The Cursed of Destiny: The One Who Waited

They sat across from each other in the hush of morning.

Kael's gaze rested on her—not with hunger or sorrow, but something deeper. Something that ached quietly and without end.

A thousand storms had passed through his eyes.

And in this moment, all of them were still.

Lyra didn't understand it, not entirely. But her heart beat fast in her chest, as if answering something it had known long before she was born.

Before she could speak, the door burst open.

"Lyra!"

Aylea crashed into her arms, nearly knocking her backward.

"You dummy!" she sobbed. "What if something had happened to you?"

Lyra smiled faintly, wrapping her arms around her cousin.

"Everything's fine now."

And somehow, it was.

Soon, the others came.

Auren. Daran. Thalen. Siora. The elders. All weary, all bruised—but alive. When they saw her sitting up, surrounded by soft light and old stone, a ripple of relief passed through them.

Kael stood at a distance, near the window.

He didn't speak. Didn't draw attention.

But when Lyra smiled at her family, he smiled too—as if her joy was his own heartbeat.

By daylight, rebuilding had begun.

The mansion was gone, collapsed in ash and blackened timber. But the people were alive, and stone could be laid again. It would rise stronger.

And wherever Lyra walked, he followed.

He didn't hover, didn't speak unless spoken to. But he was always there—watching, listening, as if afraid to lose her in even a moment of silence.

When someone teased, "Why do you follow her like a lost puppy?"

He only turned toward the voice, then looked back at Lyra—expression unreadable.

As though, to him, she wasn't just someone.

She was the only one.

That evening, Auren gathered the clan near the half-built walls.

"The darkness is quiet for now," he began, "but not gone. It will return. And next time, it may come stronger."

He looked at the young and old alike.

"We survived. But we must be ready."

The crowd nodded in grim agreement.

"Yes, sir."

When the crowd dispersed, only a few remained—Siora, Daran, Thalen, Aylea, a few elders… and him.

Auren turned toward him.

Then, without pride, he bowed.

"Thank you."

The others followed, each bowing in turn.

He blinked as if unsure what to do. His hands stayed by his sides.

"What's your name?" Auren asked.

Kael hesitated.

"Kael," he said quietly, as if trying it for the first time.

"Where are you from? Why did you help us?"

Kael looked down. His hands opened and closed slowly.

"I don't know."

A pause.

"I was… asleep. For a long time, I think. Then I heard a voice—her voice—calling out."

He looked at Lyra.

"So I answered."

Auren watched him carefully.

"And now? What will you do?"

Kael shook his head.

"I don't know who I am. Or where I come from. But every time I see her…"

He exhaled softly.

"I feel like I've already lost her once. Maybe more than once."

His voice cracked.

"And every time… it breaks me in the same place."

A hush settled.

Auren nodded, heart heavy with something unspoken.

"Then stay."

That night, silence fell.

Lyra's room was warm with dim candlelight. She lay still beneath the sheets, her thoughts full of broken images and a name that now meant more than just sound.

Kael.

It didn't bring fear.

It brought ache.

A memory she didn't have.

A comfort she had never forgotten.

And when that door inside her fully opened, Lyra would face a choice—

One she had made in every lifetime.

And forgotten every time.

Elsewhere, beneath the stars, Kael sat alone on a cold stone, the moonlight sliding like silver over his scarred shoulders.

He drew a spiral in the dirt beside him with one finger. Over and over.

A loop with no end.

Auren approached quietly and sat beside him.

"Can't sleep?"

Kael didn't answer right away.

Then he turned. His eyes were full of something haunted and searching.

"There's something inside me," he murmured.

"A locked door. I hear it knocking sometimes. Like it's trying to find me."

Auren didn't reply.

Kael's voice dropped.

"I know her," he said, barely audible.

"And I never want to forget again."

Far beyond the mountains, something stirred.

A memory that hadn't yet reached him.

Or worse… one that had.