Interlude: Kaelren/First Meeting

Journal

Entry 1 — Ashes
17XX, Day 03

This is dumb. Leon said I should write in a journal, like it’ll “help me sort my feelings.” What kind of mage keeps a diary? If anyone finds this they’ll laugh until they piss. Kaelren, keeper of notes. Real heroic.

But here I am.

It’s been a month since… since the flames. The smoke is still in my nose. When I close my eyes I see roofs curl like paper and hear voices choking on fire—Mom, Dad—gone.

Renfield—that bastard. Left me alive, said I wasn’t worth the trouble.

“Skitter away, insect.”

I swear to whatever gods are left: I will find him. I will cut him down. I don’t care if I bleed until I’m bone-dry and the whole world is against me.

This diary already pisses me off. I’m done for the night.

Entry 2 — Leon
17XX, Day 14

Leon tried to trade a branch for bread today and nearly fainted from the effort. He cursed loud enough to make the market stare. I laughed. He punched me.

He’s useless at magic. My magic isn’t great either. But he’s the first person who didn’t leave me behind since I lost, well, everything. He talks too much, eats like the town owes him food.

But when I wake in the dark, I don’t feel like I’m alone anymore. The stupid little things—his jokes, the way he cleans his nails—make the nights shorter.

If he ever swaps my coins for rocks again, I’ll drown him. Then I’ll thank him for saving me.

Entry 3 — First Blood
17XX, Day 29

We almost died today. Bandits—three of them—with swords and knives and axes. They thought we were easy marks.

I made a blade move in the air and it landed in my hand like it belonged there. The sword cut like truth. For a moment I forgot everything else. My heart felt like it might blow right out of my chest.

Leon swapped a dagger for a rock and stabbed the one trying to creep up my back. He started crying afterward, said he didn’t mean to kill him. I told him he saved us. He needed to hear that. Maybe I did, too.

We’re alive. We’re still here. That’s what matters.

I’m tired. I’ll stop for now.

Entry 4 — A Dream
17XX, Day 44

It’s quiet tonight. Leon snores like an ox two feet away.

He said something while we cooked river fish—some old-man nonsense about life being a dream, and one day the dreamer would wake and we’d vanish. “Be happy now,” he said. As if that’s a switch you can flip.

I can’t stop staring at the fire. I wonder if I’ll ever be strong enough.

Entry 5 — The Thief
17XX, Day 62

We met a thief today.

Leon and I thought we were raiding a bandit camp for a stolen jewel. Turns out the “jewel” was the lord’s daughter. Figures.

The thief showed up the same time we did. Moved like wind. Hair like fire, eyes bright as frost. She nearly took my arm off when she thought we were bandits too.

Her name’s Sera. Said she was after the jewel for herself. I hate to admit it, but she saved our hides more than once—kicked herself into the air like she was stepping on nothing, blades flashing in the torchlight. I’ve never seen anything like it.

When the lord’s girl was safe, Sera grinned and pulled out a pair of dice. Said she’d let fate decide whether she’d stick with us or take the girl and rob us blind.

“If I roll double sixes, I’m in.”

I watched them clatter against the dirt. One die hit a rock and tipped—just as a breeze blew through.

Twin sixes.

Leon was pissed. Sera just smiled and pocketed the dice like it was nothing.

I don’t know if I like her.

I might, though.

━━━━━━━━━━𝑾𝑪𝑨━━━━━━━━━━

First Meeting

The beach was quiet that night, the tide low and gentle under the moon.

Hayate had run his fill and stopped near the waterline, sweat cooling on his brow. He rested his hands on his hips and let his breathing settle, eyes drawn toward the horizon.

The ocean stretched wide, the moon’s pale light quivering across the surface. He’d always liked this spot—the stillness, the solitude. Some nights it felt like the only place left where he could just be. No duties. No city noise. Just him and the sea.

His gaze drifted upward to the moon, hanging above the waves. His granddaughter used to ask if people lived up there. He’d laugh, tell her it was just rock. She’d insist her father said it was made of cheese, and he’d find himself looking a little longer afterward, as though she might be right.

His smile softened. Those days were gone now.

The moon’s reflection shimmered on the waves—until something else rippled across it. Hayate narrowed his eyes. The horizon warped, like heat rising off asphalt. The world itself seemed to shiver.

A shape slid through. Heavy. Sudden. It crashed into the waves. Spray kicked up, cold droplets stinging his arms and face.

Hayate froze.

What in the…?

Salt water frothed where it landed. Then, slowly, something moved. A figure dragged itself from the surf—stumbling, clawing for purchase in the sand.

Not driftwood. Not a drunk. A boy. No—a young man, no older than nineteen. The sight of his injuries ran Hayate’s blood cold. His body was wrecked. Blood spilled from a torn sleeve, his lip split, a chest wound darkening his shirt. Torn plates of charred armor clung to his frame, battered and scorched, like something from the fantasy games his granddaughter adored.

For an instant, Hayate thought he’d lost his mind.

The boy staggered, head hanging. White hair, cut short, plastered to his face with seawater and blood. He looked up, and Hayate saw his eyes—brilliant gold, glowing faintly in the moonlight. Eyes unlike anything he’d ever seen.

His lips moved. Words slipped out in a voice Hayate half-understood: Japanese laced with another tongue, the cadence wrong but the meaning clear.

"I’m begging you,” the boy rasped. His knees gave out. “Help me.”

Hayate’s legs carried him before his mind caught up. He splashed into the shallows, scooping the boy up as carefully as he could. Warm blood salted the sea against his skin.

“Easy,” Hayate muttered, steadying him. “Easy. You’re alright. I’ve got you.”

The boy sagged against him, body trembling like each breath might be his last.

Hayate held on tighter, staring out at the sea where the ripples had been, now calm again. He didn’t know the boy’s name. Didn’t know where he came from. But as the tide washed back and forth, Hayate knew one thing with a certainty that sank deep into his old bones.

He couldn’t leave him alone.

━━━━━━━━━━Author's Note━━━━━━━━━━

Bonus content—a few journal scraps from a much younger Ren and an old Hayate POV I considered starting the story with. I cut a lot of this stuff for pacing, but I kept bits because I liked them.  Thanks for reading!