Gadriel woke slowly, as if surfacing from a deep and heavy sea. His eyes opened to the faintest ribbon of pale gold sliding through the open flap of his tent — dawn barely cresting the shattered horizon of ancient Valyria. The air was cool, muted, still. The sort of quiet that exists only in places long abandoned by the living.
He groaned under his breath and lifted a hand to rub at his temples.
"Divines… it's been a while since I've done that," he muttered to himself. His voice was rough, tired. "I'd forgotten how much it really takes out of me."
His body didn't ache — not in any mortal sense — but his mind felt stretched thin, like parchment that had been soaked and dried too many times.
He let himself whine for only a heartbeat longer before sighing sharply, cutting himself off.
"Alright, enough of that."
Gadriel reached toward the foot of his bedroll and retrieved the small, unassuming leather bag that served as his personal inventory. To anyone else it looked like an ordinary satchel — a bit worn, a bit dusty — but when he reached inside, the faint shimmer of dimensional space rippled beneath his fingers. His hand brushed past a few scrolls, the cool surface of a septim, the hilt of some random dagger he barely remembered storing, until—
"Aha," he whispered.
He withdrew a minor potion of healing. Purple-red liquid swirled faintly inside the glass, catching the weak morning light. Gadriel pulled the cork and downed it in a few practiced gulps.
Warmth spread across his face and temples, dulling the pounding behind his eyes. The exhaustion didn't vanish entirely — the potion wasn't made for spiritual strain — but it helped. Enough.
He lowered the empty bottle and exhaled, long and slow.
"Sigh… stuff like this always depresses me." His voice was quieter now, more thoughtful. "Every time I see death on that scale… every time I see destruction like that… it just sits in my chest."His eyes drifted toward the sunlight."No matter how much I've seen it"
A pause.
"If only someone had stopped them."
That thought lingered, heavy but fleeting, as he slipped the empty bottle back into the bag, where it disappeared without a clink. With effort, Gadriel pushed himself to his feet. Dust lay curled nearby, still asleep, his chest rising and falling in slow, steady breaths. The sight soothed Gadriel more than he expected.
He stepped outside.
The early sun stretched long, thin rays over the broken spires and collapsed towers of Valyria. Everything was bathed in a soft haze — the kind that made the ruins look almost peaceful, despite the poison and corruption that clung to the land.
And there, sitting atop a slab of cracked stone, was Kaelan.
The metal giant faced the eastern sky, unmoving except for the faint plumes of heat that escaped from vents along his shoulders. His dwarven-centurion body caught the sun's first touch, lighting thin lines of gold along the runes engraved in his plating.
Gadriel felt his lips twitch into a tired smile.
He approached quietly but didn't try to sneak; Kaelan's senses always detected him long before he spoke.
"Kaelan," Gadriel called gently.
Kaelan turned his massive, centurion-crafted head. Even sitting, he towered over Gadriel. The steam in his joints hissed softly as he shifted.
"Yes?" Kaelan's voice carried that familiar, resonant hum — mechanical and yet unmistakably alive.
"Can I talk to you?"
Kaelan gave a slow, deliberate nod. "Of course."
Gadriel sank down beside him, resting his arms loosely over his knees. For a while he didn't speak. He just watched the sun lift behind the ruins, watched the light claw its way into a land that barely remembered what dawn even was.
When he finally found the words, they came shakily.
"To be honest with you… I feel lost," Gadriel said. "Like I don't have a purpose in this place."
Kaelan tilted his head, listening.
"Where I'm from, I had one purpose. My entire life — my destiny, really." Gadriel's voice softened. "And I fulfilled it. It's strange to say that out loud, but that's the truth. I lived with one path laid before me, and I reached its end."
"But now that I'm here… away from everything I know…" Gadriel swallowed. "I just feel alienated. Lost. I've spent so much time just exploring, observing, meeting people, wandering from one place to another."
He shook his head.
"And it all feels… insignificant. Compared to what came before. I don't have any real purpose now."
For a long moment, Kaelan said nothing. Only the faint mechanisms in his chest whirred gently, like a giant thinking.
Then Kaelan sighed — or rather, expelled a slow, hot stream of steam from his vents. It was the closest he could come to a very human sound.
"Gadriel," he said, turning slightly to face him. "I have not known you for long. Truly, I still don't understand most of what you are."
Gadriel snorted softly. "Most people don't."
"But," Kaelan continued, "I do know you are a good person. You saved me. You didn't have to. And I understand more than you think."
His voice deepened, resonating with something old and solemn.
"Most people in this world — good and bad, rich and poor, strong or weak — share one truth."His glowing eyes turned toward the rising sun."They are afraid."
Gadriel blinked, caught off guard.
"Afraid of what comes next," Kaelan said. "Afraid of what life has prepared for them. Afraid of the pain they've already endured and the unknown ahead."
Gadriel lowered his gaze.
"But along the way," Kaelan continued, "they learn that fear cannot guide them. Life does not give them the time."
The centurion shifted, metal plates clicking into place as he leaned forward slightly.
"When that realization comes, people usually choose one of two paths — whether they realize it or not. They either cling to what makes them happy… or they try to make the world better than it is."
Gadriel's breath caught.
"Most choose the first," Kaelan said quietly. "A few choose the second."
His gaze settled on Gadriel with a strange, gentle certainty.
"And I believe you are one of those few, Gadriel. So whatever you decide to do… whatever path you choose… I know it will be the right one."
The words hit Gadriel harder than he expected. Not like a blow, but like something ancient and forgotten stirring in his chest. Something he hadn't allowed himself to feel since the day he closed the final chapter of his former life.
He looked at Kaelan, really looked, and found sincerity glowing behind the centurion's molten-blue eyes.
"Thank you," Gadriel whispered. "Your words… they mean more than you know. Truly."
Kaelan dipped his head in acknowledgment.
The sun rose higher, casting long shadows between the fallen towers. The morning air grew warmer. And Gadriel found himself staring toward the ruins with a quiet, unsettled feeling — not dread, not grief.
Possibility.
This chapter of his story didn't give him a purpose yet.
But for the first time in a long while…
…it made him start looking for one.