From afar, the village of Trenya looked like nothing more than a crumbling footnote in the pages of a forgotten history book.
Dilapidated wooden homes leaned into the wind like tired old men. Their thatched roofs sagged under time's weight, and cracked walls bore the scars of countless storms. Mud coated the dirt roads, turning each step into a soft squelch. Fog lingered between structures, refusing to lift, clinging to corners like secrets unwilling to die.
To most, it would look peaceful.
To Kaen, it reeked of silence that watched.
He stood for a moment just outside the village's border, staring at the twisted wooden fence that barely reached his waist. Beyond it, orange light flickered from a hearth, and faint voices echoed with a false sense of safety.
Kaen pulled his hood lower. The tattered gray cloak he wore hung over his shoulders like a burden, concealing most of his face. Beneath it, his body still bore the remnants of Void-borne wounds—sealed, but not forgotten. His aura, usually thick with the touch of something unnatural, was buried deep, compressed until only the faintest ripple escaped.
He stepped over the fence.
Each footfall was purposeful, unhurried. He moved like someone who'd done this before—blending, pretending, disappearing into the background. A ghost with skin.
A few villagers turned to look. A child paused in the act of rolling carved dice near a well. A man hauling a bundle of firewood glanced up, narrowed his eyes, then continued on. A dog barked once, its ears pinned back, tail stiff—then whimpered and retreated behind a fence.
Kaen said nothing.
He didn't need to.
The first to speak was an old man sitting on a half-broken barrel, puffing on a wooden pipe.
> "You don't belong here."
Kaen stopped. He turned slightly, revealing just enough of his face to show a human jawline. No scars. No fangs. Just another traveler.
> "Just passing through," Kaen replied calmly. "From the south."
The old man grunted. "Name?"
Kaen didn't blink.
> "Rael. Rael Veyron."
The lie slid from his tongue with the ease of someone who'd lived too many lives. It sounded real. Real enough for now.
The man puffed again. "If you're looking for a bed, Nira's your best shot. Two houses down, the one with the crooked lantern. She doesn't take kindly to drunkards or thieves."
Kaen nodded once and continued walking.
The village may have been small, but its layout was tight—narrow paths, homes pressed close, designed more for survival than comfort. Every corner turned held the scent of burnt oil, wet wood, and aging desperation.
When he reached the crooked-lantern house, the door creaked open before he could knock. A woman stood framed in the light, broad-shouldered with rolled-up sleeves and a hard gaze.
> "Need a room?" she asked flatly.
> "One night," Kaen replied. "If you'll have me."
> "Can you pay?"
He reached into his cloak and pulled out a silver coin—one of the few he'd found near the altar in the ruins. The symbol etched into it was unfamiliar, but coin was coin.
The woman snatched it, examined it briefly, then jerked her head toward the back.
> "Upstairs. First door on the right. Don't cause trouble, or I'll throw you out myself."
Kaen offered a tight nod and climbed the stairs.
His room was modest. A small wooden bed with a straw mattress. A cracked mirror on the wall. A window that refused to shut properly. One oil lantern flickered on a bedside table, casting long shadows that danced and swayed with every gust of wind.
He sat on the edge of the bed.
Listened.
Outside, the village quieted. Voices dulled into murmurs. Boots thudded softly on wood. Dogs whined. Somewhere, a bottle shattered.
Inside, the Void stirred.
Kaen breathed deeply, forcing the energy down, coiling it tighter within him. It didn't like being hidden. It wanted to spread. To consume. But Kaen wasn't ready to burn everything down—yet.
Not until he understood why the assassins had come for him.
Not until he knew who else had survived.
He tilted his head back, letting the lantern's light flicker across the ceiling.
> "Rael Veyron," he whispered. "Let's see how long that name lasts."
---
He didn't remember falling asleep.
The moment came slowly—first, the sound of a creaking floorboard. Then a faint gust against the window. Then silence.
Kaen opened his eyes.
Total stillness.
He moved with fluid precision, rising to his feet. His hand brushed the wall as he reached the window and gently cracked it open. Cold night air crept in. Mist slithered through the streets like living tendrils.
And then—movement.
A shadow, darting between homes. No shape. No face. Just a blur—fast, silent, too deliberate to be coincidence.
Kaen's fingers twitched.
He didn't act.
He waited.
The shadow didn't return.
But the feeling of being watched? It only grew stronger.
He closed the window slowly, then sat on the edge of the bed once more. His gaze lingered on the door, then drifted to the mirror across the room.
In the reflection—nothing unusual.
But he knew better.
> "They're watching," he murmured. "Not from outside… from inside."
He leaned back.
Closed his eyes.
Did not sleep.
---
Dawn broke gray and sluggish.
Fog hadn't lifted. The sky hung low, like a lid pressing down on the world. Kaen descended the stairs quietly. The common room was empty except for Nira, who scrubbed a table with a cloth that looked older than the wood it cleaned.
She glanced up.
> "Sleep well?"
> "Soundly."
She nodded. "There's porridge in the pot. No meat, unless you count rats."
Kaen chuckled faintly. "I'll pass."
She watched him for a moment longer, then went back to scrubbing.
Kaen stepped outside. The village was stirring. The butcher sharpened knives. A few children tossed stones near the well. And across the square… a young girl stared at him.
She was no older than ten, with tangled hair and eyes too sharp for her age.
> "You smell strange," she said.
Kaen raised an eyebrow.
> "Do I?"
She nodded solemnly. "Like smoke and ashes. But not from fire."
He crouched slowly, meeting her eye level.
> "What's your name?"
> "Lina."
> "You always talk to strangers, Lina?"
She shook her head. "Only the ones who carry pieces of death."
Before he could respond, she turned and ran off—disappearing into the crowd.
Kaen stood.
The Void within him quivered.
> Someone else had felt it.
He looked toward the forest beyond the village.
Somewhere out there… more were coming.
He could feel it.
And somewhere closer—too close—one pair of golden eyes still watched him from the fog.
Silent.
Hungry.
Waiting for him to make a mistake.
---