Kael couldn’t shake the conversation with Dren from his mind. As he walked through the village square the next morning, the lively chatter of merchants and townsfolk faded into the background, overtaken by Dren’s words: King Khafel… you know about him? It wasn’t just the name—it was the weight it carried, a strange mix of reverence and mystery that tugged at Kael in a way he couldn’t explain.

His footsteps slowed as he approached the fountain at the center of the square, the place where he had first met Dren. Sure enough, Dren was there, crouched beside the fountain with something clutched in his hands.

“You’re up early,” Kael said, approaching him.

Dren looked up, grinning. “Kael! Perfect timing. I was hoping to run into you.” He held up a small, tarnished medallion. “Check this out. Found it in a trader’s junk pile yesterday. Doesn’t look like much, but I think it’s from the Vodarkian era.”

Kael leaned closer, examining the medallion. It was round and made of faded bronze, etched with a faint, unfamiliar symbol—a crescent shape encircling a sword. “And what makes you so sure it’s Vodarkian?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Call it a hunch,” Dren replied, brushing off Kael’s skepticism. “But the craftsmanship, the symbol… it just feels like something from that time. I’ve been reading about Vodarkian relics—most of them were marked with symbols like this. Crescent moons, swords, flames. It’s fascinating, isn’t it?”

Kael couldn’t deny his interest. “It’s... something,” he admitted.

“You should come by my place sometime,” Dren said, slipping the medallion into his pocket. “I’ve got a few other pieces like this. Nothing big, but they all tell a story if you know how to look.”

Kael hesitated, but Dren’s excitement was infectious. “Maybe,” he said, smirking. “If you can promise it’s not just a bunch of old junk.”

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“You wound me, Kael.” Dren clutched his chest theatrically, grinning.

Their conversation was interrupted by a sudden commotion. A caravan of travelers was making its way into the square, their wagons creaking under the weight of goods wrapped in colorful fabrics. The travelers themselves were unlike anyone Kael had seen before—dressed in flowing robes and intricate jewelry, their skin weathered by long journeys under foreign suns.

“Who are they?” Kael asked, watching as the travelers set up stalls and unpacked their wares.

Dren’s eyes lit up. “They’re not from around here, that’s for sure. Judging by their style, I’d guess they’re from the Sapphire Dominion—or maybe even the Golden Crescent. Look at those robes. Definitely Crescent.”

As the two boys moved closer, the air buzzed with curiosity. Villagers gathered around the newcomers, inspecting their goods: vibrant silks, strange herbs, and intricately carved trinkets.

Kael’s attention was drawn to a group of travelers speaking in hushed tones near one of the wagons. He couldn’t make out the words, but one name stood out like a beacon in the chatter: Khafel Vodark.

His heart skipped. He turned to Dren. “Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“They mentioned Khafel Vodark.”

Dren’s brow furrowed. “Really? You sure?”

Before Kael could respond, one of the travelers, an older man with piercing gray eyes, turned toward them. His gaze lingered on Kael, sharp and appraising. For a moment, Kael felt as though the man could see right through him, as though he knew something Kael didn’t.

“You’re a curious one,” the man said, his voice low and measured.

Kael blinked, startled. “What?”

The man gave a faint smile, almost wistful. “You remind me of someone,” he said, but he didn’t elaborate. He turned away, disappearing into the crowd.

Kael stood frozen, his mind racing. Who did he remind the man of? And why did the name Khafel Vodark keep resurfacing?

Dren tugged at his sleeve. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Kael said quickly, though his thoughts were anything but settled.

The two spent a little more time browsing the stalls, but Kael’s attention remained on the travelers, their cryptic conversations, and the strange man’s words. By the time he returned home, his head was buzzing with questions he couldn’t answer.

That night, as Kael lay in bed staring at the stars through his window, the questions lingered. Who was King Khafel Vodark, really? Why did the name seem so familiar, so significant? And why did he feel like it was somehow connected to him?

He didn’t have the answers, but one thing was clear: the world outside his small village was much larger—and much stranger—than he had ever imagined.