The narrow tunnel was a winding throat of stone and soil, swallowing Kael in oppressive silence. Each step felt heavier than the last, as though the very earth sought to drag him back down. The air reeked of mildew and something sour and metallic.
He didn't stop.
Couldn't stop.
The voices of those… things… still clung to his thoughts. "You will understand. Soon."
His wounded side burned with every movement. The blood had dried to a sticky crust, but weakness gnawed at him. Kael's hands brushed the rough walls, seeking balance, when a sudden rumble made the ground tremble.
A noise ahead.
A slithering.
Kael dropped into a crouch, his eyes narrowing in the gloom. Shapes moved beyond the thin mist — hunched, malformed things with pale, wet skin and eyes like gleaming marbles. Creatures born of the deep.
There were four of them.
And they'd caught his scent.
They moved with a jerking, insectile grace, dragging limbs tipped with too many joints. Mouths split open vertically, revealing rows of jagged teeth.
Kael gritted his teeth.
"Not today."
He grabbed a nearby stone — jagged, heavy, familiar in his grip. One of the creatures lunged. Kael sidestepped, swinging the stone in a wide arc. It connected with a sickening crack, the creature's skull splitting open like brittle clay.
But the others came fast.
Kael fought with everything he had — fists, feet, instinct. His body moved on its own, dodging, striking, rolling clear. Yet each wound slowed him. Blood ran freely from new cuts, his vision blurring.
Another leapt, claws raking his chest.
Kael roared, not in fear, but in fury.
And then — something changed.
His blood, dripping onto the earth, struck a smooth, buried stone half-hidden beneath the dust. A faint pulse shimmered in the gloom. The stone glowed with a dull crimson light, veins of ancient power awakening.
Kael's body tensed as a sudden surge of heat rippled through him. The pain dulled, replaced by a deep, thrumming strength. His muscles tightened, vision sharpening. Every sound became clearer — every heartbeat, every breath of the things around him.
The creatures hesitated.
Kael grinned, teeth gleaming.
"Your turn."
He moved faster than before, his body responding as though guided by something older than instinct. His fists struck like hammers, bones cracking under his touch. A swipe of his arm sent one creature flying against the tunnel wall, its body crumpling.
The last of them turned to flee.
Kael was on it in a heartbeat.
Grabbing its throat, he lifted the thing from the ground. Pale claws scratched at his arm, but couldn't break his grip.
Kael's eyes burned bright amber.
"Tell your masters…" he growled.
"I'm not running anymore."
With a sharp twist, he snapped its neck and let the body fall. Silence returned.
Kael stood over the carnage, chest heaving. The crimson glow of the buried stone dimmed, but something inside him remained changed. The warmth lingered in his blood, his wounds already beginning to knit together, flesh sealing with unnatural speed.
He looked at his hands, flexing them.
"What… was that?"
A faint voice whispered in the back of his mind. Not the old things from the Hollow. Not his own thoughts.
Older.
Familiar.
"Child of blood and earth… the world remembers you."
Kael took a steadying breath, the tunnel stretching ahead into deeper darkness.
He was no longer the monster hiding at the edge of the world.
Kael moved through the winding tunnels, the crimson afterglow of the buried stone fading behind him. The air grew thinner, cooler, carrying with it the distant scent of pine and damp earth. Above, faint shafts of moonlight pierced through cracks in the stone, promising escape.
For the first time in what felt like days, Kael saw the surface.
He climbed out from a narrow cleft between jagged stones, his body bloodied, his clothes torn, but his steps steady. The night sky stretched overhead — vast, endless, indifferent. Silver clouds drifted past a cold, watchful moon. The forest no longer felt like a cage.
Kael stood tall, the cold wind against his skin. The old Kael — the one who ducked and hid, who feared every branch snap, every hunting horn — was gone.
No more.
"I'm done hiding," he muttered, his voice low and steady.
The world beyond the woods stretched out before him: dark hills, mist-choked valleys, and the faint glow of distant settlements. Lands where monsters like him were hunted for sport, their heads taken as trophies, their deaths sold as righteous acts.
Kael's amber eyes burned.
They called us beasts, cursed our names, and hung our bones on their walls… but never asked why we bled.
He began walking.
Through cold lands, over frost-bitten ridges and across shallow rivers that glittered like broken glass. The night was alive with the sounds of things that hunted and things that feared being hunted.
Kael was neither.
And then he heard them. Voices.
The unmistakable clatter of armor, the murmur of men, the stench of torch smoke. Another hunting party. Adventurers. Eager to claim another 'victory' against whatever poor creature they crossed.
Kael's lips curled.
They appeared at the top of a nearby rise — four of them, silhouetted against the moonlight. Chainmail gleaming. Swords, spears, and a bow strung and ready. The leader, a tall man with a wolf-pelt cloak, raised a hand to halt his group.
"There!" one of them shouted, spotting Kael.
Kael didn't flinch.
He stepped into the open, the torchlight revealing his battered form, his dark skin marked with fresh scars, his single horn gleaming like polished obsidian.
"By the gods, it's an ogre," a young archer muttered.
"A half-blood," the leader corrected, sneering. "They're worse. Cunning."
Kael's gaze didn't waver.
They readied their weapons.
"Draw steel!" the leader barked. "Claim his head, lads — we'll drink to it by dawn!"
Kael took a breath, feeling the lingering warmth of the blood-stone deep in his bones. His senses sharpened. He could hear the heartbeat of the nervous archer, the clink of a sword hilt against mail, the quiet tremor in one man's breathing.
Not running. Not anymore.
Kael's voice carried across the clearing.
"You're not heroes."
The leader scowled. "I'll be whatever your corpse makes me."
Kael moved.
Faster than they expected. A blur of dark muscle and iron will. The archer loosed an arrow — Kael swatted it aside mid-air. The spearman lunged — Kael ducked, grabbing the shaft, twisting it from the man's hands, and shoving the butt of it into his gut.
The man crumpled.
The leader's sword sang free of its scabbard. He swung in a wide arc. Kael caught the blade barehanded — his grip tightening around the steel. Blood ran from his palm, but Kael didn't let go.
The leader's eyes widened.
"Impossible—"
Kael wrenched the sword free, shoving the man back. In one smooth motion, he hurled the weapon end over end into a nearby tree, the blade embedding itself deep in the trunk.
Two adventurers left.
Kael advanced. His body moved like a storm given shape. Every blow landed with bone-cracking force. The archer fled. The other fell.
And Kael stood alone.
The cold wind howled through the trees.
Breathing heavily, Kael looked down at his bloodied hands. His heart thundered, not from fear — but from the thrill of standing, of fighting back, of claiming space in a world that tried to deny him.
He raised his eyes to the horizon.
No more edges. No more hiding.
"I'm coming for my name," Kael whispered. "And the world will remember."