Crystal of Creation

8. Fear Nothing But Oneself

After the fight, Kael thought maybe, just maybe, the villagers would open up again, that they'd forgive the fear and betrayal he had caused. After all, without him, they were vulnerable, their defenses fragile against nearly any attack. But forgiveness wasn't coming as easily as he had hoped.

Kael sat alone in his workshop, staring blankly at the small suit of armor he had started working on when he first arrived in the village. His hands moved mechanically, shaping pieces of metal and connecting intricate parts, but his mind was miles away. Deep down, he was starting to question why he continued to act this way, why he felt like a stranger in his own body.

His lips curled in frustration. Why do I keep doing this?

His body would betray him, saying things he didn't mean, acting in ways that weren't truly him. It was like he wasn't fully in control.

Then came the voice. Dark, low, and menacing, echoing in the back of his mind. "Kael, you're not in control. I know everything about you. The crystal is taking over. I know you tried to use its power—I felt your emotions. Your strength will never be enough. Keep trying to stop the inevitable, and keep suffering... for me." The voice chuckled eerily, each word cutting deeper.

"Huh, yeah, sure. Fuck off, won't you?" Kael muttered, but even as he spoke, he knew those words weren't truly his. His body was forcing him to keep up the façade, to act tough, act as though he was that reliable brute, the one with a hidden soft spot he refused to acknowledge, even to himself.

His hand shook as he tried to continue tinkering with his project. He had to keep his mind busy, had to keep thinking, creating, or he might lose his grip on reality. The crystal in him was pushing him to make more, to build endlessly. It promised power, but at what cost? Was it even what he wanted? No, all he ever wanted was to help people. Yet, the crystal's demands kept whispering, corrupting his thoughts with the endless greed for knowledge and creation.

Knock, knock, knock.

"Hey, Kael?" Maren's gentle voice broke through the quiet. "I came over to ask... do you want to come eat with us?"

For a moment, Kael froze, staring at the door. His hand trembled again. A war waged inside him—his mind wanted to join her, to reconnect, but his body... his body told him to stay, to keep working. "Not right now. I'm... busy," he said coldly, though his voice wavered just slightly. "I'll come when I'm done."

Maren lingered at the door for a moment, concern written all over her face. "Alright, just... make sure you're eating. Don't want you dying on me," she said softly, before walking away.

As she left, Kael's shaking stopped. The fear melted, replaced with the numbness that working on his machines always seemed to bring. He drowned himself in his work, creating more and more, hoping that the act of building would drown out the noise inside his head.

Three days later, the village had grown quieter, and Kael still hadn't emerged.

"Hey Maren, is Kael still locked up in that workshop of his?" Jorvan asked as he sat at the inn, his voice heavy with concern.

"I haven't checked in on him recently," Maren replied, her brow furrowed in worry. "He was still there three days ago, working on that suit of his."

Jorvan sighed, setting his mug down with a heavy thud. "Poor kid," he said, his voice softer now. "There's something broken in him. You can see it... I've seen it before. Sometimes, you just have to let go of whatever's weighing you down. Otherwise, it'll eat you alive."

Maren shook her head, her eyes filled with sorrow. "He's just a boy... he's got so much ahead of him. He just needs to let someone in, let someone help him carry that burden." She glanced toward the back of the inn, where Amelia stood quietly listening, her face a mix of sadness and confusion. She hadn't stopped thinking about Kael since the day he left, and the music box he promised her had been locked in his workshop ever since. She had hoped he'd at least give her that—some sign that he hadn't forgotten.