The ruins didn't resist him.
That was the first sign something was wrong.
Stone structures rose from the ground at uneven angles, walls fractured but not collapsed, doorways still standing where roofs had long since vanished. No scorch marks. No signs of siege. No clawing, no impact scars.
This place hadn't been destroyed.
It had been abandoned.
Kael moved between the remains slowly, every step measured. His silence stayed folded inward, not spreading, not reacting. He didn't want to announce himself to whatever memory still clung to the stones.
The air felt heavier here—not oppressive, but deliberate. Like walking into a room where a conversation had stopped too abruptly.
Kael paused near a half-buried structure and knelt, brushing dirt from a section of exposed flooring. Smooth stone. Reinforced at the edges. Built to endure pressure rather than weather.
He pressed his palm down.
The hum in his chest shifted immediately.
Not alarm.
Recognition.
This place had been designed around restraint.
Not defense.
Control.
Kael straightened and scanned the ruins again, seeing them differently now. The layout wasn't random. Paths curved instead of running straight. Open spaces were placed where pressure could dissipate. Structures weren't built to dominate the terrain, but to coexist with something volatile.
A containment site.
But whatever it had contained wasn't here anymore.
Kael stepped deeper into the ruins.
That was when he felt it.
A presence—not hostile, not curious. Anchored.
He turned slowly.
At the center of the ruins stood a narrow structure unlike the others. Taller. Intact. Its surface bore the same vertical scoring he'd seen at the clearing before—but deeper. More deliberate.
A blade had done this.
Not recently.
But not forgotten.
Kael approached without hurry.
The closer he got, the quieter the world became—not his silence, but a natural suppression, like sound simply didn't belong here. Even the wind avoided the structure, flowing around it instead of through.
Kael stopped a few steps away.
This wasn't a gate.
This was where something had been kept.
He rested his hand against the stone.
Nothing surged. Nothing reacted violently.
Instead, the hum inside him steadied, aligning gently with the structure's presence. His breathing slowed without effort. The ache in his ribs dulled slightly.
This place didn't amplify him.
It calibrated him.
Kael withdrew his hand and stepped back.
So that was why people left.
Not because it was dangerous.
Because it demanded discipline.
Places like this didn't forgive mistakes. They didn't adapt to impatience. Anyone who tried to force meaning out of it would fail—or break something that couldn't be repaired.
Kael exhaled slowly.
He didn't know what had been kept here.
But he knew why it mattered.
And why, sooner or later, he would have to return.