Talren cursed under his breath, his gaze darting around. The village gate was close, and beyond it, a merchant's stall stood with a wide canvas awning casting a pool of shade. He bolted for it, his boots pounding the dirt, and ducked under the awning's sheltering shadow.
The moment the sunlight vanished, Kaelith's agony dulled to a throbbing ache, his skin still raw but no longer sizzling. Talren set him down on a crate, his hands hovering uncertainly.
"Stay here," Talren ordered, his voice tight with worry. He turned to Lirien, easing her onto the ground beside Kaelith. "Both of you. Don't move."
Kaelith nodded weakly, his chest heaving. Lirien knelt next to him, her fingers brushing his arm before he flinched away, the contact too sharp against his burns. "What's wrong with you?" she whispered, her eyes wide with fear.
"I don't know," Kaelith admitted, his voice barely a thread. "It's never been like this."
Talren scanned the village square, where villagers milled about—farmers hauling sacks of grain, children darting between stalls—none aware of the crisis unfolding in the shade. "We're going to Torvyn," he decided, scooping Kaelith up again, more carefully this time, and gesturing for Lirien to follow. "Now."
Torvyn's cottage was a familiar sight on Talsara's edge, its stone walls draped in ivy, its chimney puffing faint smoke into the sky. The priest answered Talren's urgent knock, his bald head gleaming in the dim light of his doorway. He took one look at Kaelith's blistered skin and ushered them inside, his usual gruff demeanor replaced with quiet urgency.
The room was a cluttered sanctuary—scrolls stacked haphazardly on a workbench, shelves lined with jars of herbs and powders, the air thick with the scent of sage and old parchment. Torvyn pointed to a stool, and Talren set Kaelith down, his hands lingering as if afraid to let go. "The sun's burning him," Talren said, his voice strained. "It's worse than before."
Torvyn leaned close, his fingers tracing the welts without touching them. "The ward's weakening," he muttered, his brow creasing. "That fight with the ogre—it pushed his sun problems side too hard. The ward I placed when he was a baby dried up when he fought the orge… I can't tie it to mana loss though."
Kaelith swallowed, his throat dry as sand. "Can you fix it?" he asked, his small hands clenching into fists.
Torvyn met his gaze, his eyes sharp but not unkind. "I can strengthen it—for now. But it's temporary. By the time you're ten, maybe sooner, it'll fail completely. You'll need something stronger—magic, knowledge, a ritual. Something."
Lirien gripped Kaelith's hand, ignoring his flinch this time. "We'll find it," she said, her voice fierce despite her limp. "Together."
Torvyn's lips twitched in a faint smile. "Good resolve, girl." He turned back to Kaelith, his hands glowing with a soft, golden light as he murmured a chant. The light washed over Kaelith like a cool breeze, soothing the burns and knitting the worst of the damage closed. "This'll hold for a while," Torvyn said, stepping back. "But start preparing. Learn what you can—spells, old languages, anything that might help."
Kaelith nodded, his mind already spinning. Three years, give or take, before the ward collapsed. He had to move fast.
Back at the cottage, Veyra fussed over Kaelith, smearing a thick, pungent salve across his arms and neck. The hearth crackled softly, casting a warm glow over the room, but the atmosphere was heavy with worry. "No more sun for you," Veyra said firmly, her hands steady despite the tremor in her voice. "Not until we figure this out."
Talren stood by the window, arms crossed, staring out at the fading light. "He's seven," he said quietly, almost to himself. "He shouldn't have to deal with this."
"I can handle it," Kaelith shot back, wincing as the salve stung his skin. "I have to. I'll study—spells, languages, whatever it takes."
Lirien sat cross-legged by the fire, her broken sword hilt resting in her lap. "I'll help," she said, grinning despite the shadows under her eyes. "We'll fix it together."
Veyra paused, her eyes softening as she looked between them. "You're too young for this," she murmured, but there was a flicker of pride in her tone.
That night, Kaelith sat at the table with Seraphine's old spellbook, its pages glowing faintly under the candlelight. He traced the runes of Ember Veil, a fire protection spell that might—just might—shield him from the sun.
The incantation was tricky, the mana cost high, but he'd master it. He had to. He also needed languages—Torvyn had hinted at ancient texts in Elvish or Dwarvish, tongues that might unlock stronger wards or vampiric secrets. And the ogre—its presence so far south still nagged at him. He'd need to study creatures, their patterns, their weaknesses.
He rubbed his eyes, the candle flickering. It was a mountain of work for a seven-year-old, but he wasn't just any kid. Kazu's mind burned within him, relentless and sharp. He'd make it work.