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Abyssal Hunt Final

  After a day had passed, Kael returned to the Harbormaster's office . The Harbormaster looked as though he had aged a decade overnight. His once-rosy cheeks were hollowed, his skin sallow and pallid, stretched taut over his bones. His sunken eyes were ringed with dark shadows, the light within them all but extinguished. Bruises mottled his neck, faint impressions of the Cecaelia’s grip still visible. He sat slumped over a table, a ghost of the man Kael had met before.

  At the sound of Kael’s boots on the wooden floor, the harbormaster’s hollow gaze lifted. He didn’t speak at first, his lips trembling as though unsure of how to form the words. Finally, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small leather pouch, placing it on the table with a weak, trembling hand.

  "Managed… to get your coin," he said softly, his voice hoarse, barely more than a whisper. He paused, swallowing hard before continuing. "I… thank you for—"

  "Do not thank me."

  Kael’s sharp interruption cut through the harbormaster’s words like a blade. The older man flinched and lowered his gaze, the weight of Kael’s cold, unyielding stare pressing down on him.

  The harbormaster’s hands clenched into weak fists. His voice wavered, tinged with frustration and desperation. "What was I supposed to do?" he snarled, his voice cracking. "I panicked!"

  Kael stepped closer, his presence towering and unrelenting. His golden eyes burned with a quiet, simmering fury. "You could have sent her and your child away," he said, his voice cold and precise. "You could have run off together. You could have accepted your child for who they were. But instead—" Kael’s words cut like knives, his tone dripping with disdain. "Instead, you took your own blood, buried them alive in a box, and left them to suffocate. Alone. In the dark. And afraid."

  The Harbormaster turned his face away, his jaw trembling. No tears came this time; he had already cried himself dry.

  "You killed your child," Kael continued, his voice low but seething with contempt. "Every villager that the Cecaelia killed, your grandson, your granddaughter who barely survived—every life lost is on your hands. Every single one."

  The Harbormaster sagged further in his chair, his shoulders caving under the weight of Kael’s words. He stared blankly at the table, a broken man.

  Kael reached down and grabbed the pouch of coins, the clinking sound breaking the oppressive silence. He turned on his heel and began to walk toward the door.

  "What if she comes back?"

  The harbormaster’s weak voice stopped Kael in his tracks. He froze, his back to the older man, his posture stiff.

  "If she does…" Kael said, his voice heavy with finality, "face judgment. Or don’t. Let her kill more if you’re too much of a coward to stand before her." He turned his head slightly, just enough for the Harbormaster to catch the edge of his glare. "But don’t you dare come calling for me again."

  With that, Kael pushed open the door, the creak of the hinges echoing in the still room. He stepped out into the cool air, letting the door swing shut behind him, leaving the Harbormaster alone with his guilt and the crushing silence.

  Kael stepped onto the weathered wooden planks of the dock, his black cloak snapping sharply in the brisk breeze coming off the water. The smell of salt and damp wood filled the air, mingling with the faint, earthy scent of Eleanor—a fragrance so distinct it made him pause mid-step. Slowly, he turned, his gaze locking onto her figure.

  She stood at the edge of the dock, her blonde hair swirling around her face in the gentle wind, her green eyes piercing through him with a mixture of warmth and longing. Her posture was soft, almost hesitant, yet her presence was steady, grounding.

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  "You’re leaving already?" she asked, her voice gentle but tinged with disappointment.

  "I am," Kael replied, his tone even but lacking its usual edge. "There are monsters to slay."

  Her lips curved into a faint smile, one that carried both sadness and understanding. "I see." She hesitated, her eyes scanning his face as though committing every detail to memory. "Then I wish you luck, Kael. But… if you ever find yourself in this part of the world again, stop by. I’d like to see you."

  Her smile grew, a genuine expression of warmth that seemed to radiate kindness. It was the kind of smile Kael hadn’t seen in years—the kind that spoke of unconditional acceptance, of someone looking beyond the scars and walls he’d built to see the man beneath.

  He should have left. The boat was waiting, the fisherman ready to take him back to the mainland. He told himself he had a duty, that the world needed him more than one woman ever could. But as he stood there, gazing into those vivid green eyes, he felt something stir deep within him—a longing he thought he’d buried long ago.

  She was right there. Open, vulnerable, offering something he hadn’t dared to dream of: compassion, warmth… love.

  Kael closed the distance between them in a few long strides. Before he could second-guess himself, he reached out and pulled her into his arms, his grip firm yet trembling with an unfamiliar intensity. Her body fit against his as though she belonged there, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, he felt whole.

  Without a word, he leaned down, capturing her lips in a fierce, almost desperate kiss. She gasped softly, the sound quickly muffled as she melted into him, her arms snaking around his neck to pull him closer. Her lips were soft, warm, and inviting, sending a rush of heat through him that left him dizzy.

  Eleanor moaned softly against his mouth, her hands tangling in his hair as the kiss deepened. For a moment, the world fell away—the docks, the sea, the weight of his endless quest. All that remained was her. Her warmth, her touch, her undeniable presence.

  He hadn’t kissed anyone in years. He’d told himself he didn’t deserve to, that love and affection were for others—not for a man like him, steeped in blood and shadow. But here she was, shattering the walls he’d built brick by brick, pulling him into the light with every press of her lips.

  As they finally broke apart, he rested his forehead against hers, his breathing uneven. Her hands lingered on his face, her thumbs brushing against the rough stubble of his jaw.

  "You don’t have to leave now," she whispered, her voice trembling but hopeful.

  Kael swallowed hard, his mind at war with his heart. For the first time in years, his heart won.

  "No," he murmured, his voice soft but resolute. "I don’t."

  She smiled again, that same radiant smile that made his chest ache. Without another word, he took her hand, letting her lead him back toward the village. One more night. Just one more. And for the first time in years, Kael allowed himself to believe that maybe—just maybe—he deserved it.

  The fantasy was so potent, so real, that for a moment, he almost believed it had happened.

  But it hadn’t.

  And it wouldn’t.

  Oh, how much Kael wanted it—needed it. Ached for it in ways he had never allowed himself to admit. The warmth of another’s touch, the acceptance that didn’t hinge on his deeds or the blood he’d spilled. He had fought monsters and shadows for so long that he’d forgotten what it meant to feel human, to be vulnerable, to be wanted.

  Eleanor stood before him, her green eyes shimmering with hope and something deeper, something he couldn’t name but desperately craved. She was offering him a chance—a chance to step out of the darkness he had cloaked himself in, to find solace in her kindness, to simply be with her. It would be so easy, so incredibly easy, to take her hand and let her lead him into a world he thought was forever lost to him.

  His heart screamed for him to stay. To take her in his arms, to press his lips against hers and feel the warmth of her breath mingling with his. To let her remind him that he wasn’t just the Ashen, the monster slayer, the ghost wandering the edges of the world. That he was Kael—a man who could be loved. His heart screamed to make the fantasy a reality.

  But Kael had never listened to his heart.

  He swallowed hard, his throat tight as he gave her a gentle nod. "If I’m ever around… I’ll stop by," he said, his voice steady but devoid of the emotions tearing him apart inside.

  Eleanor’s smile faltered, just slightly, but she didn’t push. She nodded back, her eyes searching his, as though trying to understand the walls, he still refused to break down.

  Kael turned sharply on his heel, his cloak billowing behind him as he walked toward the waiting boat. Each step felt heavier than the last, as though his body fought against his mind’s decision, begging him to turn back. But he didn’t stop. He couldn’t.

  The fisherman watched him with a quiet understanding as Kael stepped into the boat. Without a word, the old man pushed off from the dock, the creak of the oars breaking the silence. Kael sat down with a silent sigh, his gloved hands resting on his knees, his gaze fixed on the rippling water.

  He didn’t turn back. He didn’t dare. He knew that if he so much as glanced over his shoulder, the sight of Eleanor standing there, her hair catching the breeze, her eyes full of longing, would be enough to shatter his resolve. He would stay. He would let himself be vulnerable, let himself feel. And he couldn’t afford that—not now, not ever.

  So he sat in silence, watching the clouds drift lazily across the sky as the boat glided across the water. The fisherman paddled without a word, his presence a muted backdrop to Kael’s turmoil.

  Kael pressed a gloved finger to his lips, his heart heavy with regret. He closed his eyes and let himself imagine, just for a moment, what her lips would have felt like against his. Would they have been as soft, as warm as he had dreamed? Would they have tasted of hope, of something brighter than the shadows that clung to him?

  The ache in his chest deepened, a hollow emptiness that no amount of fighting or wandering could fill. He exhaled slowly, letting the cool salty air fill his lungs, and opened his eyes.

  The boat rocked gently beneath him, but Kael didn’t notice. All he could feel was the phantom weight of Eleanor’s gaze, the lingering phantom warmth of her touch, and the unbearable longing for something he had walked away from.

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