Chapter 3: Talar's Wisdom

Kael hated the quiet.

The silence of Sundial Mesa pressed against him like a weight, broken only by the occasional whisper of wind or the distant crackle of dying embers. It left him alone with his thoughts—thoughts he didn't want to face.

He sat near the edge of the plateau, staring out at the desert as stars stretched endlessly across the sky. The fires had burned low, and the tribes had retreated to their tents, leaving Kael restless and hollow. His shoulders slumped, and the steady drumbeat of his failures echoed in his mind.

Every glance from the elders. Every hesitant nod. Every biting word from Marek. They swirled together in his head, making it impossible to think clearly. He gritted his teeth, his hands curling into fists.

"I thought I'd find you out here."

Kael startled, his head snapping around at the sound of his father's voice. Talar's silhouette emerged from the shadows, the glow of the moonlight catching on his white hair. He moved carefully, leaning on his carved staff, his frame thinner now than Kael remembered. Even so, there was a presence about him—an unshakable air of quiet authority that hadn't faded with age.

"Couldn't sleep?" Talar asked, his tone gentle.

Kael shook his head and looked back toward the horizon. "No."

Talar stepped closer, his staff tapping lightly against the stone, and eased himself down onto the rock beside Kael. He let out a faint grunt of effort as he sat, and for a moment, neither of them spoke.

The silence stretched, but this time, it felt different—less oppressive, more grounding. Talar's presence had always been like that: steadying, even when Kael felt like the world was spinning out of control.

"Leadership has a way of stealing your rest," Talar said finally, his voice soft. "I've spent many nights sitting just like this, wondering if I was doing enough. Wondering if I would fail the people who trusted me."

Kael's jaw tightened. "You've never failed."

Talar chuckled, though the sound was hollow. "That's where you're wrong, son."

Kael turned to him, frowning. He couldn't imagine his father failing at anything.

Talar's gaze was fixed on the horizon, his expression distant. "I was about your age when I first felt the weight of this staff," he said, brushing his fingers along the polished wood. "Your grandfather had just passed, and the tribes were looking to me to carry on his legacy. I thought I could prove myself by being bold, decisive, strong. But I mistook haste for strength, and pride for wisdom."

Kael blinked, taken aback. "You? Reckless?"

Talar smiled faintly, though there was no humor in it. "Oh yes. Reckless enough to nearly drag the tribes into war."

The words landed like a blow. Kael sat straighter, staring at his father in disbelief. "What happened?"

"There was a dispute between the Ember Tribe and the Stone Breakers over grazing lands," Talar said. "It was a small matter, at first. But tempers flared, accusations were made, and bloodshed seemed inevitable. I thought I could end it quickly by siding with the Ember Tribe, declaring the Stone Breakers in the wrong."

Kael's chest tightened. "Did it work?"

Talar's grip on his staff tightened. "No. The Stone Breakers felt betrayed, and the Ember Tribe grew bolder, pushing their claim further. My decision made things worse. War nearly broke out, and it took months of negotiation—and your mother's wisdom—to repair the damage I caused." He paused, his gaze growing distant, and his voice softened. "She always had a way of seeing what I couldn't. I wish she were here now to remind us both." He sighed, the sound heavy with regret. "That's when I learned leadership isn't about looking strong. It's about understanding. Listening. Acting with purpose, not pride."

Kael stared at the ground, his father's words sinking in. "But... what if my mistakes cost lives?"

"They might," Talar said, his tone steady. "But so does doing nothing. Leadership is a burden because every choice carries a cost. What matters is that you make those choices for the good of your people. That you learn from your mistakes and carry that wisdom forward."

Kael's throat tightened. "I'm not ready for this."

"No one ever is," Talar replied. "Not at first. Readiness doesn't come before you act—it comes because you act."

They sat in silence for a long moment, the wind whispering softly around them. Kael studied his father's face, the lines etched deep by years of hardship. Talar wasn't the invincible figure Kael had once believed him to be, but there was strength in his quiet determination—a strength Kael didn't know if he could ever match.

Finally, Talar let out a slow breath and pushed himself to his feet, leaning heavily on his staff. His movements were slow and deliberate, a reminder of the toll time had taken on him.

"Tomorrow," Talar said, his voice firm, "you'll have your first chance to prove yourself."

Kael looked up at him, the words settling in his chest like a stone.

"How?" he asked, his stomach twisting with anticipation and dread.

Talar's lips curved into a faint smile, though his eyes held a gravity that sent a chill down Kael's spine.

"The ceremonial hunt," Talar said simply. "The shardbeast will test you, but it will also show the tribes the kind of leader you can be."

Kael's heart began to pound. The ceremonial hunt was no mere tradition—it was a trial by fire, a way for young warriors to prove their worth. His father had faced the hunt at his age. Now, it was Kael's turn.

"Rest tonight," Talar said, placing a hand on Kael's shoulder. "The shardbeast is fast, cunning, and deadly. But so are you, if you trust yourself. Remember what I've told you."

Kael nodded slowly, though doubt churned in his chest like a storm.

Talar straightened, his staff tapping softly against the stone as he walked back toward the camp. His silhouette seemed larger in the moonlight, the shadow of the leader he had once been still looming over Kael.

Kael turned his gaze back to the stars, their cold light unblinking. His father's words echoed in his mind: Tomorrow, you'll have your first chance to prove yourself.

And somewhere in the shadows of the canyon below, the shardbeast waited.