Kael hadn't meant to follow him. Heck, he didn't even think it made any sense at all to follow a blindfolded man, who could somehow see despite being blindfolded, and every part of him screamed to turn back, to stay hidden, and to figure things out on his own, but something about the way the man moved calmly, and certainly, like he knew exactly what he was doing, and was confident with it, drew Kael in.
It also wasn't just confidence, it was also the way the world seemed to feel slightly different with his presence, almost like gravity itself recognized the man.
So Kael followed him, and they left the shattered tower just before sunrise. The ruins of the city were all there was to see as they trekked east along a very narrow trail that cut between the blackened rock and dead brush.
Kael said nothing as they did, and neither did the strange man. The silence between them wasn't exactly comfortable in any way, but it wasn't tense either.
Hours passed, and the sun started to rise even higher, doing little to warm the wind biting Kael's exposed skin. The coat he had borrowed along the way that was now torn from the previous day's escape, offered little insulation, but he didn't complain as it was better than having nothing on.
Eventually, they arrived at a small valley that was between the hills, and hidden under a canopy of trees, was another crumbling temple that looked like it had been carved from some kind of dark stone, and to top it off, the architecture of the building looked far older than anything Kael had seen in the ruined city they were coming from.
The entrance had a circular sigil that was practically worn-out, and it was a symbol that matched the mark that was still faintly glowing on Kael's chest.
The man stopped just before the entrance of the place, and turned his head slightly.
"You feel it, don't you?" he asked.
Kael frowned. "Feel what?"
"There should be that pull in your chest, and a kind of heat under your ribs. That would be the brand, and it's a way of showing that it remembers this place," the man explained.
Kael's fingers twitched near his sternum, and from his observation, the mark wasn't burning him, but it was beating in a slow rhythm that matched his breath, and it somehow made him feel like the mark was waiting for something.
The man walked through the archway without another word, and Kael followed behind him, suddenly even more curious to know what all of this was about.
The inside of the place was very dim, and dry, and vines and ash were literally poking out of the cracks in the walls. There were numerous broken statues lined in the corridor with their features ruined beyond any sort of recognition.
Kael passed one of them, and as soon as he did, he felt something stir in the pit of his stomach, something dangerously close to a memory.
It was a battlefield, and there had been loud screams from all corners, as well as the horrid stench of fire and burning flesh.
He stumbled slightly at the memory, and the blindfolded man turned his head but didn't stop walking.
"You're remembering fragments, but I'll advise that you don't fight it. You should just let it pass," he advised.
Kael's voice came out rough as he spoke. "Who are you?"
"My name's Corvan," the man replied. "And I was an Ash Priest, but that was a long time ago."
Kael narrowed his eyes. "Was?"
"Well, at the moment, there's no order left to serve, and all that's left are just the echoes of what we tried so hard to protect," Corvan responded, and even though Kael didn't really understand what he meant, he had a feeling that Corvan wasn't down to explain just yet.
They came to a large chamber that was lit by natural sunlight that poured through a jagged hole in the ceiling. There was a faded mural covering the far wall, and Kael couldn't take his eyes off it.
It depicted a figure that was completely dressed in black, and in one hand, he was holding a sword while flames encircled his feet. Above him, there were figures that looked like gods falling down like broken glass from a crumbling sky.
He didn't need to ask who it was.
Corvan stepped to the center of the room. "You've heard the name," he said. "The Godkiller."
Kael nodded. "He's a myth, isn't he?" he asked.
"No," Corvan replied. "He's very real, and he's also a mistake that the gods couldn't rectify, no matter how hard they tried. He lived, he fought, and he won."
Kael stepped closer to the mural. "And let me guess, I'm supposed to believe I'm somehow connected to him?"
"You don't need to believe," Corvan said, turning toward him. "I'm pretty sure you already know, and let me tell you, the brand does not awaken without purpose. It's a piece of what he left behind, and even though you don't carry his memory, you carry a part of his will."
Kael folded his arms. "So what? You want me to finish what he started? Is that what this is about? I'm supposed to finish his will?"
"Not exactly," Corvan said. "What I really want is for you to understand what you are before someone else decides how to use it."
Kael said nothing in response, and Corvan crossed the room to an altar at the far end. With careful hands, he brushed away a layer of dust and picked up a long wooden box.
Inside the box, and resting on a worn-out velvet, was a jagged blade, and it wasn't like the one Kael had summoned before, but very similar in shape, and clearly less volatile. And it radiated heat like coal.
"This is a training vessel," Corvan said. "Forged by one of the old Priests to simulate the bond between Ashbrand and its wielder. If you want to learn how to control that mark, this is where you start."
Kael took a step closer and stared at it. "What happens if I can't control it?"
"Then the mark controls you," Corvan responded casually. "And eventually, it burns through you entirely."
Instead of reacting to Corvan's words, Kael reached out to the blade, and the moment his fingers brushed the hilt, the blade flared up, not in hostility, but in recognition.
The room seemed to fall away for a moment, replaced by roaring flame and the beat of a massive heart, but then it vanished, and he was holding the sword.
It was lighter than expected, but heavy in his palm, like it knew the power it held, and the lives it had taken.
Corvan nodded. "Come. Let's see what you're made of."
---
The training ground behind the temple was cracked open, and completely buried under ash, but it was still slightly usable. There were old dummies standing in a crooked circle, and lines had been carved into the dirt by hundreds of feet long forgotten.
Corvan watched as Kael began to move. The first swings were wild, and heavy with way too much force, and not enough balance.
"Stop using your arms," Corvan called. "Use your spine, and your weight. Let the blade move through you."
Kael gritted his teeth and tried again, and the more he swung the blade, the more it continued to hum against the air.
He lost track of time, and the heat built slowly, rushing into his chest and shoulders until sweat soaked through what was left of his shirt. Blisters formed on his palms, and he stumbled, fell, and stood up again.
Corvan never raised his voice, and he also didn't bother moving an inch to correct him physically. Instead, he simply gave short, and quick feedback like,
"Too slow."
"Your stance is open."
"You're thinking too much."
All while Kael moved, the mark didn't activate, and that was the point. He repeatedly mentioned how this training wasn't just about instinct, but was more about mastery.
More time passed, and when Kael finally dropped to his knees, panting heavily, the blade slid from his fingers and vanished into smoke.
Corvan handed him a flask he had with him. "Tomorrow, you'll do it blindfolded."
Kael laughed hoarsely. "You seem to me like a sadist."
"Believe me, it's way better than a corpse," Corvan responded, not smiling, and after that, they sat in silence for a long while.
Finally, Kael spoke. "How many were there before me?" he asked.
Corvan sighed, and looked up at the sky before he responded. "Seventeen."
Kael's eyes widened in shock. "What happened to them?"
"Well, most of them couldn't control it, and while some turned violent, others were hunted and successfully killed. The rest died trying to find the Godkiller's tomb," Corvan explained.
Kael turned to him. "There's a tomb?"
Corvan hesitated.
"Some say he was buried at the edge of the world, while others seem to believe that he became the world. No one knows for certain which one it is, but those who've carried the brand long enough... they start to remember. Through fragments, and dreams. Some say it's a test, and others say it's a map."
Kael looked at his hands, and they were shaking again.
"So what am I supposed to do?" he questioned.
"Stay alive," Corvan said. "And when the time comes, you're going to choose what kind of legacy you want to leave. Because this power doesn't fade. It either consumes you, or it changes the world."
That night, Kael was lying down on a cot in one of the monastery's smaller chambers, and he stared up at the stone ceiling, trying to pull the million and one thoughts that he had together.
He couldn't help but think about the bounty, about the men he'd killed, as well as the faces of the soldiers who'd fled from him.
He thought about the fire, and the figure he kept seeing whenever he closed his eyes.
The one with his face, but certainly not his eyes, and not his soul.
Just before he was finally able to fall asleep, the mark on his chest warmed again, and this time it wasn't in warning, but in hunger. Hunger for blood.