Kaelen.
The word shouldn't hurt.
But it slices through me all the same.
I stare at him.
Not blinking. Not breathing.
I don't even realize my fists are clenched until my knuckles go white.
Kaelen.
Of all the names in the world.
That one.
She named him after my brother.
Kaelen.
I don't say it again. I can't.
Not even in my head.
Why?
Did she know?
Did she see something?
Or maybe…
Maybe it's just a coincidence. A cruel one. A lazy one.
Maybe the world thought it would be funny.
Or maybe… maybe she remembered him.
The boy I couldn't save.
The brother who shone too bright for a world like this.
Maybe she saw that light once.
And wanted it to live again.
I hate that thought.
Because it feels too right.
Too honest.
Too close.
The boy smiles up at me.
Like the name means nothing.
Like it's just what he's always been called.
I look away.
Say nothing.
And let the silence take me.
We leave at first light.
Gil sets the pace.
The boy keeps up, more or less.
I don't know how long we've been walking. Days, maybe. A week. Time unravels out here—every sunrise a copy of the last, every night just another breath held under stars that don't care.
The path is rarely a path at all.
We slip through groves thick with mist. Crawl across ledges that crumble when stepped on wrong. Wade through rivers that numb the feet and bite the bones.
We hide at the sound of hooves.
We duck from lights on ridges.
It rains. Often.
Sometimes for hours. Sometimes for whole nights.
Once, Gil tells us to move without speaking—just motions. Urgent. Fast. We find a hollow under roots. Something massive passes by above us. Breathing heavy. Smelling of wet fur and old blood.
The boy doesn't cry.
He just shivers and clutches my coat.
We eat whatever we can find.
Gil catches things. I cook them badly. The boy eats without complaint.
We sleep in shifts.
My back hurts. My legs ache. My thoughts blur between memory and guesswork.
Somewhere in all of this, I stop thinking about his name.
Not because I've made peace with it.
Because I'm too tired to fight a ghost while dragging its namesake through mud.
Then, one night—no different from the others.
The fire cracks low.
The wind's still tonight. Just a whisper through the pines.
We're camped beneath a half-fallen arch of stone. Gil said it was safe. I'm not sure what that means anymore, but it hasn't tried to kill us yet, so I guess he's right.
The boy sits across from me, knees tucked to his chest, eyes reflecting the flames.
He hasn't spoken much since this morning.
I can't tell if that's normal for him.
Or if I've just burned away the part of him that knew how.
Then he speaks.
Quiet. Small.
"I didn't know Mama had friends."
The words float across the fire like they're not meant to land.
I blink.
Swallow.
"What do you mean?"
He shrugs.
Doesn't meet my eyes.
"She never talked about anyone. Not since… not since Dad went to a better place."
A pause.
Then:
"That's what she said. That he was in a better place."
He pokes at the dirt with a stick.
"Mama was always sleepy after work… but sometimes she hummed songs. She said the stars could hear us."
I want to say something.
Anything.
But the words don't come.
Then he looks up.
Directly at me.
"What was she like?"
I open my mouth.
Almost say his name.
"Ka—"
I stop.
Something tightens in my chest.
"Kai," I say instead. "She… she was a lot of things."
He waits.
Eyes wide. Still. Ready to believe anything I say.
"She was strong," I murmur. "Stronger than anyone I've ever met. Not because she could fight, but because she never backed down from one."
"She had this way of looking at you… like she already knew what kind of person you were. Not in a scary way. Just... honest."
"If someone tried to cheat her, she called them out. If someone raised their voice, she didn't flinch. If someone hurt someone smaller than them—she didn't walk away."
"She wasn't reckless. She was... brave."
The words come slow, halting. Not because I don't know them.
Because they've never been allowed out before.
"She made you feel like the world hadn't beaten you yet. Like maybe it never could."
"She gave people courage without even trying."
"She gave it to me, once."
I don't realize I'm clenching my jaw until the muscle starts to ache.
Across the fire, Kai says nothing.
Just watches me.
He's quiet for a long time.
Then he says,
"She used to carry me when I got tired. Even if she was tired too."
He rubs his eyes. "I miss her."
I almost say me too. But the words won't come.
Then—softly—
A light.
Not from the fire.
From him.
Just a faint, warm shimmer across his skin.
Like something inside him is remembering her, too.
The glow doesn't flare.
It hums.
Soft and warm, like breath on frost.
It rolls across my skin like sunlight filtered through curtains—gentle, persistent, and unwelcome in a place this cold.
But I don't fight it.
I know what it is.
It's a memory.
It settles in my chest.
Coils around my ribs like an old ache that never healed right.
And before I can stop it—before I can even try—
I'm somewhere else.