavy thud that echoed inside the small space.
"What a mess," he muttered, staring down at it.
The rabbit's face was horrifying to look at. Its skull had been completely disfigured by the spear thrusts, and dark blood had painted everything around its head and neck. Even in death, its remaining eye seemed to glare at him with something close to accusation. Kael looked away and forced himself to get to work. He removed the pelt as carefully as he could, gutted the animal, and skewered chunks of meat over the fire he had rebuilt. The smell that rose as the meat began to cook made his stomach twist painfully with hunger. Soon enough he was eating, tearing into the tender flesh like he hadn't eaten in weeks.
"For a ferocious bunny, you sure do make a good meal," he said with his mouth full, juice running down his chin.
He ate until his stomach hurt, then used some of his precious water to clean his hands and face. What meat he couldn't finish right away, he dried over the flames and packed into his waterskin. He kept the rabbit's long talons and sharp canines, thinking they might be worth something later. With food finally secured for the road ahead, he shouldered his backpack, took one last look at the bloody patch of ground, and left the cave behind, resuming his journey north through the forest.
He fought off a few smaller creatures that tried to attack him along the way, rested whenever his legs gave out, and ate small portions of dried meat whenever hunger returned. The forest was dangerous, but after everything he had already survived in the ruins, it felt almost manageable.
***
After some time, Kael stumbled upon a flowing stream cutting through the trees. The sound of running water was the most beautiful thing he had heard in days. He refilled both his waterskins and decided it was finally time to wash the days of blood, sweat, and grime off his body. He stripped down to his inner garment and waded carefully into the cold water.
As he washed, he caught sight of his reflection on the gently rippling surface.
He stared at it for a long moment, almost not recognizing the person looking back at him.
"I look… the same," he muttered with a dry, tired chuckle. "Just unkempt."
His light brown skin was covered in layers of dirt and old scars from the village and the ruins. He was average height, lean, and quietly built from years of hardship and working the forge. The tattoo on his right shoulder still gave off that faint pulse every now and then, stretching partially across his back toward his shoulder blade. His black hair had grown long and tightly coiled during his time trapped under the blue sky, and his dark eyes had heavy circles beneath them from too many nights without real sleep.
He finished bathing quickly, feeling cleaner than he had in what felt like forever. He let his wet hair down and allowed the wind to dry it as he walked. Every so often he pulled out the crude map Mako had given him, studying the messy lines and trying to make sense of the directions.
"So hard to comprehend," he said under his breath, remembering the easy, confident smile Mako had worn when he handed the map over before they went their separate ways.
***
Hours later, Kael came across a large traveling group moving north. People of all races walked together in a long column — humans, elves, orcs, and others he didn't even recognize. Some traveled on foot while others rode in sturdy caravans pulled by Dracons. The massive lizard-like beasts had powerful hind legs and small forelimbs. They were stronger than bulls and horses combined, yet strangely calm and easy to handle. Kael had never seen creatures like them before.
At first he was skeptical about joining such a large group, but since he wasn't entirely sure where he was going and the map was nearly useless, he decided to blend into the crowd. No one paid him much attention anyway. Everyone seemed focused on their own business and survival.
He walked up alongside a male elf who was driving one of the caravans.
"Where are we headed?" Kael asked.
"Vrinhelm," the elf replied without even glancing at him. "Four days from now, if the road stays clear and the beasts behave."
Kael nodded and moved deeper into the group. He asked around until he found the information he actually needed.
"Is there a blacksmith caravan nearby?" he asked a tall female orc walking beside one of the wagons.
"Three caravans ahead," she answered gruffly. "Old man Grome's. You can't miss the raggedy thing."
Kael followed her directions until he reached a beat-up looking caravan that clearly stood out from the cleaner ones around it. The wooden stairs leading up to the entrance looked like they might snap under his weight.
He climbed them carefully anyway.
"What do you want?" a dry, rough voice called from inside before he even reached the top.
"I'm looking for Old Man Grome."
A short but powerfully built human with a long grey beard and a bald head stepped into view. His face was deeply wrinkled and weathered from years of work. He looked Kael up and down with clear irritation.
"I can't believe those young'uns still call me that," he grumbled. "Well, you've found him. What do you want, boy?"
Without wasting any more time, Kael pulled out the ten long talons and four sharp canines he had taken from the rabbit.
"How many marks can I get for these?"
Grome took the parts and studied them closely under the light. His expression slowly changed from annoyance to something closer to respect.
"You managed to kill a D-rank Varghare?" he said, sounding genuinely impressed. "These are good quality. Each talon is worth about two marks, and each canine is worth four. That brings it to… thirty-six marks total."
Kael waited while the old blacksmith counted out the coins and dropped them into a small leather sack. He counted them twice to be sure — thirty-six Gale Marks.
The entire continent operated on Gale Marks. They were minted from a special grey-silver alloy that contained tiny traces of tempest will deposits. The deposits weren't strong enough to actually boost anyone's power, but they made counterfeiting nearly impossible. Ten shards made one regular mark. A heavy mark was worth one hundred shards. A crown was one thousand shards. A sovereign was ten thousand.
Kael needed marks to pay the standard entrance fee into Vrinhelm — six marks for most travelers.
He found a caravan willing to let him rest inside for a quarter mark per day and paid without arguing. A few other travelers were already inside resting or sleeping. Outside, the noise of the traveling group was constant — people trading, arguing, laughing, and fighting. No one seemed particularly bothered by any of it. It was just normal life on the road.
When night finally fell, lanterns were lit all along the line of caravans. The noise slowly died down as people settled in for the night. Kael ate some of the dried rabbit meat and checked his belongings to make sure nothing had been stolen while he wasn't looking. Everything was still there.
His eyes eventually drifted to the oxidized pole blade he had found back in the crater. He picked it up and turned it over in his hands, studying the rust and the strange design.
"Maybe I should sell this too," he muttered to himself. "Could get me another forty marks or so."
The blade suddenly gave off a faint, almost musical hum.
Kael froze completely.
"Am I going crazy," he whispered into the darkness, "or is everything humming around me now?"
He waited in silence, but the sound didn't return. After a long moment he carefully put the blade down and tried to get some sleep, though his mind kept circling back to that strange vibration.
***
The next morning, Kael took the pole blade straight back to Grome's caravan without hesitation.
"I want to reforge this," he said, placing the rusty weapon on the counter.
Grome picked it up and examined it with a professional eye, turning it over several times.
"I could give you a heavy mark for it right now if you want to sell," the old blacksmith offered.
"No," Kael said firmly. "I want it reforged. I'll pay for the work."
Grome raised an eyebrow at him. "Ten marks. It'll be ready in two days."
Kael turned toward the stairs like he was about to leave. "Maybe I'll find a better blacksmith somewhere else in the group."
A thick vein popped on Grome's forehead.
"There is no blacksmith better than I — Grome, the Blade's Touch," he snapped, clearly offended. "Seven marks. That's my final offer."
Kael paused at the top of the stairs, then slowly nodded.
"Deal."
He counted out seven marks and handed them over. Grome took the money with a grunt and waved him off. Kael left the pole blade with the old man, hoping that when he came back in two days he would actually receive something better than a rusty piece of scrap metal.