Five years earlier
The training courtyard buzzed with life, though none dared step too close to the three figures at its center. The sun bathed the scene in golden light, casting long shadows as three brothers moved with practiced precision, their powers rippling through the air like threads of an ancient tapestry being woven anew. Knights and onlookers gathered along the edges, their cheers muffled by awe and caution. To be too near these princes was to feel the hum of raw energy, untamed yet perfectly in sync.
Jackson, the eldest, commanded the flames with the ease of a conductor leading a symphony. Fire danced along his fingertips, twisting into spirals that surged and flared with his every motion. His laughter rang out, bright and infectious, as he feinted a strike, the flames licking dangerously close to his brothers. “Too slow, Damien! And Alex—what was that? A puddle?” he teased, his grin wide as he dodged their counterattacks.
Damien, the second-born, stood firm as the earth itself, his feet rooted with an unshakable grace. He was the calm amidst the storm, his movements deliberate and precise. With a wave of his hand, the ground beneath Jackson’s feet shifted suddenly, sending the eldest prince stumbling with a laugh. “A puddle might drown you, brother, if you’re not careful,” Damien replied, his tone gentle but edged with playful wit.
Alexander, the youngest, was a whirlwind of water and daring, his power flowing like the rivers he so loved. Droplets hovered in the air around him, shimmering like a second skin before surging forward in a torrent that narrowly missed Jackson. His smirk was sharp, his voice carrying the boldness of youth. “Better a puddle than ash! Let’s see you put this out,” he challenged, sending a wave spiraling toward his oldest brother.
The courtyard erupted in cheers and laughter, but none dared step closer. The onlookers knew better than to intrude upon the princes’ rare moment of freedom. Here, away from the weight of royal responsibility and the ever-watchful eyes of the court, they were simply brothers—three forces of nature, each distinct yet part of a whole. Fire, earth, and water. Passion, wisdom, and courage. They clashed and laughed and wove together a harmony that spoke of the bond they shared, a bond forged in blood and strengthened by years of shared triumphs and trials.
Jackson lunged forward, his flames extinguished as he grappled Damien to the ground with a laugh. “Wisdom won’t save you now, brother!” he crowed, only to yelp as a wave of water drenched them both, courtesy of Alex’s well-timed attack.
“You two are hopeless,” Damien muttered, though his lips twitched with a smile as he shoved Jackson off him. The three of them sprawled in the dirt, their sparring match momentarily forgotten as their laughter filled the courtyard.
For a moment, time seemed to still, and the world beyond the courtyard walls faded. The weight of their father’s crown, the expectations of a kingdom, and the shadow of the future all disappeared, leaving only the laughter of three brothers who knew, in their hearts, that together they were stronger than apart.
The training courtyard buzzed with life, though none dared step too close to the three figures at its center. The sun bathed the scene in golden light, casting long shadows as three brothers moved with practiced precision, their powers rippling through the air like threads of an ancient tapestry being woven anew. Knights and onlookers gathered along the edges, their cheers muffled by awe and caution. To be too near these princes was to feel the hum of raw energy, untamed yet perfectly in sync.
Jackson, the eldest, commanded the flames with the ease of a conductor leading a symphony. Fire danced along his fingertips, twisting into spirals that surged and flared with his every motion. His presence was magnetic, his laughter bold and infectious as he darted forward, feinting a strike at his youngest brother. “Too slow, Alex! Is that all the mighty water has to offer?” he teased, his grin sharp as the flames licked dangerously close.
Alexander, the youngest, countered with a flash of water, the droplets shimmering like diamonds in the sunlight before they coiled into a whip and lashed toward Jackson. “Better water than ash, old man,” he shot back, his bold tone matched by the daring glint in his eyes. The youngest prince moved like the rivers he commanded—swift and unpredictable, his energy a counterpoint to his brothers’ steadiness.
Damien, the second-born, stood firm as the earth itself, his movements deliberate and grounded. If Jackson was the wildfire and Alex the raging stream, Damien was the mountain—solid and unyielding. The ground beneath his feet rumbled as he directed a surge of rock toward Jackson, forcing the eldest to leap aside. “Careful, Jackson,” Damien said with a wry smile, his voice as steady as his power. “Flames don’t burn as bright buried beneath the earth.”
Their powers clashed in a symphony of elemental force, each brother testing the other with equal parts competition and camaraderie. The onlookers watched, captivated, as fire met water and earth disrupted both in a dance that could only belong to them. Though their Quirks were vastly different, the brothers moved with an innate understanding of one another, a bond forged not only by blood but by years of shared triumphs and trials.
“Don’t think you’ve got the upper hand, Damien!” Jackson laughed, igniting a whip of flame and sending it toward Damien’s feet, only for it to be extinguished in a sudden surge of water from Alex. Jackson turned to the youngest with mock indignation. “You’re getting bold, Alex. Did you forget who’s leading this dance?”
Alex grinned, unrepentant. “Bold enough to keep you on your toes, brother.”
Damien stepped forward, his hands raised, and the ground beneath them stilled as if responding to his will. “Enough,” he said, his voice calm yet commanding. “If you two keep this up, we’ll flood the city and burn the castle all in one afternoon.”
The tension broke into laughter as the brothers stepped back, panting but grinning. In these rare moments, the weight of the crown and the expectations of their father faded into the background, leaving only the bond of three brothers who were strongest when they stood together. Fire, earth, and water—passion, wisdom, and courage. Distinct yet inseparable, each one a vital piece of the whole.
As they walked off the field, the knights and onlookers erupted into cheers, but the brothers paid them no mind. They slung their arms over each other’s shoulders, still teasing and laughing, their connection as enduring as the elements they commanded.
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The brothers lingered in the castle’s grand baths, their laughter bouncing off the polished stone walls and mingling with the faint sound of trickling water. Steam curled through the air, carrying the scents of mint and lavender from the warmed pools. It was a rare moment of relaxation for the princes, one they savored before returning to their duties.
Jackson, ever the restless one, lounged near the edge of the bath, his hands idly summoning a small flame that flickered and danced across his fingers. The firelight reflected in his mischievous grin as he looked toward his brothers. “Come on, slowpokes! Are you trying to prune yourselves to death?” he teased, his tone light and mocking.
Alexander, submerged up to his chest in the water, smirked as he leaned against the smooth stone ledge. “Jealous because you can’t handle the heat of a proper bath, Jackson?” he quipped, flicking his fingers to send a small splash of water in his older brother’s direction.
Jackson dodged the spray with a dramatic flourish, the flame in his hand flaring briefly before he extinguished it with a snap of his fingers. “The day I’m jealous of you, Alex, will be the day Damien stops being boring.”
“I heard that,” Damien said calmly from the far side of the bath, his deep voice cutting through the steam as he rinsed his arms. He moved with deliberate ease, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at his lips. “Maybe if you had the patience for a proper bath, Jackson, you wouldn’t need to play with fire to keep yourself entertained.”
“Patience?” Jackson shot back, standing and stretching with a yawn. “Never heard of it. It’s overrated anyway.”
Damien merely shook his head, unbothered, as he finished drying off and began pulling on his tunic. “Perhaps if you stopped rushing, you’d learn to enjoy the finer things.”
“Perhaps if you stopped lecturing, you’d actually be fun for once,” Jackson retorted, though his grin took the sting out of his words.
Alexander chuckled as he stepped out of the water, beads of moisture clinging to his skin. He ran a hand through his damp hair before glancing at Damien. “Don’t bother, Damien. He’s beyond saving.”
Jackson leaned against the marble archway leading out of the baths, his grin widening. “And don’t you forget it.”
The brothers dressed quickly, Jackson finishing first as always. He flicked a tiny flame to life and let it hover in his palm as he leaned against the doorway, watching his brothers adjust their tunics and belts. “Really, it’s like waiting for the sun to rise twice in one day,” he mused, pretending to inspect his nails.
Alex was the next to finish, brushing past Jackson with a smirk. “You’re just upset that we don’t need parlor tricks to make an entrance,” he said, shouldering him lightly.
Damien, true to form, was the last to prepare, his calm demeanor undisturbed by Jackson’s antics. “Or maybe he’s worried he won’t get the attention he craves,” he added as he joined his brothers.
Jackson laughed, snuffing out the flame with a dramatic sigh. “Ah, you know me so well.”
The three brothers exited the baths, their steps echoing in unison as they made their way toward the throne room. Their banter continued, light and teasing, a stark contrast to the responsibilities that awaited them on the other side of the castle’s grand doors.
Inside, the throne room was a testament to the kingdom’s legacy. Tall windows let in streams of golden light, illuminating the ornate tapestries that adorned the walls. At the far end of the room, the king sat upon his throne, his presence commanding yet approachable. His crown caught the sunlight, casting a soft glow around his weathered face. Though age had begun to mark his features, his eyes remained sharp and warm as they fell upon his sons.
“My boys,” the king greeted, his voice rich with pride. “Come closer.”
The brothers approached as one, bowing their heads in unison before stepping into the light of their father’s gaze. The king’s smile widened, and he gestured for them to stand at ease. “I trust your sparring session didn’t leave the courtyard in ruins?” he asked, a twinkle of humor in his eyes.
Jackson grinned, folding his arms. “No promises. But I think Damien managed to bury most of my flames before they got out of hand.”
“And I had to put them out before he set the city on fire,” Alex added with a mock-serious tone, earning a chuckle from their father.
“Good,” the king said, his tone shifting to one of purpose. “You’re all skilled warriors, but more importantly, you’re brothers. Moments like these remind me that no crown, no kingdom, will ever mean as much as the bond you share.”
The warmth of his words filled the room, momentarily softening the weight of the crown that loomed over them all.
The king straightened, his gaze turning thoughtful as he studied his sons. The lightness of the conversation faded as the weight of duty settled over the room. “I have tasks for each of you,” he began. “Matters that require your attention and will benefit the kingdom.”
He turned first to Jackson. “Sebo, our eastern border town, has sent troubling reports of attacks. I need you to go there, assess the situation, and ensure the safety of our people. Your commanding nature makes you ideal for this task.”This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Jackson nodded, his grin fading into a look of determination. “Of course, Father. I’ll leave immediately.”
Next, the king’s gaze shifted to Damien. “I need you to go to Leafan, your mother’s home. The city has requested aid, and your wisdom and steady hand will bring the guidance they need.”
Damien hesitated, the mention of their mother tugging at a hidden ache. Still, he inclined his head respectfully. “I understand. I’ll leave as soon as I’m ready.”
Finally, the king looked to Alex. His youngest son straightened, eager to hear his task, but his father’s expression was firm. “You will stay here, Alexander. The Harvest Festival approaches, and your presence is needed to oversee the preparations and ensure the celebration runs smoothly.”
Alex opened his mouth to protest, but the look in his father’s eyes stopped him. He clenched his jaw, his hands curling into fists at his sides, but he said nothing. “Yes, Father,” he said quietly, though his frustration was palpable.
The quiet rustling of papers and murmurs from the council reminded the brothers that they were not alone. Seated along the edges of the throne room, the council members observed the exchanges with keen interest. Each man and woman represented the kingdom’s key regions and held a stake in its future. Their silent presence underscored the gravity of the moment, emphasizing that the princes’ tasks were more than familial—they were political and vital to the realm’s stability.
Jackson and Damien bowed, excusing themselves to prepare for their journeys. As they turned to leave, Alex hesitated, lingering near the doors. His frustration simmered beneath the surface, but before he could follow his brothers, his father’s voice called him back.
“Alexander.”
He turned, his expression carefully neutral. “Yes, Father?”
The king’s eyes softened, though his tone remained firm. “I expect to see you at the festival. Do not let me down.”
Alex swallowed hard, his pride warring with his duty. “I won’t,” he said, bowing before leaving the throne room.
As the brothers walked toward their respective wings of the castle, their steps slowed, and their conversation turned quiet. Jackson clapped Alex on the shoulder. “Don’t take it personally, Alex. Someone has to keep the festival from turning into chaos.”
Damien added gently, “You’ll have your turn, Alex. Trust Father’s judgment.”
Alex nodded but said nothing, watching as his brothers veered off toward their chambers. Left alone, his thoughts churned, frustration clawing at him as he turned and headed toward the city streets, desperate for a moment of freedom.
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Jackson stood in the center of his chambers, the golden hues of the late afternoon sun streaming through the high windows and casting long shadows across the stone floor. His tunic, already fitted and fastened, bore the crimson and gold crest of their kingdom, a stark reminder of the responsibilities that weighed on him as the eldest. The room was quiet save for the crackling of a small flame that he absentmindedly summoned, letting it flicker and die in his palm.
He reached for the communication orb resting on the desk, its surface smooth and shimmering faintly as it responded to his touch. With a twist of his hand, the orb activated, casting a soft glow as he spoke. “Stables,” he said, his voice steady but clipped. A moment later, the image of a stable hand appeared within the orb’s light, bowing slightly at the sight of him.
“Your Highness,” the stable hand greeted. “How can I assist?”
“Prepare my Pegasus for a long journey,” Jackson instructed. “Fully outfitted, and ensure the supplies are ready. I’ll be departing for Sebo within the hour.”
The stable hand nodded quickly, the image flickering as he replied. “At once, Your Highness.”
As the orb dimmed and silence returned to the room, Jackson sighed and leaned against the edge of his desk. Sebo. The name lingered in his mind like a shadow, the reports of attacks troubling him more than he cared to admit. A border town was always a precarious place—too far from the capital to be reassured by its presence, yet too close to neighboring territories to avoid conflict. He’d dealt with skirmishes before, but something about this felt… different.
The flame in his palm flared again, brighter this time, reflecting the determined set of his jaw. Whatever awaited him in Sebo, he would face it head-on. That was his role, his burden as the eldest prince. If danger loomed, he would meet it with fire in his heart and steel in his hand.
He straightened, extinguishing the flame with a flick of his wrist, and strode toward the door. There was no room for doubt, not now. The kingdom needed him, and he would not falter.
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Damien sat by the wide window of his chambers, his chair angled to face the endless horizon. The sun was dipping lower, painting the sky in hues of amber and rose. He stared out at the distant hills, his thoughts drifting far beyond the castle walls to a place he had not visited in years: Leafan.
The name alone stirred a dull ache in his chest. Leafan was more than just a city to him—it was his mother’s home, a place filled with echoes of her laughter and the warmth of her presence. He could still remember the way she had spoken of it, her voice soft and filled with love. He could see her clearly in his mind’s eye, guiding him through the bustling streets, pointing out the little shops she adored, and the people who had known her as a girl. Returning there now felt like opening a door to a past he had tried to keep locked away.
His hand drifted to the communication orb on the side table. Its surface was cool beneath his touch, and with a faint glow, it came to life. A familiar voice reached him, warm and tinged with mischief. “Damien. Finally. I was starting to think you’d forgotten me.”
He smiled faintly despite himself. “Seraphine.”
Seraphine’s face appeared in the light of the orb, her sharp green eyes studying him. “You’re brooding again. Let me guess—you’ve been staring out that window since the sun was up.”
“I’ve had a lot on my mind,” Damien replied evenly, though his gaze flickered briefly back to the horizon.
Her expression softened. “Then let me pull you out of your thoughts for a while. A walk, a drink, anything to break that stoic shell of yours.”
Damien hesitated, the weight of his father’s orders pressing against his sense of obligation. He exhaled slowly before speaking. “I can’t. I’m leaving for Leafan tonight.”
The shift in her expression was subtle, but he caught it—the flash of disappointment quickly masked by a teasing smile. “The king’s orders?”
“Yes,” he said simply, unwilling to elaborate.
Seraphine sighed, the lightness in her voice giving way to something quieter. “I see. Well, don’t disappear without saying goodbye.”
“You have my word,” he promised, the corners of his mouth lifting in a small smile before the orb dimmed, leaving the room in silence once more.
Damien stood, his gaze drifting back to the window. The horizon beckoned, but so did the memories he had tried so hard to leave behind. Leafan was a part of him, just as his mother was, and though the journey would be difficult, he knew it was one he had to make.
Turning to the door, he reached for the cord that would summon his attendants. His griffon would need to be prepared, and there was no time to delay. Duty called, as it always did.
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Alexander strode through the grand halls of the castle, his footsteps echoing softly against the polished stone. The tension in his shoulders hadn’t eased since the throne room. His father’s decision still gnawed at him, a sharp edge of frustration digging into his thoughts. Stay here. Oversee the festival.
The words felt like shackles.
At the entrance to the courtyard, he paused and shrugged off his royal cape, handing it to a nearby footman with a curt nod. His sword followed, the leather scabbard gleaming as he passed it off with a simple instruction. “Take it to my quarters.”
The soldier hesitated, his brow furrowing slightly. “Your Highness?”
“I won’t need it,” Alex replied, his tone clipped. The weight of the sword had been a constant companion, but today, it felt like a burden he couldn’t bear.
He stepped into the open air, the sun warm against his face. For a moment, he closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. Outside these walls, the city bustled with life. He wasn’t Alexander, the youngest prince of the realm. Out there, he could simply be Alex. No crown. No expectations. Just a man among the people.
As he passed through the gates, he greeted soldiers and maids along the way, his natural charisma evident in the ease of his interactions. A kind word here, a playful remark there—it was second nature to him. He loved these moments, where smiles and laughter replaced the formalities of court life.
The market square was alive with color and sound, the air rich with the scent of spices, freshly baked bread, and something sweet that immediately caught Alex’s attention. He followed the familiar aroma to a small stall tucked near the edge of the square, its wooden counter adorned with spun sugar in every shade imaginable.
Alex grinned as he approached, his sweet tooth guiding his steps. The stall owner, an older man with a kind face, recognized him instantly and began to bow, but Alex raised a hand to stop him. “No need for that,” he said, his voice warm. “I’m just here for some sugar.”
As he reached for his pouch, a soft voice behind him caught his ear. “Hunter, stay close,” the woman said, her tone gentle but firm. Alex turned to see a young woman approaching the stall, a boy of no more than six tugging at her skirts. The boy was all energy, his eyes wide as he pointed to the vibrant display of sweets.
“Raina, can we get the blue one? Please?” the child begged, his excitement infectious.
Raina. The name struck Alex before he even saw her face. When she stepped closer, he found himself momentarily still. She was unassuming but radiant, her features softened by the warmth of her smile as she leaned down to speak to the boy.
“Let’s see what we can get, Hunter,” she said, her voice light and melodic.
The stall owner, catching sight of Alex again, hurriedly turned to serve him first. “Your Highness—”
Alex shook his head, a faint smile curving his lips. “Let the lady go first.”
Raina glanced at him, a flash of surprise in her eyes before she dipped her head in thanks. She turned back to the stall, carefully selecting the spun sugar while Hunter tugged at her sleeve, his excitement barely contained.
Alex watched her quietly, the way her hands moved as she counted her coins, the easy way she reassured the boy. She seemed completely unaware of how captivating she was, which only made her more so.
When Raina turned to him at last, spun sugar in hand, she hesitated for a moment before speaking. “Thank you,” she said, her voice softer now. Her eyes met his, and in that instant, the world seemed to pause.
Her gaze was warm yet questioning, as though she were trying to place him. Alex held her stare, something he couldn’t quite name settling in his chest. It wasn’t often that someone met his eyes with such openness, without the weight of his title coloring their expression.
“Hunter, come here,” a voice called from across the square, breaking the spell. Raina turned, the moment slipping away, and Alex blinked as if waking from a dream.
“Coming, Mother!” she called back, then glanced at Alex once more. “Sorry to have kept you waiting.”
“You didn’t,” he said quickly, his voice uncharacteristically soft.
She smiled—a small, genuine curve of her lips—and it was like the sun breaking through clouds. As she turned to leave, her name lingered on his tongue, unspoken, until he was alone again. “Raina,” he murmured, testing the sound of it as if committing it to memory.
Alex purchased his spun sugar absently, still caught in the memory of her smile. The bustling market faded into the background as he turned the encounter over in his mind. Who was she? And why did it feel like something had shifted, like the gears of fate had begun to turn?
The hum of his communication orb brought him back to the present. He retrieved it from his belt, the familiar light glowing as Jackson’s voice crackled through. “Alex, we’re ready to leave. Stop dawdling and get back here.”
He rolled his eyes, though a faint smile lingered on his lips. “On my way,” he replied, tucking the orb away.
As he made his way back to the castle, the spun sugar still in hand, his thoughts returned to Raina. The frustration he’d felt earlier seemed distant now, replaced by something lighter—something new. He didn’t know when, but he knew he’d see her again. And the thought left him smiling all the way home.
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The stables bustled with activity, the soft snorting of Pegasus and Griffons mingling with the clatter of hooves on cobblestone. Jackson strode confidently toward his mount, his crimson cloak flaring behind him. The Pegasus—a proud creature with a coat of snowy white and wings tipped in gold—stamped its hooves impatiently, as if eager to take to the skies.
Jackson placed a hand on the creature’s neck, his usual grin tempered with a flicker of seriousness. “Easy now,” he murmured, the faintest trace of flame dancing along his fingertips before he extinguished it with a wave. He checked the saddle and the supplies once more, a habit ingrained by years of training. The reports from Sebo tugged at his thoughts, but he shoved the unease aside.
This was his role—his responsibility as the eldest. If trouble lingered at the border, he would deal with it. Mounting the Pegasus, he looked back briefly toward his brothers, a smirk returning to his face. “Try not to miss me too much,” he called, his voice carrying a teasing lilt.
Damien rolled his eyes but gave a faint smile. “We’ll try to manage,” he replied dryly.
With a final laugh, Jackson nudged the Pegasus, and the creature took to the air in a powerful leap, its wings slicing through the sky. The sight of the eldest prince flying toward the horizon was both inspiring and sobering, a reminder of the weight each of them carried.
Nearby, Damien adjusted the harness of his griffon, a sleek and formidable creature with sharp golden eyes and feathers that gleamed like polished bronze. The griffon waited patiently, its demeanor as calm and composed as its rider.
Damien placed a hand on the griffon’s side, his gaze fixed on the horizon. Leafan awaited him, a place steeped in memories he had tried to leave behind. Though he wouldn’t admit it aloud, the thought of returning stirred something uneasy within him, a weight he would have to carry alone.
With a steadying breath, he mounted the griffon, his movements deliberate. As the beast spread its wings, Damien turned to Alex, his expression softening. “Take care, Alex. The festival needs you more than you realize.”
Alex gave a half-hearted smile and a small nod, watching as Damien and his griffon ascended, their silhouette framed against the setting sun. The sight stirred something bittersweet in Alex’s chest—a blend of pride for his brothers and a gnawing frustration at being left behind.
The castle courtyard felt strangely empty after his brothers’ departure. Alex remained standing in the shadow of the great stone arches, his gaze fixed on the distant sky where they had disappeared. A cool breeze ruffled his hair, carrying with it the faint scent of the market and the memory of spun sugar.
His thoughts drifted to the city, to the vibrant streets and the people who moved with a freedom he envied. And then, unbidden, his mind returned to her. Raina. Her name lingered like a melody, one he couldn’t quite forget. He could still see her smile, hear the gentle way she spoke to the boy. The memory softened the edges of his frustration, replacing it with something warmer—something hopeful.
Alex sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he turned back toward the castle. Left behind again. It wasn’t the first time, but somehow, this time it stung more. He had always known he was different from his brothers—where they met their duties with steady hands, he often felt restless, like a river searching for its course.
But as he walked through the stone halls, his footsteps echoing faintly, a new resolve settled in his chest. If his father wanted him at the Harvest Festival, then he would make the most of it. He would honor his role, as frustrating as it was, and he would find his own way to make an impact.
And maybe—just maybe—he would see her again.
The day faded into twilight, the castle bathed in hues of amber and crimson. From his chamber window, Alex stared out at the horizon, where the last streaks of sunlight disappeared into the distance. Somewhere out there, his brothers were carving paths of their own.
He pressed a hand against the cool glass, his reflection faint in the growing shadows. He wasn’t sure what the future held, but for the first time, the thought didn’t feel like a burden. Instead, it felt like a challenge. And Alex had never been one to back down from a challenge.
In the distance, bells tolled softly, marking the hour. The Harvest Festival loomed, bringing with it an opportunity he hadn’t yet imagined. But for tonight, Alex let his thoughts drift to the city, to the market, and to a pair of warm eyes and a smile that had made the world pause.
“Raina,” he whispered to himself, the name a promise as much as a memory.
And with that, he turned away from the window, the faintest smile tugging at his lips as the night unfolded around him.