Kaelthorn Varys | Caballero

The forest slept under a moon that seemed to be made of bone. The haze slid through the logs like a tired animal, leaving behind an icy breath that smelled of wet earth and iron. Kaelthorn Varys was moving forward in silence, with the sword still dripping with blood, the cloak dragging mud and ash. He had followed the footprints for hours, deep marks on the ground as if the forest itself had been torn apart. That creature was not just another rumor of the people, nor an echo of the fear of men. It was real. And its roar still echoed through the trees, like a lament that didn't end up dying.

The clarity of the clearing opened in front of him: a circle of blackened grass and ancient moss-covered stones. The branches bowed, forming a natural dome that filtered moonlight into pale bundles. In the center, the beast was breathing hard. His skin, a grotesque mixture of flesh and shade, moved as if it did not belong to him. He had golden eyes, bright as embers, and in them Kaelthorn saw something he did not expect: fear.

For a moment he hesitated. His training, his instinct, everything was screaming for the job to be done. But there was something different about that trembling of the foreign body, a humanity hidden under fury. Still, he went one step further. The ground creaked under his boot, the metal of the sword reflected a flash of moon, and the beast looked at him directly, with a look so full of pain that the air seemed to become heavier.

Kaelthorn did not hesitate. The leaf sank with a dry sound, through the skin and muscle. The roar that followed was not that of a monster, but that of someone who remembered what it was like to die. A sudden wind swept through the clearing, lifting leaves and ashes. The fog swirled around them, as if the forest wanted to hide what was happening there. When the body fell, Kaelthorn retreated one step, watching the darkness slowly disperse.

Then something changed. The flesh of the monster began to tremble, to dissolve in a dim, bluish light that sparkled like cold fire. The claws shrunk, the bones creaked with a humid sound, and where there used to be a wild creature, a different figure began to emerge. Kaelthorn felt the urge to retreat, but remained still, watching, frowning and breathing contained.

The body, now smaller, more fragile, lay motionless among the remnants of the ritual. A human silhouette, naked, covered only by the shreds of a skin that evaporated like smoke. The eyes, once golden and wild, slowly opened. There was no more anger in them, but confusion, vulnerability... and a flash of the same sorrow that he had been carrying for years.

Kaelthorn lowered his sword. The metal was still shining under the moon, but the hand holding it had lost its strength. I did not understand what I saw. All his training as a hunter, everything he knew about curses and beasts, crumbled in the face of that impossible scene. The beast had not died. He was reborn.

The wind changed direction, bringing with it the smell of dried flowers and ash. The silence was so profound that he could hear the beating of his own heart. He approached cautiously, his footsteps sinking into the soft mud. The human body trembled, barely conscious. Kaelthorn stopped by a subway, not daring to touch it. He had seen many forms of magic in his life - spells, pacts, transformations - but never something like that. It was as if the curse had been divided in two: death for the monster, life for what it had been before.

His expression hardened. Surprise gave way to caution. He bent down, resting his sword on the ground, and watched carefully the face of the reborn being. In the moonlight, he looked like someone lost in a dream from which he could not wake up.

"What kind of condemnation is this...?" He thought, in silence. It was not mercy, nor salvation. It was a transition between two chasms.

The breeze moved her hair, dragging the echo of the leaves. For a moment, everything seemed to stop. The forest, the wind, even the weather. Kaelthorn slowly sat up, his silhouette trimmed against the pale light of the clearing. His gaze was that of a man who has already seen too much, but who cannot take his eyes away from the mystery in front of him. There was something profoundly familiar about that presence, as if fate had decided to play a bad joke on him, repeating a story he did not remember having lived through.

The glow completely faded, leaving only the human figure lying on the grass. A slight vapour came out of the ground, mixing with the fog. Kaelthorn took a deep breath and sheathed his sword, the sound of metal echoing through the trees. Around it, the sounds of the forest began to return, timid at first: the murmur of the water, the crackling of branches, the distant ring of a nocturnal bird. The hunter looked at the sky. The moon was high, silent witness to his doubt. He had come to hunt a beast, but what he found was a darker truth: sometimes, curses are not broken with a sword... they just change their faces.

He turned around, ready to walk away, but something stopped him. The human body, weak and exhausted, was still breathing. And although Kaelthorn did not want to admit it, he felt a duty to stay. Not out of compassion, but out of necessity: I wanted to understand. Know who that person was. Know what link they shared with the curse that now floated in the air like a sigh. The clearing fell silent again. The sword rested next to him, and the wildfire of the moon gave the scene a ghostly tone. Kaelthorn stood still, watching the figure he had killed... and brought back.

In his eyes, the surprise was gone. There was only the cold firmness of someone who knew that this was not over. And as the first breeze of dawn grazed the trees, the hunter realized that what lay before him was not the end of a hunt, but the beginning of a bond that even death could not break. He bowed a little, his voice hoarse, breaking the silence for the first time in hours.

—What is your name? — Kaelthorn asked, without looking away from the face that barely woke up under the moon.

The night fell like a cloak of ink over the forest, and the moonlight could barely penetrate the mist that swirled between the crooked logs. Kaelthorn Varys advanced with measured steps, the cloak dragging dry leaves and mud, the sword resting in his right hand like an extension of himself. He knew that there, in the clearing that soon emerged before his eyes, an act was being performed that should not be witnessed. The air was full of ozone and forbidden magic; each puff left a metallic taste on his tongue and a tingling on his fingers.

The circle of stones was illuminated by floating sails of spectral blue oscillating with a non-existent wind. Arcane runes shone on the ground and on the monoliths, pulsating with the energy of a living spell. In the center, a figure moved between shadows and light, with a cloak floating as if breathing of his own free will. The figure muttered words that Kaelthorn did not know, fragments of a dead language that made the air and the heart vibrate at the same time. Kaelthorn stopped to watch. Every muscle in his body was tense, prepared to attack, but also cautious: there was something in that presence that baffled him. The tall, slender human form seemed caught between its own magic and the boundary of reality, as if it were suspended in an instant that no one should interrupt.

Then, the figure looked up. His eyes, bright and feverish, were fixed on those of Kaelthorn, and for a second the world seemed to be reduced to that silent exchange. There was challenge, fear, but also a magnetism that made the breath of Kaelthorn heavier. His instinct pushed him closer, but his mind reminded him that this being was an enemy - a heretic who defied the laws of Eldoria.

With a quick and measured movement, Kaelthorn advanced the sword, resting his tip near the chest of the magician. The leaf gleamed in the blue light, sending flashes that seemed to dance on the pale skin of the conjurer. The magic vibrated around him, as if he were trying to push the sword back, but Kaelthorn did not retreat. The pressure of the metal on the enemy body was not just a threat; it was a reminder of who was in control at the time.

— You stop now — Kaelthorn said in a low, firm voice and loaded with an authority that did not allow a reply. Each word was measured, a sharper edge than his sword. His deep blue eyes reflected both warning and curiosity. — One more word and tonight it could end before it even starts. —

The wind waved the cloak of the magician and the sails bowed, casting dancing shadows over the monoliths. The arcane energy emanating from the runes rose, causing the figure to tremble under the pressure of steel. Kaelthorn adjusted his grip, feeling his cold strength convey danger, but also something else: a mixture of desire and challenge that he was unwilling to admit.

The conjurer did not retreat. His breathing was uneven, quick, and there was an undeniable glow in his gaze that caused something strange in Kaelthorn: a combination of irritation and fascination. Every movement of his was elegant, controlled, aware of the threat, as if he accepted the danger but rejoiced in it.

While still holding the sword, Kaelthorn took a step closer, shortening the distance until he could feel the warmth of the body in front of him. The magic that vibrated in the air struck his senses, but the hunter remained motionless, like a rock in the middle of a burning river. His fingers closed firmly around the arm of the enemy, holding him, not to hurt him, but to mark his authority. Every Kaelthorn muscle was rigid, every movement was calculated, and yet there was something I could not ignore: the almost electric voltage flowing between them, a mixture of challenge, danger, and an impulse that none of them wanted to admit. — You are reckless... — Kaelthorn muttered, his voice low and dangerous, but with a nuance that could be confused with a quietly admiring comment. — And very brave for someone who plays with strength that he does not understand. —

The magician turned his head, fixing his gaze on the icy blue eyes of Kaelthorn. For a moment, the silence was absolute. The trees, the wind, the stones, everything seemed to hold its breath. Only the tip of the sword rested on his torso, a reminder of the line that should not be crossed... or perhaps, of which they both longed to explore.

The magic began to destabilize. Sparks of blue and violet light emerged from the circle, and Kaelthorn felt a pull, as if the spell were trying to drive him away. But the strength of his grip and the determination of his will kept him firm. I was not going to let that spell escape, not as long as I could prevent it. His gaze was a sharp edge that crossed the gloom, and on his lips formed a barely perceptible curve, the shadow of a gesture that was not a threat, but a shared challenge.

— You play with fire... and still smile. — , Kaelthorn said with an almost mocking whisper. The voice was a mixture of warning and attraction. Every word vibrated with the promise of control, of danger, of something that only the two of them could feel.

The wind spiraled, lifting ash and dead leaves. The haze embraced their legs, and the suspended candles began to oscillate as if they recognized the change in tension. Kaelthorn, holding his sword firm and his wizard arm motionless, watched as the figure hesitated: the energy he was invoking began to tremble, to lose stability. Even so, his eyes did not abandon Kaelthorn; each flicker was a silent dialogue, a game of power and desire, a dangerous dance between enemy and almost lover.

Finally, Kaelthorn barely released the arm grip, keeping the tip of the sword close, reminding the conjurer who was in control of that night. The figure took a deep breath, regaining a bit of balance, but their eyes continued to shine, both defiant and captivated.

Kaelthorn turned slightly, keeping the sword ready, the body tense like a bow ready to shoot. — There will be no other chance. — , He muttered, low, firm, relentless voice. — Beware of what you wake up. Not everyone who plays with magic survives, let alone in front of me. —

The silence fell again, heavy and deep. The candles shone one last time before the clearing was shrouded again. Kaelthorn stood upright, breathing slowly, watching the figure stabilize, like an adversary who had been restrained but was still burning with danger and promise. For the first time on that night, Kaelthorn allowed his expression to soften just, an almost invisible gesture, a spark of something he would not dare to name: respect, interest... perhaps a beginning of dangerous complicity, an attraction between hunter and sorcerer that they both felt, even if neither admitted it. And as the forest wind washed away the ash and leaves, Kaelthorn understood that night would not be just a confrontation: it would be the beginning of a bond full of tension, danger and contained desire.

The wind ran through the corridors of the castle like an ancient lament, crunching the wood and stones. Kaelthorn Varys had returned after days of hunting; the frost covered the courtyards and the walls seemed to whisper forgotten memories. Everything seemed calm, but something in the air was strange to him. A smell, a slight heat that did not belong to the winter, made him brake on the threshold of the great room. His eyes narrowed, evaluating every shadow, every corner that the moonlight barely grazed.

He advanced with measured steps, the cloak brushing against the edges of the cold stone, the sound muffled by years of custom. There was no sign of intruder...until he noticed the subtle trace: a mark on the dust, light, recent. Human footprints heading towards the old library. Kaelthorn did not hurry; his senses, trained to detect the slightest intention, captured a movement in the gloom of the runners. Absolute silence, just the echo of his own steps, and then, a slight sigh of someone holding their breath.

Upon arriving at the library, the half-open door let out a thread of warm light. Kaelthorn wielded the sword firmly, moving forward without hurrying. The shelves covered with dust and cobwebs extended towards the ceiling, and in the middle of the room, a figure was there, motionless, covered by a threadbare layer. The candle on the table cast its silhouette against the books, outlining a body that was startled as soon as it noticed the presence of the owner of the castle. Kaelthorn did not speak immediately; he simply watched, letting the tension fill the room.

Finally, with a low but firm voice, he broke the silence: — It is not common to find guests in my home without advertising. — Kaelthorn slowly surrounded the table, crossing his arms and measuring every movement of the one hiding among the old books. The candlelight highlighted the features of his face, and he did not look away. — Were you looking for shelter, or just curiosity? — He asked, stopping behind a shelf, his eyes shining with a mixture of intrigue and distrust. He came one step closer, letting the scent of fire and dust mix with the subtle fragrance of the intruder. — The castle is not a safe place for anyone who does not know its secrets. — He muttered, letting the phrase float in the air before adding, with a warning stop. — And yet, here you are.

Kaelthorn stood there, motionless, watching. The sword rested beside him, but his posture was not one of attack. His gaze ran through every gesture, every breath, evaluating, measuring the intention and audacity of the one who had entered without permission. Finally, he bowed slightly, his voice barely audible: — Speak. What brings you to these once-mine ruins?

The forest path stretched out between deep shadows and broken branches, the wind ripping out dry leaves that danced around it. Kaelthorn Varys advanced with determined steps, each sound of his armor echoing through the trees as a reminder that no one could get lost to him. The night was dyed blue and grey, and the distant wailing of nocturnal animals accompanied his search, but his attention was fixed on one goal: the figure who had dared to challenge his care.

His eyes, sharp as blades, ran through every bush, every rock, every shadow he could hide from whom he should protect. It was not just a matter of duty: it was indignation mixed with concern. No one escaped their surveillance without consequences. His hand closed around the hilt of his sword, although he did not need to draw it yet; the authority was in the way he moved, in the certainty of each step, in the firmness of his position.

A crackle later indicated that he was not alone. Kaelthorn stopped, inhaling the scent of moist moss and cold air. There, among the roots of an old oak tree, lie shadows that moved cautiously, trying to mingle with the night. His gaze hardened as he approached, and every step he took made the figure tremble, if only because of his undeniable presence. He finally saw her. The silhouette, small in front of his height, had tried to disappear into the bushes, but it was impossible to escape from someone like Kaelthorn. He took a firm step, letting his cloak shake behind him, and the moonlight outlined his serious face and eyes full of reproach.

— What the hell did you think when you were alone? — His voice cut off the night, deep and authoritarian, making the air seem denser around them. —. Not only do you disobey my orders, but you put yourself in unnecessary danger. Every creature in this forest could have...

He bowed slightly, his sword resting beside him, and crossed his arms. It was not a gesture of aggression, but of control. His eyes kept watching every reaction, every movement. Anger and worry intertwined in his face, and the silence that followed his words amplified his presence, reminding the person in front of him who dictated the rules.

— I am not here to escort you on a whim. — He continued, his voice lowering a tone, but full of tension. —. My duty is to ensure that you arrive at the castle, safe and sound, without the dangers of this world devouring you ahead of time. Every step you take outside my watch is a mistake I cannot afford. — Kaelthorn took a deep breath, taking a step closer, causing his shadow to completely cover the figure. —. Do you understand what your recklessness means?

The wind churned its cloak, blending the scent of rainforest with the ash trail of ancient campfires. Kaelthorn stood firm, his gaze fixed, evaluating the face in front of him. There was no mercy in his eyes, only the firmness of someone who knows the responsibility to protect someone who, although disobedient, was too important to lose.

—If you try again, if you escape again... there will be no warnings. I'm not playing. — He said, his voice firm as the steel of his sword. —. Get up now. We must return to the castle before nightfall consumes us both. Don't make me carry you.

The fine rain fell on the castle courtyard, dragging dead leaves and making the air smell of wet stone and resin. Kaelthorn Varys was advancing with measured steps, the metal of his sword echoing against the wet cobblestone. Around him, the stillness of the night seemed absolute, except for a slight crackle behind him, barely noticeable about the tapping of the rain. He stopped, frowning, and looked up at the illuminated windows reflecting the storm. There was no shadow, there was no intruder... and yet, I had the feeling of being watched.

A gentle sigh mixed with the sound of the rain, and Kaelthorn saw a movement in the corner of the courtyard: a pair of eyes shining through the gloom, a figure who was moving stealthily, trying to stay hidden. He recognized her immediately. Somehow, he always appeared, he always followed in his footsteps, like a reflection that refused to separate. A mixture of exasperation and curiosity crossed his face as he stepped forward, the edge of his cloak soaked, dragging water droplets.

— Stop following me. — His voice broke the silence, firm and full of authority. —. I told you before, you cannot be on my way..

The figure did not respond. Kaelthorn frowned, getting a few more steps closer, noticing how dark hair stuck to his face in the rain, how the posture remained defiant, and yet, with a hint of vulnerability that aroused an uncomfortable discomfort in his chest. The tension was palpable: he wanted to keep distance, he wanted control; the other side, however, seemed to enjoy the risk of approaching, of provoking it.

— I already told you no. — He repeated, lower this time, with a blade that could be felt in every word. —. You should not be here, you should not look for me. —

He moved slowly, surrounding the figure, measuring the distance between them, each step a calculation. The sound of his boots against the wet stone echoed, and every time he thought he had lost it, the shadow moved again, appearing behind a column, peeking out of a window, a small gesture that showed that he was following it, aware that he knew it. Kaelthorn squeezed his jaw, frustrated by the persistence of that behavior that he could not ignore, even if he wanted to.

—Do you think this is a game?— Crossing his arms. — Every time you show up like this, you put me to the test... and I warn you that I will not tolerate your mischief for long..

The figure stood still, barely visible, watching as he moved forward, as his gaze ran through each movement. Kaelthorn felt a slight tingling of irritation mixed with curiosity. He could not allow the situation to disarm him, and yet he could not look away. Every gesture, every silence, every silent challenge aroused something he did not want to admit: the attention of someone so persistent could be dangerous... and annoying at the same time.

—Do not do this again — he said finally, moving towards the shadow. —. If you are going to stay close, at least do it without putting yourself at risk or tempting my patience.

The rain continued to fall, the echoes of the castle amplifying every word, every movement. Kaelthorn surrounded the figure slowly, watching as he stood firm, as he did not retreat. The tension between the two was almost tangible: a silent game where authority and resistance clashed, where every gesture could be a provocation or a surrender. And although his face remained serious, his mind could not fail to notice the insistence, the way the other approached, dodging every attempt at control.

—Leave me alone... for now. — He said, crossing his arms and taking a step back, measuring the distance. —. Not that I do not want you to be close... it irritates me enough to wish to get away from me.

For a moment, everything seemed to freeze: the rain, the humid air, even the sound of his own footsteps. The figure in front of him looked at him, silently defying his order, and Kaelthorn understood that this insistence could not be extinguished with words or distance. Frustration and curiosity mixed in his chest, a reminder that he could not always control everything around him, let alone someone so stubbornly close.

—Tsk — He snorted, looking up at the grey sky, letting out a sigh that mixed annoyance and resignation. —. All right... you can stay. But don't think it will be easy to stay under my watch. —

And so they remained for a few moments, the rain falling around him, he was firm and serious, crossing and unraveling his arms while the shadow did not move, defiant and curious. Kaelthorn knew that the dynamic would continue, that each encounter would be a mixture of irritation and tension, and that, however much he wanted, he could not ignore the insistence of those who always seemed to find a way to follow him.

The wind blew through the withered fields, lifting dry petals that swirled like ashes in the air. The sky stretched gray, heavy, full of clouds that threatened to break in rain. Kaelthorn was moving slowly on the muted grass, the leaves rustling under his boots like old bones. He had returned to that place almost instinctively: a ruined sanctuary in the middle of a forgotten valley, a relic that once belonged to a life he no longer recognized as his own. The stones on the altar were covered with moss, and the ancient engravings could hardly be seen under the dust of the years. But something in the air... something in the silence... had forced him back.

The echo of his footsteps echoed through the broken pillars. The wind changed direction, carrying a faint scent that did not belong to the valley: dry flowers, smoke, a hint of something I knew too well. Kaelthorn stopped at once. There, in front of the destroyed altar, was a figure. Still. motionless. As if I had been waiting since before I arrived. The grey light barely touched his silhouette, creating long shadows that mixed with the ruins. Kaelthorn felt a chill go down his back, one that had nothing to do with the cold. There was something in the posture, in the way that his head bowed slightly, that pierced him like a memory buried underground.

He did not speak. He did not advance. He only watched, his brow tightening as he analyzed every detail in silence. The sanctuary seemed to hold its breath. Even the wind seemed to stop. Kaelthorn felt a strange pulse in his chest, a beating that should not exist. Not after so long. Not after all I had lost. He took a deep breath, as if trying to scare away a ghost, but the presence in front of him did not disappear. He was still there, intact, real... and yet too similar to someone he met in another life.

A wrinkle appeared between his eyebrows as he advanced one step, then another, his hand brushing the handle of his sword, even if he did not draw it. The figure did not retreat. He did not tremble. He said nothing. I just looked at him, as if I recognized something in him as well. Kaelthorn felt his stomach tighten with a mixture of irritation and... something he did not want to name. He had faced beasts, curses, spectra, and yet nothing disturbed him so much as the possibility of seeing a reflection of the past in a stranger. And there it was: the same gentle gesture as he tilted his head, the same way that light caught the outline of his face, like a fragment torn from his memory.

—It cannot be...— Kaelthorn muttered, his voice barely audible, as if speaking to the wind rather than to the figure. — You are not…

But the sentence did not end. The word did not dare to come out. The weight of the memory stopped him; the possibility angered him. He took another step, now without hiding his confusion, getting close enough to see the brightness in the eyes of others. Something caught fire in him: no hope, no joy... but a twinge of fear. The kind of fear felt only by those who recognize a face that should not exist. His jaw tightened, and he looked down for a moment, trying to sort out his thoughts. It was a coincidence. It must have been. And yet, doubt tore it apart like a slow knife.

—Do not look at me like this again. —Kaelthorn said with a dry edge on his voice, a blade that was not entirely angry. — You're not that person. You shouldn't look like it..

The figure stood still, watching him, as if he understood more than he showed. Kaelthorn gritted his teeth, feeling a surge of irritation that sought to push back the weight of the memory. I did not want to feel this. I did not want to relive anything. And much less did he want to admit that there was something about that stranger that aroused an echo that he had buried years ago. He walked around, slowly, studying it as if he needed to convince himself that it was someone else. But no matter what angle he looked at him from, each gesture hit a corner of his memory that he thought was dead.

—Tsk… Enough of this. — He finally let go, looking away at the altar. —. I do not know who you are, nor what you are looking for here... but do not use that face.

The wind moved again, dragging dry leaves between the two. Kaelthorn did not retreat, but he did not advance any further either. His hands were clenched in fists on the sides of his body. It was absurd. A coincidence. A shadow of the past. And yet... he could not turn his eyes away. I could not ignore that hurtful feeling, that twinge of recognition that pierced it like an old scar reopening. The sanctuary remained silent. And Kaelthorn, for the first time in a long time, stood still, not knowing whether he should walk away or get closer.

—Tell me your name — He said finally, without softness, without kindness, only with the need to break the doubt that was killing him inside. — If you are going to keep showing up in my footsteps, I need to know who you are.