Born From Ruin (Rebirth)

Chapter 5: Breath of the Past

Night came early that day.

The kind of night that felt thick — heavy — as if the air itself remembered something it shouldn’t.

Kael sat alone in his small room, the fire burning low in the hearth. A map lay open on the table, drawn in charcoal and old memory. He wasn’t supposed to have it — this version of him shouldn’t even know the northern routes or the troop lines. But he did. Every hill, every river bend, every mistake that led to his death.

His fingers traced the borders slowly.

“So much blood,” he whispered. “And for what?”

The Echo Stone pulsed under his shirt again — faint, steady, alive. It was like a heartbeat that wasn’t his own. He took it out, setting it on the table. The stone was dark gray, smooth, and cold. When he held it close to the light, a soft red shimmer rippled through it — like the glow of dying embers.

The air shifted.

He could almost hear it — voices, far away, layered on top of each other. Like whispers carried through fog.

He stared hard, breath shallow. “Who are you?”

No answer. Just that same low hum, like something buried deep beneath the surface of time.

Then, faintly — his own voice.

“Hold the line!”

Kael’s chest tightened. The words came sharp, echoing off the walls of his mind. He knew that voice. He’d shouted it years ago — no, in another life.

Flashes of memory hit him — soldiers in mud, banners torn, the smell of iron and smoke. His command tent. The last night before the Northern Campaign fell apart.

He saw it. Felt it.

His younger self — tired, angry, still believing that orders from above were sacred. He remembered writing those reports, trusting Varic’s word. Trusting lies.

The stone grew warmer in his hand.

Another voice broke through — older, colder.

Varic.

“Stand down, Kael. You’ve done enough.”

The words echoed like ghosts in the room. Kael’s grip tightened until the stone dug into his palm.

“Enough,” he said softly. “I thought so too. Until you burned me alive.”

The fire in the hearth flickered, bending toward him — as if drawn by the stone’s pulse. The air vibrated, just for a heartbeat.

And then — a scream. Not loud, not human. A sound pulled from somewhere between worlds.

Kael dropped the stone. It hit the floor, glowing now, light spilling across the wooden boards like liquid fire.

He stepped back. “What are you?”

The light twisted, forming faint shapes in the air — outlines, fragments. Soldiers frozen mid-battle. Arrows in flight. His past — replaying, but wrong.

And there, among the images, he saw a child. A boy standing on a hill, watching the empire’s banners burn. Eryn.

Kael’s breath caught.

“No,” he whispered. “That hasn’t happened. Not yet.”

The vision flickered, then shattered like glass. The glow faded, the room falling silent except for his heartbeat. The stone lay dark again, smoke rising faintly from its surface.

Kael knelt, picking it up carefully. It was cold now — lifeless, as if nothing had happened. But something had.

He looked at his shaking hands. “You’re showing me the future now,” he murmured. “Or warning me.”

Outside, the wind picked up. The shutters creaked.

Kael slipped the stone back under his shirt, the weight of it pressing against his heart. He didn’t know what rules bound this second life, but he knew one thing: it wasn’t just chance. Someone — or something — had tied his soul to that fire.

A knock came at the door.

“Kael?”

It was Eryn. The boy’s small voice wavered.

Kael took a breath, forcing calm. “Come in.”

The door opened. Eryn stepped inside, holding the same stick from yesterday. He looked nervous, but his eyes shone with the same stubborn light.

“I practiced,” he said proudly. “Just like you showed me.”

Kael smiled faintly. “Good. Sit.”

The boy obeyed. Kael handed him a small cloth, still damp with water. “Clean your hands first. You don’t touch a blade with dirty hands. You respect it.”

Eryn nodded, doing as told.

When he looked up again, Kael saw something strange — a faint shimmer in the air near the boy’s shoulder. Just for a second. A small wisp of light, almost like smoke.

The same kind that had come from the stone.

Kael blinked. It was gone.

“Master Kael?”

He shook his head. “Nothing. Keep your stance straight next time.”

They trained for a while — the small cottage filling with the sound of wood tapping against wood, laughter breaking through the silence now and then. For the first time since his return, Kael almost felt human again.

But when Eryn left, the house fell quiet. Too quiet.

Kael turned back to the map, eyes tracing the path north again. He could almost feel the empire’s shadow stretching this way — the same roads that would soon run red.

He closed his eyes and whispered, “If I am to breathe again, let me breathe different air this time.”

The Echo Stone pulsed once more — steady, warm.

And from somewhere far beyond, a faint reply drifted through the silence:

Then change your fate, strategist.