The sky above Hel burned a dull, bruised red, as if the planet itself were holding onto the memory of some long-forgotten wound. Kael trudged forward, his boots sinking into the loose black sand with every step. It clung to him like ash, coating his clothes, his skin, his thoughts. The air reeked of sulfur and old fire—sharp, metallic, hard to breathe. But Kael had stopped noticing the sting a long time ago.
He kept his eyes on the horizon, scanning it not just for danger, but for something—anything—to break the monotony. His gaze, sharp and oddly soft all at once, revealed little. Indigo eyes, strange and unreadable, like the man himself.
Kael had the lean build of someone who hadn't had the luxury of rest in a while—his muscles taut from constant movement, his face sun-worn and carved with quiet resolve. His hair was cropped close, not out of vanity but efficiency; even his appearance seemed shaped by survival. The kind of person who didn't ask for sympathy and didn't offer any. Not because he lacked it, but because he'd forgotten how.
He didn't belong here. No one really did. And yet, there was something in the way he moved—as if he wasn't just surviving this place, but confronting it. As if every step into the wind and grit was a challenge thrown at the land itself.
No one knew exactly how Kael had ended up on Hel. People talked, of course—they always did. Some swore he was the lone survivor of a crash, his ship torn open in orbit and left to die. Others said he was running from something, or someone, the kind of past that clings like blood under the nails. Kael never confirmed anything. He just listened. Watched. Kept moving.
He didn't speak much. Not because he was hiding, necessarily—but because he understood the weight of silence. In the broken places between stars, words could cost more than breath.
As the twin suns slid below the jagged edge of the horizon, their fading light smeared the sky in hues of rust and fire. That's when Kael saw it—a silhouette breaking the endless sweep of sand. A structure, just barely visible, half-buried like a memory no one wanted to remember.
He changed course without hesitation. The wind bit at his face, tugged at his coat. The structure looked ancient—its walls cracked, the stone faded. Maybe it had been a home once. Or a shelter. Or a tomb.
Kael paused at the entrance, running his fingers along the rough edge of the stone doorway. The hinges groaned when he pushed the door open, a low, aching sound that echoed off the walls inside. Darkness met him like an old acquaintance.
He stepped in.
The air was cooler, but still thick, laced with the scent of old dust and something harder to place—decay, maybe. Or loss. Something had happened here.
Then, a feeling—like eyes on his back. Not the wind. Not imagination. Instinct. He didn't freeze, just let the sensation settle, like he was used to it. His hand slid to the dagger at his side, fingers wrapping around the worn leather grip. The blade caught the faint light creeping in from outside.
He didn't call out. Didn't ask who—or what—was there.
Kael simply kept walking, deeper into the dark. Because this was who he was now.
Someone who kept going.
Even when he didn't know why.