KAEL
The rhythmic scrape of whetstone against blade was the only sound in the armory, aside from the occasional crackle of torchlight. I sat alone, crouched on a worn bench between racks of swords and spears, sharpening my favorite blade.
The steel sang with each pull, and I welcomed the distraction, the repetition, the purpose and the silence.
This was my ritual before every war move. Sharpen the edges, quiet the mind and pretend I wasn’t always seconds from unraveling.
I paused to test the edge, it was sharp enough to split a thought. Good.
Just as I went back to it, the silence broke —laughter. It was a loud, deep and unfiltered laughter from across the courtyard.
I stood, with the blade still in my hand and stepped toward the opening of the armory.
Outside, under the pale mid-
