Kael followed the man behind the building.

  The air back there was cooler, carrying scents of grass and ripe apples.

  Behind a low stone wall, an absurdly simple pen housed a scrawny horse with a dull grey coat and a tangled mane.

  Its ribs showed, and its thin tail lazily flicked at the flies.

  A walking skeleton.

  “So that’s your luxury carriage?” Kael asked, arms crossed.

  The man stepped toward the horse with a strangely sincere smile.

  “This here is Diorne.”

  The horse lifted its head.

  Its eyes—deep brown, almost golden—locked onto Kael’s.

  There was an odd intensity in them, a sharpness that had nothing to do with the worn-out body it inhabited.

  Kael frowned.

  For a moment, he could’ve sworn the creature was actually… studying him.

  “Weird beast,” he muttered.

  The horse simply returned to its grazing, chewing slowly as an apple fell from the lone apple tree that stood in the pen.

  Kael looked around. Nothing else.

  No farm, no road.

  Just the tree, the enclosure, and a slice of sky.

  “This really is the middle of nowhere.”

  Leaning against the fence, the man stroked the horse’s mane with a gentle, almost fatherly touch.

  “And that’s perfectly fine by me.”

  He patted the animal’s neck lightly.

  “I wouldn’t trade this peace for all the gold in Soléandre.”

  Kael shrugged.

  “Yeah, well… in the Broken Crown, a guy like you would’ve been found asleep at his counter—with a brick on his head.”

  The man waved a hand dismissively, as if swatting a fly—or Kael’s words.

  “Tell me, Ombrevu… since you seem to know everything, what do you think life is made of?”

  Kael raised a brow.

  “Considering everything that keeps happening to me lately—endlessly, I might add—”

  He paused.

  “I’d say I have no idea.”

  “Let me tell you what I think,” the man continued, ignoring him entirely.

  “Life… is made of torment and delight.”

  He tapped his belly, pleased with himself.

  “And me, I’d rather enjoy the good parts: rest, quiet, tranquillity.

  Maybe you’ll understand that when you’re older.”

  Kael gave him a crooked grin.

  “Sure. If I survive that long.”

  The man barked a short laugh and walked to the small stable attached to the building.

  A few minutes later, he emerged leading the now-harnessed horse.

  Or rather, “harnessed”…

  The carriage was nothing more than a patched-up wooden box on two wheels, with a driver’s seat that looked ready to collapse.

  And yet, when the horse stepped into place, the heavy structure barely seemed to weigh anything at all.

  Kael blinked.

  “Hold on… you’re pulling that with one horse?”

  Already seated on the front bench—the driver’s seat—the man lifted a mocking eyebrow.

  “Something the matter, Ombrevu?”

  Kael pointed at the carriage.

  “How is that even possible? You still have physics up here in your fancy lands, right?”

  The man gave a small smile, almost conspiratorial.

  “Don’t let appearances fool you.”

  Kael fell silent, staring at the horse with growing suspicion.

  The animal turned its head slightly toward him, and in its eyes flickered something he couldn’t quite name.

  A quiet intelligence.

  Almost a warning.

  The man looked Kael over more carefully.

  Kael circled the carriage, unsure.

  “Alright… so where am I supposed to sit?”

  Already perched on the driver’s seat, the man patted the wooden plank beside him.

  “Up front. I’m in a talkative mood today.”

  Kael eyed him skeptically.

  “Seriously? You’ve been looking down on me since I set foot here. You even told me I… stank. Why would I sit next to you?”

  The man gave a smug little smile.

  “That’s true,” he admitted. “You smell like death… and something I can’t even put a name on.”

  He scrunched up his nose, exaggerating the gesture.

  “But if I’m not mistaken, you had questions earlier, didn’t you?”

  Kael narrowed his eyes.

  “My questions?”

  “Yes. The ones I ‘wasn’t paid to answer.’”

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  He mimicked his own pompous tone with ridiculous theatrical seriousness.

  “Well, guess what—I’ve changed my mind.”

  Kael let out a long sigh.

  “You really are a mystery.”

  “That’s what people keep telling me.”

  Resigned, Kael finally climbed up beside him, scowling.

  The wood groaned under his weight, and the carriage tilted slightly.

  Barely seated, the man lifted a hand and leaned away with mock horror.

  “But seriously—you smell awful.”

  Kael rolled his eyes.

  “Great. A romantic ride with a smell critic.”

  The coachman burst into a hearty laugh that made his belly shake.

  “I see you’ve got some wit, Ombrevu. Good. The trip’ll be less dull.”

  He tapped the reins lightly without urging the horse forward, his gaze drifting down the dirt road winding between the tall grasses.

  “Tell me—how long has your Trial been hounding you? And how does it show itself?”

  His voice had lost its mocking tone.

  It was the curiosity of a man who’d seen too much to be surprised by anything.

  Kael shrugged, searching for the right words.

  “Hard to say. A few days? A few weeks? Maybe more.”

  He rubbed the back of his neck, where the pain always returned without warning.

  “At first it was just exhaustion… headaches. Then the nights. I’d wake up drenched, crying, without knowing why.”

  He paused, eyes drifting toward the clear sky.

  “And lately… there’s been this weird feeling. Like something’s pulling from inside me. Not real pain. More like… tension.”

  His fingers tightened.

  “Like a thread ready to snap.”

  The man nodded slowly, his expression turning serious.

  “Hm. Classic Fragmented stuff. The Elan knocking at the door without being invited.”

  He shot Kael an almost amused glance.

  “And you’ve stayed on your feet through all that? Not bad for a kid from the Crown.”

  Kael let out a dry, tired sigh.

  “Yeah. I guess stubbornness is my only real talent. Too hardheaded to die.”

  The man chuckled, then spoke in a softer tone:

  “Stubborn’s good. Often the only thing separating the living from the dead.”

  He let out a long, almost sympathetic sigh.

  “Tough luck, kid… landing a Fragmented Trame is the worst draw in the whole lottery.”

  Kael turned toward him, curious.

  “Why?”

  The coachman clicked his tongue, searching for the right phrasing.

  “Because a Fragmented’s Trial isn’t a trial of the world. It’s a trial of the inside.”

  He lifted a finger to emphasize it.

  “When you’ve got an Innate Trame, you’re fighting what’s around you—matter, elements, something tangible. That, you can hit, resist.”

  His gaze darkened.

  “But you… you’ll have to fight what you are. And there’s no weapon for that.”

  Kael frowned, staring at the road.

  “You’re talking like I’m already doomed.”

  The man let out a humorless laugh.

  “Doomed? No. But most people who come out of a Fragmented Trial… don’t come out the same.”

  He shrugged.

  “Some get stronger.

  Others… lose themselves for good.”

  Kael fell silent.

  The horse’s hooves beat a steady rhythm along the road, regular and almost soothing.

  The wind slipped under his makeshift robe, carrying with it a faint scent of leather and dust.

  He kept replaying the man’s words in his head: “fight what you are.”

  It echoed unpleasantly.

  He’d never asked to fight anything.

  He just wanted to live quietly, work at the workshop, stay out of trouble.

  But no. The world had caught up to him—again.

  He sighed, eyes drifting across the landscape.

  The road wound between rolling hills covered in shimmering grass, from which strange, twisted white trees sprouted here and there.

  The sky, a painfully intense blue, made his eyes ache.

  “An inner Trial…” he muttered to himself.

  He let out a tired smile.

  “As if the outside wasn’t already enough.”

  Kael stared at the road ahead.

  “I don’t get it… why me? Why a Fragmented Trame and not an Innate one?”

  He turned to the man.

  “I don’t have any disorders, no head injuries, nothing like that. I’ve never felt… broken, you know?”

  The man gave a weary smile without looking his way.

  “It’s never the ones who think they’re crazy who actually are.”

  He tugged lightly on the reins, and the horse slowed to a gentler trot.

  “And it’s never the ones who think they’re perfectly sane who really are, either.”

  Kael raised an eyebrow, half-mocking, half-intrigued.

  “So you’re saying most people are nuts? That it?”

  “In their own ways, yes,” the man replied. “The Trial doesn’t spare anyone.”

  He paused.

  “When a Trame is Fragmented, it’s not always a punishment. Sometimes it’s just… a truth trying to get out.”

  Kael looked away, uncomfortable.

  “Well, if it’s a truth, I hope it has good manners.”

  The man let out a rough laugh—without joy in it.

  “Don’t worry. Truths in this world rarely show up politely.”

  Silence settled again, broken only by the steady clop of the horse.

  Then the man continued, voice heavier:

  “If you really are a Fragmented, you’re going to have to choose.”

  Kael frowned.

  “Choose what?”

  “Between Remanence and Dissonance.”

  The man’s tone was neutral, but something in his voice sent a chill down Kael’s spine.

  “Yeah, I’ve heard those words,” Kael replied. “The doctor mentioned them. Didn’t say anything useful, though.”

  “That’s normal,” the man said. “No one can really explain it to you.”

  He searched for his words, eyes lost on the road.

  “Let’s say Remanence is when you choose to accept what you are. Your cracks, your doubts, everything that hurts. You take them, understand them, and turn them into something useful.”

  He lifted a calloused hand and slowly closed it.

  “You turn your fracture into a strength, basically.”

  Kael nodded.

  “And Dissonance?”

  “Dissonance is the opposite. It’s when you refuse what you are. When you try to break it, tear it out, deny it.”

  The man cast him a more serious glance.

  “Some people manage by rejecting everything. But most… get lost in the void they dug themselves.”

  Kael let out a bitter smile.

  “So either I learn to live with my insanity, or I fall apart. That about right?”

  The man chuckled softly.

  “Put like that, you’ve got it perfectly.”

  Kael looked up at the sky, exhausted.

  “Great. Just what I needed—motivation.”

  Kael fell quiet for a moment, eyes fixed on the road stretching endlessly ahead.

  The man beside him seemed hesitant to continue, then exhaled softly.

  “You know… Dissonance isn’t necessarily the wrong choice.”

  Kael turned to him, surprised.

  “Oh yeah? Doesn’t sound like it, the way you talk about it.”

  The man gave a small smile.

  “That’s because people like simple stories. Good, bad, light, shadow. But reality isn’t like that.”

  He raised a hand and rotated it slowly in the air.

  “Remanence is accepting your fracture. Understanding it.”

  “Dissonance is transforming it.”

  He emphasized the word.

  “Not denying it. Not running from it. Bending it, reshaping it into something new. A rupture, or a rebirth, depending on how you live it.”

  Kael frowned.

  “So it’s not about good or bad… but about direction?”

  “Exactly.”

  The man nodded, satisfied.

  “Fragmented of Remanence want to rebuild. Fragmented of Dissonance want to be reborn. Both suffer. Both change.”

  He paused.

  “But one of them tends to their wounds… and the other tears them open.”

  Kael stayed silent. He didn’t know whether he should be afraid or fascinated.

  He finally muttered:

  “I’m not sure I like your metaphors.”

  The man burst out laughing, rough and brief.

  “Don’t worry. Metaphors won’t like you either.”

  “And… that thing about ‘Elan saturation’—what is it, exactly?”

  The man raised an eyebrow, surprised.

  “Well, well. Someone told you about that?”

  “The doctor, yeah. He said my Elan was too high. Too unstable. I didn’t understand a damn word.”

  The man took a deep breath, as if preparing for a delicate subject.

  “Elan isn’t just energy, kid. It’s a law. A universal impulse. Everything that lives or exists carries a fragment of it. Even stones, even the air we breathe.”

  He paused, then tapped his temple.

  “Elan builds up. Grows. And sometimes… it spills over.”

  Kael frowned.

  “Spills over?”

  “When your Elan becomes unstable, it tries to express itself. To expand.”

  The man waved his hand vaguely, as if illustrating an invisible explosion.

  “That’s what we call saturation. It’s the moment your body and your mind can’t hold what they’re carrying anymore. And that’s when the Trial begins.”

  Kael didn’t speak for a while, then said quietly:

  “So let me get this straight… I didn’t choose any of this. My own Elan chose for me.”

  The man nodded slowly.

  “No one chooses, Ombrevu. We think we live our lives… but most of the time, it’s just the Elan carrying them forward for us.”

  Kael let out a nervous laugh—reflex more than amusement.

  “Great. Even my free will bailed on me.”

  The man gave a faint half-smile.

  And they continued down the road.