Chapter 3: A God's Whisper

The hills beyond Black Hollow were wastelands — dead, silent, endless.

Kaelen moved through them like a fading shadow, his cloak whipping in the cold wind.

Every step away from the city felt like shedding another chain, another lie.

But freedom came at a cost.

His wounds festered.

The stolen energy inside him flickered, unstable, gnawing at his spirit like a starving wolf.

He needed help.

Knowledge.

Control.

Otherwise, he would die before he ever had the chance to fight back.

---

By the second night, the fever hit him.

It came like a wave — first a shiver, then a burning heat that left him gasping on the barren ground.

Visions tore through his mind: flames devouring the sky, cities crumbling into black dust, a silver eye watching from beyond the stars.

He heard whispers in a language he didn’t know — words that seared themselves into his bones.

"Child of Ruin..."

"Bearer of the Last Light..."

"Awaken, and be consumed."

He tried to scream, but no sound came out.

The fever crushed him under its weight.

And then —

— a hand touched his forehead.

Cold, calloused.

Real.

The visions shattered like glass.

Kaelen blinked through the haze and saw a face looming over him.

A woman — wrapped in a cloak of pale gray feathers, her skin like moonlight, her eyes...

Her eyes were not human.

They were deep pools of shifting stars, vast and ancient and filled with sorrow.

She murmured a word — a single syllable that burned through Kaelen's mind like fire through dry leaves.

The fever broke instantly.

Kaelen gasped, the world snapping back into painful focus.

The woman sat back on her heels, regarding him with a mixture of curiosity and sadness.

"You are dying," she said, her voice low and musical.

"But not from the wounds you carry."

Kaelen struggled to sit up.

Pain flared, but he managed it.

"Who... who are you?" he rasped.

The woman tilted her head slightly.

"Once, I was called many things. Priestess. Outcast. Traitor."

She smiled, a brief flicker of something almost kind.

"But now... I am simply Selene."

Kaelen stared at her, heart hammering.

"You saved me."

Selene shook her head.

"No. I delayed your death."

She reached into her cloak and withdrew a vial filled with shimmering liquid.

"Drink. Or the power inside you will eat you from within."

Kaelen hesitated.

He had trusted too easily once.

It had cost him everything.

But something in Selene’s gaze — the weary weight of it — told him she was no enemy.

Slowly, he took the vial and drank.

It tasted like winter storms and blood and light.

Immediately, the burning inside him receded, settling into a steady thrum.

Kaelen sagged in relief.

Selene watched him closely.

"You bear the mark of the Forgotten," she said softly.

"The last spark of a god long dead."

Kaelen frowned.

"I don't understand."

Selene’s eyes darkened.

"You will. Whether you wish to or not."

She rose gracefully, the feathers of her cloak whispering against each other.

"Come. There is little time."

---

They traveled through the dead hills for hours — Kaelen stumbling, Selene moving like mist.

She spoke little.

When Kaelen pressed her, she only said:

"Questions must wait for sanctuary. The world listens."

Finally, they reached a narrow canyon, hidden from the open sky.

At its heart stood a crumbling shrine — ancient, half-buried in sand and ash.

Strange runes covered its broken stones.

Selene knelt before it, tracing the symbols with reverent fingers.

"This was once a place of power," she said.

"Long before men forgot the old ways."

Kaelen looked around warily.

"I don't see anything powerful now."

Selene smiled sadly.

"Power rarely shouts. It whispers."

She turned to him, her eyes gleaming.

"And you must learn to listen."

---

The ritual was simple — and brutal.

Selene drew a circle in the ash with a blade of bone.

She placed Kaelen in the center, binding his hands with silver cord.

Then she began to chant — low and rhythmic, a sound that stirred something deep and ancient in Kaelen’s blood.

The runes around them glowed faintly, pulsing with each beat of her voice.

Kaelen felt the ember inside him awaken — not with violence this time, but with yearning.

It reached out toward the shrine, toward the ancient power lingering like a ghost.

Pain lanced through him — but he gritted his teeth, enduring.

The whispers returned, louder now.

"Choose..."

"Become..."

"Burn, or rise."

Kaelen clenched his fists.

He thought of Black Hollow.

Of the hunters.

Of the brand on his skin.

Of the chains he had broken, and the chains yet to be shattered.

"I choose to rise," he whispered.

The ember roared in response.

A torrent of light exploded from Kaelen's chest, engulfing the shrine, the canyon, the very sky.

When the light faded, Kaelen collapsed to his knees, gasping.

Selene stood over him, her expression unreadable.

"You have taken the first step," she said quietly.

"But the path ahead is long. And the world will not forgive you for walking it."

Kaelen looked up at her, eyes burning with new fire.

"I don't want forgiveness."

He rose unsteadily to his feet.

"I want justice."

Selene smiled — not kindly, but with grim satisfaction.

"Then come, child of ruin."

She turned and began walking deeper into the canyon.

Kaelen followed, his heart pounding.

The gods might be dead.

The world might be broken.

But he was still breathing.

And he would not be forgotten.

---

(End of Chapter 3)