Velren stepped out of his room, creaking the wooden floor beneath his feet. The cool night air greeted him immediately, carrying with it the faint scent of pine and blooming night flowers. A soft breeze rustled the leaves overhead, and the moonlight bathed the clearing in a silvery glow. Crickets chirped in the distance, blending their song with the occasional hoot of an owl.
His gaze wandered across the small garden illuminated by the moon's gentle light. Amidst the greenery, he spotted a familiar figure slumped on a bench—a bottle dangling loosely in one hand. Several empty bottles surrounded the old man like a makeshift barrier.
'Seriously...? Sköll said he cut back...' Velren thought, twitching his lips in disbelief.
He approached quietly. Yet, as if sensing him, the old man stirred with a grunt, fluttering his eyelids open. His gaze, bleary but oddly sharp, settled on Velren.
"Oh, you're finally awake," gramps drawled, half-drunk but coherent enough.
Velren nodded, glancing at the bottles scattered about.
'Cut back, huh? Sure.'
"Where's Fenrir?" he asked.
"Hmph. Off keepin' watch in the forest, I reckon," the old man replied, waving vaguely toward the treeline.
Gramps patted the empty spot beside him.
"Sit. Ain't gonna talk to ya standin' there like a scarecrow."
With a resigned sigh, Velren complied, settling onto the bench. The old man took another swig from his bottle, let out a satisfied exhale, then asked:
"So... how does it feel?"
Velren blinked.
"Feel...?"
"Your Vital Crest, boy," gramps clarified, giving him a side-eye.
"How does it feel finally manifestin' it?"
Velren's eyes widened. He knows?
"How—?"
Another sip.
"Don't underestimate this old man's intuition," gramps smirked.
"It's sharp. Even with the booze, ya know."
Velren fell silent, mulling over the question. How did it feel? Satisfaction? Confusion? Relief? There wasn't a clear answer. It was all a mix up of emotions, too tangled to pick apart.
Instead of replying, he shot back:
"Hey, Gramps... What does one's Vital Crest actually represent?"
Gramps chuckled, leaning back with a creak of the bench.
"The 'Vital Crest'... it's the manifestation of one's Ka—the essence that fuels ya. More than just spirit, it's what ties ya to this world, what anchors your existence. Shapes who ya are. Shapes... destiny."
Velren lowered his gaze.
'Destiny...'
"Take this for example," gramps continued, gesturing with his half empty bottle.
"There was a man once—nearly drowned as a boy. Scared of water his whole damn life. And what does his Ka do? Lets him control the very thing he feared most. Water. Like fate mockin' him... or givin' him a chance to overcome. Depends how you look at it."
He paused to drink, then added:
"Another fella—trapped under rubble durin' a collapse. Helpless... 'til he wasn't. His Ka manifested, lettin' him control solid matter. Then there's that lass whose village burned—her Ka? Fire manipulation. Trauma, boy. Sometimes it forges ya. Sometimes it breaks ya. But it always leaves a mark."
Velren absorbed every word, replaying his mind on that crucial moment—when the blade was descending toward him and Solenne, the surge of clarity that struck him.
'Is this how I die?'
That thought had echoed louder than anything else. And then... came the manifestation.
Gramps glanced sideways, seeing the recognition dawn in the boy's eyes. Without waiting, he recited:
"More than mere spirit, it is the intrinsic energy that sustains life and—"
"—shapes destiny," Velren finished the old man's sentences quietly.
The words sounded familiar, of course it was. He'd read them in a book during his earliest years—too early for most to remember.
Gramps gave a slow nod, lifting the corner of his mouth.
"Exactly. Shapes destiny. Ain't just some fancy phrase. It means somethin'. Your Ka... it's you, down to the core. What drives you, what terrifies you, what you choose to act on... all wrapped up in one. And everythin' in this world? It's got an opposite. Light's got dark. Heat's got cold. Life's got death. Same goes for Ka."
He leaned forward, dropping his voice slightly.
"And there are times—rare, but they happen—when someone pushes their Ka too far. Uses it beyond what's natural. And when that happens... things twist. The very core of that Ka bends toward its opposite. Sometimes, it's as harmless as temporary fatigue. Other times... well, it's like holding a flame too close to paper—burns more than you intended. If your Vital Crest embodies water, its overuse might dehydrate you beyond recovery. If someone's Ka gives them resilience, push it too hard and it could shatter them instead. Your strength... becomes your downfall. It's balance, lad. Always has been."
Velren's gaze dropped to his hands, flexing his fingers.
'So those kinds of things can actually happen, huh...'
He thought of his own ability. What would happen if he overused it?
Would his body start to unravel at the seams, torn between dimensions? Could his sense of reality distort until he no longer knew what was real or not? Or worse... considering his "anomaly" status and the fact that he was not of this world, could overusing it tear apart whatever tether kept him here?
Would he just... vanish? Fade into nothing? Or... back into where he came from?
The scenarios played out in his head—none of them was pleasant.
"Oi. Listen," Gramps' voice cut through his spiraling thoughts, pulling him back.
"What you did back there—straight-up stupid," he started.
'Tch... another lecture,' Velren thought.
But then—
"—and it was the right thing to do."
Velren blinked, clearly caught off guard. Gramps took another swig from his drink, sighing.
"Don't ever stray from that, boy. Doing good... it matters. Maybe more than you know. World's got enough darkness without you adding to it."
Silence stretched between them again, comfortable this time. Velren stared out at the garden, watching how the moonlight hit the dew-soaked leaves. His mind, however, lingered on something else.
Quietly, he asked:
"Hey, Gramps... what's... the opposite of destiny?"
The old man chuckled, shaking his head.
"Obvious, isn't it? Must be fate."