Born From Ruin (Rebirth)

Chapter 8: A Stranger’s Face

The sun rose quiet over Ashvale.

Mist clung to the rooftops like ghosts that refused to leave. The rain had stopped, but the streets still glistened with puddles — tiny mirrors reflecting a pale sky.

Kael Ardent walked through it all, his hood drawn low, the weight of the cracked Echo Stone resting in his pocket.

He moved like a man half-awake, half-haunted.

Every sound felt too familiar — the call of the market traders, the clatter of a blacksmith’s hammer, the laugh of a child darting past.

It was all the same as before.

And yet… different.

Because no one knew him now.

No one looked twice.

The empire’s strategist, the man once feared and respected in every hall, now passed through the crowd like smoke.

He stopped by a stall selling dried fruit. The woman behind it gave him a smile, rough hands brushing against her apron. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost, boy.”

He met her eyes — gentle, tired eyes. He didn’t answer. Just dropped a coin on the counter.

She frowned. “You’re overpaying.”

He looked at the fruit, then back at her. “Then consider the rest for the ghosts.”

She blinked, confused. But Kael had already turned away.

At the edge of the market stood a fountain — cracked, moss creeping along its rim. Once, he’d stood there giving orders to passing soldiers. Now, he was just another face.

He crouched by the water.

The reflection that stared back wasn’t the man he remembered.

No gray in his hair. No scar along his jaw. His eyes — once hard and cold — now young again, but still carrying the same weight.

A stranger’s face.

His face.

And yet not.

He lifted a hand, touching his cheek like he needed to confirm he was real.

The water rippled, and for a second — just a flicker — he saw something else.

An older version of himself. Burned, eyes hollow, staring back through the reflection.

The image broke when a voice called out behind him.

“Kael! There you are!”

It was Daren, pushing through the crowd, hair wild, grin sharp. “You move like a ghost. I swear, one day you’ll vanish mid-sentence.”

Kael rose, brushing his cloak. “You said you had something.”

“Yeah,” Daren said, lowering his voice. “News. Soldiers were asking around last night. They’re looking for a deserter from the western garrison. Young, dark coat, quiet.”

Kael’s brow furrowed. “A deserter?”

Daren nodded. “Fits your description a little too well, doesn’t it?”

Kael looked past him, eyes tracing the crowd. The soldiers weren’t far — their armor gleamed like sunlight on knives.

He felt that same old instinct stir in his blood — not fear, but calculation.

Every street, every escape path laid itself out in his mind like a map he’d drawn a thousand times.

“Let’s move,” he said quietly.

They slipped into the alleyway, boots splashing through puddles.

Ashvale’s backstreets wound like veins — narrow, crooked, alive with whispers.

They passed shuttered shops, half-broken fences, and the smell of rain-soaked hay.

Daren kept close, glancing back every few steps. “They really think you’re a deserter?”

Kael’s tone stayed calm. “Maybe they’re looking for me. Maybe fate just can’t stand to lose.”

Daren huffed. “Fate doesn’t care about people like us.”

Kael gave a small, distant smile. “That’s where you’re wrong.”

He stopped suddenly.

Ahead, the alley split into two — one path toward the stables, the other toward the woods beyond the village.

The sound of boots echoed behind them. Soldiers shouting.

Kael drew in a slow breath, thinking fast. “Go to the stables. Get the horses ready.”

Daren hesitated. “And you?”

“I’ll handle the rest.”

Daren’s jaw clenched. “You’re insane.”

Kael looked back once, eyes cold but calm. “That’s what they said before they burned me.”

He stepped out from the alley, straight into the soldiers’ path.

They froze at the sight of him — just a young man, unarmed, wet cloak clinging to his shoulders.

The lead soldier raised his voice. “You! Stop there!”

Kael didn’t stop.

Another soldier stepped forward. “Identify yourself!”

Kael’s steps were steady. “You don’t want this fight.”

The soldier sneered. “You threatening the Emperor’s men?”

“No,” Kael said softly. “I’m warning them.”

The soldier lunged. His blade came fast — but Kael was faster. He sidestepped, grabbed the man’s arm, and twisted. The sword dropped. With one motion, Kael struck the back of his neck. The man hit the ground, out cold.

The others shouted, rushing in.

Kael moved like water — no wasted effort, every motion clean. He disarmed one, tripped another, used their momentum against them. The third swung wildly; Kael ducked and slammed an elbow into his ribs.

When it ended, three men were on the ground, groaning.

Kael straightened his cloak, breathing slow and even. His hand brushed his pocket — the Echo Stone pulsed once, faintly.

He looked down at the nearest soldier. “Tell Varic’s dogs to stop sniffing my trail. I’m not the prey they think I am.”

The soldier just groaned.

Kael turned and vanished into the mist before more could come.

By the time he reached the stables, Daren was waiting, two horses saddled and ready.

“Please tell me you didn’t kill anyone,” Daren said as Kael climbed onto the saddle.

“No,” Kael replied. “But they’ll remember my face.”

“That’s worse!”

Kael’s mouth twitched — the ghost of a smile. “Good. Let them.”

They rode out through the fields, hooves cutting through the soft mud, the horizon glowing faint with morning light.

The village faded behind them. Only the open road remained, stretching out into mist.

For a long while, they said nothing. Only the rhythm of the horses filled the silence.

Finally, Daren spoke. “So… what now?”

Kael didn’t look back. His voice was quiet, steady, certain.

“Now? I stop being a ghost.”

He touched the cracked Echo Stone again. It pulsed under his fingers, faint but alive — a reminder, a curse, a promise.

“I start finding the men who built my pyre,” he said softly. “One name at a time.”

Daren swallowed, glancing at him. “And when you find them?”

Kael looked ahead. The morning wind brushed his hair. The light caught his eyes — sharp as a blade drawn in silence.

“Then,” he said, “I’ll see if they still remember my face.”

Behind them, the sun broke through the mist — pale gold spilling over the wet fields.

Ashvale slept on, unaware that a dead man had just ridden out of its gates to rewrite the fate of an empire.

And somewhere deep beneath the earth, the Echo Stone’s light stirred once more, whispering to itself in voices only the dead could hear.