He dropped it, gasping, lips stained. The hunger quieted, sated but lurking. Guilt gnawed, but the strength—the clarity—sang in his bones.
This is me, he realized. I can't run from it.
He buried the rabbit, hands unsteady, then slipped back home. The hunger slept—for now.
Morning brought a stranger. A traveler, cloaked and dusty, rode into Talsara with a scroll for the elders. Kaelith lingered in the square, watching Torvyn and the others huddle, faces tight.
Lirien appeared beside him, her braids bouncing. "Heard it's from Valtheris. Bad news."
"What kind?" he asked, his toddler lisp fading but still there.
She shrugged. "Pa says the king's dying. Won't last the season."
Kaelith's mind raced. Kingdom stuff.
"What happens if he dies?" he pressed.
"Chaos," Lirien said, grinning. "Princes fighting, lords picking sides. Maybe war."
He nodded, unease coiling. War could reach Talsara—threaten Veyra, the village. He had to be strong enough.
Seraphine was off during training, her usual fire dimmed. She drilled him on shields, barking orders.
"Focus, Kaelith! A mage who can't defend is dead."
He wove a flame barrier, thin but solid. It shimmered, holding against her test spark.
She sighed, pinching her brow. "Sloppy, but it'll do."
"What's wrong?" he asked, dropping his hands.
She glanced at him, surprised. "Sharp for a kid."
"Heard about the king," he said.
"Yeah." She nodded. "If he goes, the kingdom splits. Guilds'll take contracts—mages too."
"You?" he asked.
She smirked. "I go where the wind—or gold—takes me."
He frowned. "You'd fight for money?"
"Everyone's got a price, kid. Money, glory, family—what's yours?"
He thought of Talren, chasing skirts. "Not that," he muttered.
"Fair," she said. "Figure it out fast—the world's moving."
They trained on, but her words stuck. He needed a reason—a real one.
That night, Talren stumbled in late, reeking of ale and cheap perfume. Veyra set his plate down with a bang, silent.
Kaelith ate quietly, the air choking. He couldn't hold it in.
"Dad," he said, voice small. "Why're you always gone?"
Talren froze, fork hovering. Veyra's head snapped up.
"Gone?" Talren chuckled, forced. "Helping friends, little man."
"Liar," Kaelith said, sharp.
Talren's eyes narrowed. "Mind your tongue, boy."
"You're hurting Mom," Kaelith pressed, hunger flaring.
Veyra gasped. "Kaelith—"
"No," he cut in, standing on his chair. "He's cheating. I know."
Talren stood, towering. "You don't understand—"
"I do," Kaelith said, steady. "I hear it. Smell it."
Talren's hand twitched, but Veyra stepped in. "Enough!"
She faced Talren, trembling. "He's right, isn't he?"
"Veyra—" Talren started.
"Out," she whispered, voice cracking. "Now."
Talren paled, then left, the door slamming. Veyra crumpled, sobbing.
Kaelith hugged her leg. "Sorry, Mom."
She held him, tears falling. "Not your fault, sweetling."
He clung to her, hunger growling. I'll protect you.
Days blurred—Talren at the tavern, Veyra working, Kaelith training. One afternoon, Seraphine paused their fire-whip lesson.
"You're sharper now," she said. "What changed?"
"Home," he muttered.
She nodded. "Family's a tangle."
"Yeah."
"Magic won't fix it," she said, soft. "But it's a door out."
"I don't want out," he said. "I want to fix it."
She smiled, bittersweet. "Good luck, kid."
He cracked the whip, slicing air. I'll find a way.
Seraphine's last day came. She handed him a leather spellbook. "Basics," she said. "Study hard."
He took it, awed. "You're leaving?"
"Capital job," she said. "Back in a year, maybe."
"I'll miss you," he blurted.
She ruffled his hair, lingering. "You'll survive, spark."
Her closeness stirred him—Kazu's ghost. She whispered, "Grow up strong. We'll see what's next."
He flushed, stepping back. "I will."
She laughed, leaving. He clutched the book, resolve hardening.
That night, alone by the hearth, Kaelith read. Veyra slept, Talren gone. The spellbook glowed in the firelight—Fireball. Flame Cloak. Inferno.
He grinned, fangs sharp. The kingdom trembled on the edge, and he'd rise with it—magic, hunger, and all.
Kaelith stood in the field, the sun dipping low, casting long shadows over the grass. His small hands trembled as he summoned a flame, shaping it into a serpent that coiled in the air. The heat prickled his skin, a thrill racing through him.
Seraphine leaned against a tree, arms crossed, her sharp eyes glinting. "Better," she said, voice crisp. "But you're still holding back."
He let the flame flicker out, chest heaving. "I'm not."
"You are." She stepped forward, robes whispering against the ground. "Magic's more than focus—it's feeling. What's stopping you?"
Kaelith's jaw clenched. The hunger. It gnawed at him, a shadow he couldn't shake. The fear of losing control—of becoming what he'd been in his past life, Kazu the lecherous shut-in—kept him leashed. But he couldn't admit that.
"Fine," he muttered, raising his hands. Ignis. The flame roared back, larger, twisting into a dragon's snarling maw. It held for a heartbeat, then burst into embers.
Seraphine smirked. "There it is. That's the spark I saw."
He grinned, fangs peeking out. "Told you I could do it."
She knelt, leveling her gaze with his. "You've got talent, Kaelith. Raw, wild talent. But talent alone won't get you far. You need a path."
"Path?" he asked, tilting his head.
She stood, sweeping an arm toward the horizon. "This village—Talsara—it's a speck. Out there's the Saelith Kingdom. Cities like Valtheris, academies, guilds. They rank mages and adventurers—Novice, Adept, Master, all the way to Archmage or Sword Saint. You want to matter? You climb that ladder."
His eyes widened. Rankings. Like the RPGs he'd wasted his old life on. "How do I start?"
"Learn the basics first," she said. "Then you test into a guild—prove your strength. Most don't try till they're older—ten, twelve. You're what, five?"
"Six," he corrected, puffing out his chest.
She chuckled, a warm, crackling sound. "Still young. But with your pace… maybe you could."
"I will," he said, voice firm.
"Convince your parents first," she teased, turning to leave. "Tomorrow, we work on control. Don't slack."