The northern plains were loud today. Really loud. People shouting. Swords clanging. Bones snapping. And Kael's stomach—oh, it was louder. It growled like it was trying to challenge the sun for attention. He could hear the echoes bouncing off the hills, probably terrifying the enemy, maybe even the friendly soldiers. Probably the only thing anyone would remember tomorrow was how the war sounded, smelled, and how one small boy's stomach roared like an angry beast.
He crouched behind a low rise, not because he was afraid—oh, no—but because it was the perfect height to spy on the blade. That sword. The dark, shiny one on the stranger who everyone whispered about. The one they said drank blood. Kael tilted his head, imagining that blade like a wine goblet and all the demon corpses as grapes. He grinned in his mind. Grapes. Delicious grapes. He wondered if they could be cooked, maybe with some garlic and salt.
The first cluster of demons stumbled into the clearing. They were noisy. Really noisy. Stupidly noisy. Kael thought he could almost smell how much they'd taste like grilled meat. He could imagine his teacher turning into a skewer, skewered meat like that old festival he'd heard about once, and the thought made him chuckle quietly. Just a little. Enough to scare the nearest crow.
The man with the sword—Cassian, though Kael didn't need to remember that name—moved like water. He stepped into the light, pivoted, and swung the blade. Kael's stomach growled again, as if applauding the swing. The sword hummed, sliced, and pulled the life out of the demon in a way that made it vanish, leaving a soft mist of red curling around the edge. Kael blinked. Very interesting. Very… edible, in a theoretical sense.
He noticed how Cassian's sword bent with each twist of his wrist, moved like it had its own mind. Every demon fell before it even realized the swing existed. Kael's eyes tracked it, imagining the blade carving tiny steaks out of the air, perfectly done, just medium-rare. That's how he thought. If he ever got hungry again—probably sooner rather than later—he'd know exactly how to slice it. The battlefield didn't matter. Not really. Only the meat. And the sounds. And his stomach. It was a busy day inside his head.
Cassian spun again. More demons dropped. Kael's stomach growled louder. The nearby soldiers jumped and ducked at every slice, but Kael thought that maybe the growl of his own belly was scarier than the blade. Maybe the demons felt it too. He liked that idea. They could run from the noise of his stomach and die from the sword at the same time. Efficiency. That was fun.
Cassian didn't talk. He didn't need to. He moved with precision. Kael walked closer, imagining the sword dripping red like barbecue sauce, and the demon corpses as perfectly plated dinners. It was art. It was terrifying. And Kael's stomach was the loudest critic in the land. He made a mental note: if the world ended tomorrow, he would still want meat first.
The sun started to set. Shadows stretched across the field like spilled ink. Kael crouched, thinking about how the blade had worked today, about how all the enemies had fallen like ripe fruit. He thought about the smell of cooked meat, the sound of his stomach, the way Cassian didn't even glance at him. Kael's mind wandered and returned. He knew only two things right now: the shouting and the growling. Everything else was seasoning.
When Cassian finally sheathed the sword, the world seemed quieter. Kael's stomach growled one last, triumphant note. Maybe the battle was over. Maybe it wasn't. Didn't matter. He'd survived. Observed. And imagined his teacher and all the soldiers as roast beef for later.