The village of Eldoria was silent, save for the distant creak of swaying trees and the whisper of wind over rooftops. The morning mist clung to the thatched houses like a veil, but even it seemed to avoid the boy standing at the edge of the square.
Kieran stood barefoot in the mud, arms at his sides, head lowered beneath a curtain of damp black hair. The blood on his lip had already dried, but the sting still lingered. Around him, villagers gathered—not to help, but to watch. To whisper. To judge.
"There he is again. Walking blight."
"A demon in human skin."
"I heard he talks to the shadows at night."
He said nothing. He never did. Words only fed the fire.
The old man who'd struck him—a gray-bearded merchant named Branric—still stood nearby, face flushed with anger and drink. "Stay away from my daughter," he spat. "If I catch you near her again, Voidspawn or not, I'll make sure you don't leave walking."
Kieran didn't answer. He hadn't even spoken to the girl.
He turned slowly and walked away, ignoring the stares, the murmurs, the way mothers pulled children behind them like he was plagueborn. As he passed, a child threw a stone. It bounced off his shoulder. He didn't flinch.
Only when the square was far behind and the trees swallowed the path did Kieran stop. He breathed in the forest air—damp, pine-sweet, honest. The woods didn't hate him. The trees didn't whisper lies.
From behind a mossy boulder, a familiar voice called, "You held yourself better than I would've. You sure you're not part saint?"
Gareth emerged, leaning on his walking stick, robes frayed but eyes sharp as ever. He had been Kieran's guardian for as long as he could remember—though he'd never called himself that.
"I didn't ask for sainthood," Kieran muttered.
"No," Gareth said. "But you're going to need more than patience to survive what's coming."
Kieran turned to him, brow furrowed. "More rumors?"
"Worse. Whispers from the capital. They've heard of you."
Kieran's gut twisted. "Because of the eyes?"
Gareth nodded. "Red as blood. Hair black as pitch. They think you're touched by the Void. Some say you're the second coming of the Hollow Star. The nobles want you watched. The church wants you dead."
"So… nothing new," Kieran said bitterly.
But Gareth's expression darkened. "No, boy. This time, the shadows are listening."
Eldoria was not an unkind place—not in theory. Its cobbled paths, flowering gardens, and gently sloping rooftops gave it the illusion of peace. But under the surface, it was a village built on fear. And fear needed something to cling to.
That was Kieran's place.
He walked the path that wound between the homes, familiar with every crack in the stone and every corner where children waited to mock him when no elders were watching. Their words didn't hurt anymore—not the way they used to. It was the silence of the elders that stung deeper. The way they let it happen. The way they agreed with it, even when they said nothing at all.
He passed the blacksmith's forge, where thick smoke curled from the chimney. The smith, a grizzled man named Torin, paused his hammering just long enough to glance up.
"Still alive, then?" Torin muttered, not even trying to mask the scorn.
Kieran nodded once and kept walking. It was the same every day. The only place he could go without eyes burning into his back was the edge of the woods—where Gareth lived.
There, near the river that split the forest, was a worn cottage built from stone and patience. Moss grew thick along the roof. A rusted weather vane squeaked overhead, spinning even when the air was still. It was the only place that felt like home.
Gareth was already inside when Kieran entered, sitting beside the hearth, a cup of tea cradled in one hand and an ancient book in the other.
"They've made it a sport now," Kieran said quietly. "Chasing me, throwing rocks. Today I think they were trying to see who could make me bleed first."
Gareth didn't look up. "You'll learn to use that. Their fear, their ignorance. It'll harden you in the right places."
"I don't want to be hard," Kieran said. He dropped onto the bench opposite the fire. "I just want them to stop."
Gareth closed the book. "They won't. Not until they understand. And they won't understand until they see."
"See what?"
"That you are not what they think."
Silence stretched between them. The fire crackled. Outside, the wind picked up, scattering leaves like dying embers.
"Do you think it's true?" Kieran asked suddenly, his voice low. "That I'm Voidborne?"
Gareth's eyes narrowed. "I think you're a boy who's survived more cruelty than most men do in a lifetime. And I think you carry something inside you the world has forgotten how to name."
Kieran looked into the fire. "That's not a no."
"No," Gareth said, "it isn't."