The darkness around Kaelen was oddly warm.
Not oppressive, not terrifying—just quiet. Peaceful. He felt… small. Lighter. And when he opened his eyes, he wasn't standing in the Hollow, nor among the whispering stone walls of the Nullcarvers.
He was in a hut.
A tiny, thatched-roof hut lined with dried herbs, wooden utensils, and old faded tapestries that fluttered in a breeze that carried the scent of warm bread and mountain air. In front of him, a woman with hazel eyes and dark ash colored hair was bent over a pot, humming a lullaby.
"Kaelen, sit properly or your food will get cold," she said warmly without turning.
The voice…
Kaelen blinked. His limbs were shorter. His vision lower. He looked down and realized with a faint gasp—
He was a child again. No older than five.
And across the small table from him, a tall man with a strong jawline and quiet eyes was pretending to sneak bites from his son's bowl when the mother wasn't looking.
