《Necromancia Rex: The Last Necromancer Prince》 1. Colors in the Snow I wake to a sky that isn¡¯t a sky at all: just a vast, endless white. Too bright. Too empty. It swallows everything. I blink, once, twice, my vision adjusting to the pale nothingness stretching above me. Snow drifts down in slow, soundless spirals. A flake lands on my cheek. It melts instantly. I feel nothing. I try to move. My body won¡¯t listen. It is heavy, stiff. Something is wrapped around me: wet, cold, pressing in from all sides. The air smells sharp. Like iron. Like blood. Then, I hear it. A low hum, deep and endless. Then another, higher, trembling. More join in¡ªdozens, maybe hundreds, a tangled mess of sound. It crawls under my skin, through my ribs, behind my eyes. Colors flicker in the darkness of my mind: gray, purple, red. The sounds come from below me. Around me. Inside me. They are not humming. They are dead. I breathe in too fast, and the cold stabs at my lungs. My fingers twitch. My legs won¡¯t move. Something sticky clings to my skin¡ªmud, blood. I try to sit up. Pain rips through my back. I stop. I don¡¯t know why, but I don¡¯t want to touch it. I don¡¯t remember why. I don¡¯t remember anything. Who am I? What am I doing here? A sound. A crunch. Footsteps above me. A shadow moves across the too-white sky. A man leans over the edge of the pit. His face is blurred, but his voice reaches me, steady and rough. It does not hurt to listen to. His voice is blue. Like the sky should be. ¡°...A boy?¡± ---------- Elias The war is over. That¡¯s what they tell us, anyway. But as I walk across the frozen battlefield, stepping over bodies stiff with frost, it doesn¡¯t feel like victory. It feels like we¡¯ve ended something much older than a war. Something we were never meant to touch. Five years. Five years of cities burning, of villages wiped clean off the map, of children waking up to find their parents'' corpses whispering to them. Five years fighting something that shouldn¡¯t have existed¡ªthe Veyrn. We feared them long before we ever raised a blade. They kept to their mountains, their ruins, their ice-bitten forests. They never expanded. Never conquered. But they watched. And when one of them died, they didn¡¯t stay dead. Necromancers. Corpse-callers. Demons in human skin. At first, we thought we had the upper hand. We outnumbered them. We had steel, fire, siege weapons. But the dead don¡¯t stay down, and for every one we burned, they raised two more in its place. The war might have gone on forever if not for one thing¡ªthe Veyrn could die. Truly die. Fire, starvation, steel. Enough force, and they¡¯d stay in the dirt. So we gave them all three. We burned their cities, poisoned their rivers, left their young to freeze in the snow. We became the monsters they always feared we were. Yesterday, we finished it. The last of their kind fell with their last city. We slaughtered every one of them. Or so we thought. Now, we¡¯re here to make sure. The grave yawns before me, a pit filled with broken bodies, twisted and piled like garbage. Even in the cold, the stink is thick. A younger soldier gags beside me. ¡°We really gotta dig through this?¡± ¡°Orders are orders,¡± another mutters. ¡°No risks. No survivors.¡± I don¡¯t want to be here. I¡¯ve seen enough of the Veyrn to know that even dead, they¡¯re dangerous. But I need the coin. And I need to know¡ªtruly know¡ªthat this war is over. I grip my knife, stepping toward the nearest corpse. A final precaution. A clean stab to the skull ensures there¡¯s no dark magic lingering inside. Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site. The body is small, twisted, half-buried in the others. Looks like a child, but I¡¯ve learned not to trust my eyes when it comes to the Veyrn. I raise the blade. Then, I see him. A boy, barely breathing, eyes dull and gray. He¡¯s in a hole just beyond the body I was about to stab, half-hidden beneath a tangle of corpses. His skin is pale, streaked with blood and filth. He looks human enough. Some other poor soul who got caught in the slaughter. He looks human enough. A boy, thin and battered, half-buried in the dead. His skin is pale beneath the grime, his hair matted with blood. His body shivers¡ªjust slightly, just enough to betray that he¡¯s still alive¡ªbut his eyes¡­ His eyes are empty. Cold. Like a corpse that hasn¡¯t realized it¡¯s dead yet. And yet, he catches my gaze. Holds it. There is no pleading in his expression, no fear, no relief. Just a quiet, hollow stillness, like he is waiting. For what, I don¡¯t know. I should move on. I should finish my job. But my hand tightens around the knife, and I don¡¯t move. Why? Why do I care about some half-dead boy in a grave full of monsters? Then, before I can shove the thought away, the past slams into me. Rain. Cold and endless. Hunger like knives in my gut. My mother¡¯s body left to rot where she fell, no one to bury her, no one to care. And me, a child¡ªtoo weak, too small, too nothing¡ªwatching as the soldiers marched past, as their boots splashed through the mud, as not one of them looked my way. Not one of them stopped. I force the memory down, but it leaves something behind. Something bitter. Something I thought I¡¯d buried. I curse under my breath and kneel beside the boy. My voice comes out rough, scraped raw by too many years of shouting, too much smoke, too much loss. ¡°Can you move?¡± ---------- I don¡¯t know why I trust the man. Maybe because his voice doesn¡¯t hurt. It doesn¡¯t slice through my skull like the others. It doesn¡¯t twist or shatter or burn. It is steady. Deep. A cold blue in a world of screaming red and suffocating white. Or maybe I just have no choice. He pulls me up, and pain lances through me. My body is stiff, unwilling, like it¡¯s forgotten how to move. My legs shake, brittle and weak, barely able to hold me. I feel like I¡¯ve been here forever¡ªburied, frozen, waiting. The world sways. Gray. White. Red. It tilts, blurs, rushes together in smears of color I can¡¯t understand. Then I see them. The soldiers. Their armor glints in the dull light, smeared with blood, their boots sinking into the filth. One steps forward. He lifts his sword. Then¡ª The sword plunges down, slicing through skin and bone with a wet, awful sound¡ªlike a boot sinking into thick mud. The body jerks, but not because it''s alive. It¡¯s just the force of the strike, the way dead things still move when you break them. Then it happens. A scream¡ªhigh and sharp¡ªerupts inside my skull, not from a mouth, not from lungs, but from somewhere deeper, somewhere wrong. It scrapes against the inside of my head like claws on stone. Red. White. Black. The body stays still, but I can hear it writhing. Howling. Shrieking without breath, without a voice. The colors twist and break apart, folding into something jagged, something hungry. I squeeze my eyes shut. It doesn¡¯t help. The screams aren¡¯t in the air. They¡¯re inside me. Another sword. Another scream. The colors splinter, crack, fold into each other, twisting into something unbearable. I squeeze my eyes shut, but it doesn¡¯t stop. The dead are wailing. And no one hears them but me. I try to speak, to make it stop, but nothing comes out. My throat is raw, stripped down to nothing but a broken rasp. The sound is lost in the cold, swallowed by the stench of blood and rot. A hand tightens around mine. Steady. Warm. Real. "Come on," the man says. His voice doesn¡¯t waver. It doesn¡¯t shake. It stays, grounding me in the storm. A deep, endless blue. ---------- Elias I lead the boy to the pond near my cabin, though I don¡¯t know why. Every step feels like a mistake waiting to happen. The smarter choice¡ªthe safer choice¡ªwould have been to leave him back in that pit. Or finish what the war started. My hand lingers near my dagger as we walk. Just for a second. A habit. A question. If I let him live, what am I inviting into my home? What am I risking? He doesn¡¯t notice. He just follows, silent and empty, staring past me like I¡¯m not even there. Like none of this is real. I could still walk away. Send him off into the woods. Pretend I never saw him. But when I glance back at him, his thin frame trembling in the cold, those too-pale hands hanging limp at his sides, I realize something. I don¡¯t feel fear. Not really. I feel pity. It sinks into my bones, heavier than any weapon I¡¯ve carried. I let out a slow breath and push forward. When we reach the water, I kneel beside him, but he doesn¡¯t even flinch. Just moves forward, kneeling at the edge, staring at his reflection. His hands dip into the pond, slow and mechanical, scrubbing the dirt from his face. Then they move to his hair. And I see it. White. Not the gray-white of age, not the sun-bleached strands of a starving child. Pure white. Like fresh snow. Like something that should not be. My stomach twists. My fingers are on his shoulder before I even think. ¡°Who are you?¡± He blinks up at me, and for a second, I swear he looks through me. Past me. Somewhere far away. Then he just says, quiet and empty, ¡°I don¡¯t remember.¡± A lie? A trick? My grip tightens. But those eyes¡ªthose lost, hollow eyes¡ªare too honest. If there¡¯s a lie in him, he doesn¡¯t know it himself. I take a slow breath. ¡°Look,¡± I say, forcing my voice steady. ¡°I¡¯m Elias. Should¡¯ve said that earlier.¡± I pause, searching his face for something¡ªanything. ¡°If you¡¯re afraid of me¡­ don¡¯t be. I¡¯m a soldier, but I¡¯m not going to hurt you.¡± Nothing. No fear. No relief. Just that empty stare, like I¡¯m not even here. Then, finally, he speaks. ¡°Your voice is very blue.¡± I stare. The words knock something loose in my brain, but I can¡¯t make sense of them. Blue? What the hell does that mean? Is he delirious? Lost in some dream he hasn¡¯t woken up from? I don¡¯t know. But I know this¡ªif anyone else sees that hair, that unnatural white, the boy won¡¯t live to see another sunrise. 2. The Price of Mercy Elias I leave the boy in my home, telling him to rest. He does not protest. He does not speak at all. He only sits there, silent and still, as if he has not yet decided whether he belongs to the living or the dead. As I step out into the cold night, the village is alive with celebration. The war is over, and they rejoice in their triumph. Lanterns sway from doorways, their golden glow painting shifting patterns over the snow-dusted ground. The scent of roasted meat and mulled wine drifts through the air, twining with the sound of laughter and music. Children dart between bonfires, their voices shrill with excitement. Soldiers drink deep from their cups, arms slung over each other¡¯s shoulders, toasting to the fall of the Veyrn. I pass through them like a ghost. People call my name, ask about the aftermath, try to pull me into the revelry. I do not stop. I have only one destination¡ªthe witch¡¯s hut, perched at the very edge of the village like an old, forgotten thing. ---------- She wasn¡¯t always a witch. She was named Marwen once. I don¡¯t know how old she is. Some say she was already here when our grandfathers were children, watching, waiting. Others say she came from the north, from a place where the dead walk freely, and she fled before they could claim her too. What I do know is that no one trusts her, yet everyone needs her. Even our lord has sent for her remedies in secret, though he would never admit it. She was once a healer, a woman of the village, before the war turned her into something else. When the first battles with the Veyrn began, people started looking at her with wary eyes, whispering of her strange knowledge. How did she know wounds that should kill a man would not? How did she have cures no one else could name? Some claimed she was a Veyrn spy, others said she was cursed. When they came for her, torches in hand, she did not beg or plead. She simply walked into the woods and never came back¡ªat least, not as the same woman. The next time we saw her, she lived in that rotting cabin at the edge of the village, and anyone who stepped too close said the air around it felt wrong. Yet, despite all their fear, they come to her when their children are sick, when their warriors are wounded, when death itself lingers too close. And she answers. Always with that sharp tongue, that tired gaze, as if the world itself has exhausted her. I suppose I am no different. I should have left the boy in the dirt, let the crows and the frost take him. But I didn¡¯t. And now I need her help. Again. My boots hammer against the frozen dirt road, breath sharp in my throat. My thoughts churn with every step. Why am I doing this? Why did I save him? He is Veyrn. There is no doubt about it. That white hair, those gray eyes. He should be dead. All of them should be dead. Wasn¡¯t that what everyone claimed? The war is over. My people have won. And yet, I had found myself dragging his frail body from that pit instead of finishing the job. Each cheer, each raised tankard, each joyous cry feels like a stone pressing against my ribs. I should feel relief. Victory. But all I feel is the creeping cold. I push open the wooden door of the hut without knocking. Inside, the room is dim, lit by the flickering glow of candles. The scent of dried herbs and old parchment clings to the air. The witch sits at her table, weathered hands sifting through brittle leaves, the faint scent of dried herbs clinging to the air around her. Lines etch deep into her skin, carving the story of years spent in solitude, in knowing too much. Her dark eyes flick up the moment I step inside¡ªsharp, assessing, twin embers buried beneath ash. Strands of silver-threaded hair slip loose from the braid at her back, framing a face as worn and unyielding as the stone mortar beside her. She does not flinch, does not startle. It is as if she had been expecting me all along. ¡°I need something to change hair and eye color,¡± I say without stopping to think twice. My voice is rougher than usual. ¡°In pill form.¡± She tilts her head, expression unreadable. ¡°Why?¡± I hesitate, then turn to face her, my heart hammering in my chest. ¡°I found a Veyrn boy.¡± Her fingers still. A flicker of something¡ªanger? Fear? Disgust?¡ªcrosses her face. Then, she narrows her eyes. ¡°Are you certain?¡± The question twists in my gut. I see him again in my mind¡ªthe unnatural white of his hair hidden beneath dirt, the hollow look in his gray eyes, like something long dead that refused to lie still. His voice was so quiet and distant. The way he looked past me, not at me, listening to something I could not hear. ¡°I¡¯m sure,¡± I say, and the words feel heavier than before. The witch exhales, slow and measured, but I catch the way her jaw tightens. This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source. ¡°And you didn¡¯t kill him?¡± ¡°I couldn¡¯t.¡± The words slip from my tongue before I can stop them. I do not know if they are a confession or a curse. The witch lets out a short, sharp breath, shaking her head. ¡°You¡¯re a fool.¡± Then, after a pause, she gives me a piercing stare. ¡°Did he say anything strange?¡± I pause, my eyes meeting hers. That moment by the pond. The way he had looked at me. Distant, unfocused. As if he were staring through me, seeing something I could not. Then I say, ¡°He told me my voice is blue.¡± The witch stills. The air shifts. Her expression darkens, her lips pressing into a thin, grim line. ¡°Then he is not just any Veyrn.¡± A chill runs down my spine. ¡°What do you mean?¡± She exhales slowly, rubbing her temples. ¡°Only a Thaneborn can see colors in sound.¡± The words land like a hammer against my ribs. The Thaneborn. The noble, ancient bloodline of the Veyrn. The strongest of them. The ones who led armies. The ones who could call the dead from their graves and bend them to their will. I have heard the stories¡ªevery soldier has. The Thaneborn do not just fight; they carve through battlefields like a storm given flesh. It is said that when they raise their hands, the dead rise with them, pulled from their rotting beds, their bodies forced to move long after their souls have fled. No Veyrn wields their power as effortlessly, as ruthlessly, as they do. For thousands of years, they have ruled, the strongest among them crowned as kings, their reigns painted in war and blood. And now, one sleeps under my roof. If he survived the massacre, it could only mean he may be the strongest of them all. I should kill him. I should take my sword and end it now. The witch watches me carefully, eyes sharp. ¡°I could do it for you, if you¡¯d rather not dirty your hands.¡± I let out a slow breath, my fingers curling into fists. Then I think of his empty eyes. And I know I won¡¯t. The witch exhales through her nose, muttering under her breath as she moves to a shelf lined with vials and cloth-wrapped bundles. She snatches a small wooden box and sets it on the table between us with a sharp thud. "He''ll need to take one every day," she says, opening the lid to reveal a neat row of dark, round pills. "Miss a dose, and the white will start creeping back into his hair, his eyes will turn again. People will notice." I nod, reaching for the box, but she slaps my hand away. "I''m not finished." I scowl, but she ignores me. "This will hide what he is," she continues, "but it won¡¯t stop what he will become. His power isn''t tied to his appearance. These won¡¯t slow it, won¡¯t seal it away. If he¡¯s Thaneborn, he will regain what was lost¡ªor worse, he¡¯ll learn it all over again, piece by bloody piece." Her eyes burn into mine, her voice low and certain. "One day, he will raise the dead. And if you¡¯re still fool enough to keep him alive, you¡¯d better figure out how to stop him from ever doing it." A cold weight settles in my gut. I have no answer. No plan. She watches me for a long moment, then shakes her head. ¡°I always knew you were an idiot, Elias, but I didn¡¯t know you were this much of an idiot.¡± ¡°Good to know I keep exceeding expectations,¡± I mutter. She snorts, then finally shoves the box into my hands. ¡°Fine. Take them. But if he kills us all in our sleep, I get to say ¡®I told you so.¡¯¡± I turn the small wooden box over in my hands, my mind still circling the witch¡¯s warning. The boy will regain his power. He will raise the dead. I should kill him. But I won¡¯t. Instead, I ask, ¡°What¡¯s in these?¡± The witch smirks, leaning back in her chair. ¡°Why? Worried I poisoned them?¡± ¡°I wouldn¡¯t put it past you,¡± I mutter. She chuckles, then gestures toward a bundle of dried herbs on the shelf. ¡°They¡¯re made from a mix of valerian root, blackthorn, and something special.¡± She taps the table. ¡°Bones.¡± I frown. ¡°Bones?¡± ¡°Not just any bones.¡± Her eyes gleam. ¡°These come from bodies raised long ago by the Veyrn. They were once forced back to life, made to fight, to kill. But when their masters fell, so did they. And their corpses rotted, filled with the lingering power of death itself.¡± She gestures to the pills. ¡°Crush the bones fine enough, mix them with the right things, and¡ªwell. You get this.¡± I stare at the box, suddenly less eager to shove it into my coat. ¡°Relax,¡± she says, waving a hand. ¡°It¡¯s not like they¡¯ll make him a corpse.¡± She pauses, then adds, ¡°Though, if he stops taking them, you might want to keep a shovel handy.¡± I grimace. ¡°That¡¯s comforting.¡± She grins, all teeth. ¡°Oh, I love to comfort.¡± I exhale sharply, tucking the pills away. ¡°What do I owe you?¡± She hums, tapping a finger against her chin. ¡°I could use some boar meat. A whole one, fresh.¡± I arch a brow. ¡°A whole boar? Do you plan on feeding an army?¡± ¡°No, just myself. And my cat.¡± I glance around. ¡°You don¡¯t have a cat.¡± The witch smiles. ¡°Not one you can see.¡± A long silence stretches between us. ¡°¡­I¡¯ll get you the boar.¡± She nods, satisfied. ¡°Good. And Elias?¡± I hesitate at the door, glancing back. Her smirk is gone, her expression unreadable. ¡°You should pray the boy never learns what he is.¡± Her words settle like ice in my chest. I say nothing. I just step back into the cold, the weight of the pills suddenly feeling much heavier in my pocket. ---------- Elias says I can stay until morning¡ªuntil I remember my name. His voice is steady, like a man giving orders, like he¡¯s telling himself this is temporary. I don¡¯t argue. I don¡¯t speak. I only nod. He presses small, colorless pills into my hand and tells me they will help. I do not ask what they are. I do not care. I swallow them dry, feeling them scrape against my throat. Sleep takes me before I can think. Before I can ask if I am supposed to feel this hollow. My body is too heavy, my mind too slow. As my vision fades, I see Elias watching me. His face is unreadable, but his eyes linger too long on my hair. ---------- I wake to screams. The room is wrong. Too dark. Shadows shift and bleed into each other, curling over the walls like living things. The air is thick, pressing down on me, forcing itself into my lungs. The screaming doesn¡¯t stop. It tears through the silence, raw and ragged, voices overlapping in something that is not quite human. Then I see her. She stands in the doorway, white hair tangled with blood, skin too pale, dress hanging in strips like she¡¯s been running through thorns. Her hands tremble, reaching for me, fingers curling like she¡¯s trying to remember how. Her eyes¡ªempty, endless white¡ªlock onto mine. Her lips part. "Kael¡ª" The name cuts through me like a blade, but the dark swallows the rest. The voices surge, rising into a wail, pressing into my skull until everything shatters. The world collapses inward. Then, nothing. Morning. Elias crouches beside me, watching like I might stop breathing if he looks away. His voice is rough when he speaks. ¡°Do you remember your name?¡± The name is there. It sits on my tongue, something both mine and not mine. The woman¡¯s voice still echoes, trapped in my head. I swallow hard. ¡°Kael.¡± 3. No More Devils Kael The scent of something warm curls through the air, thick and slow. It winds around me, sinking into my skin, tugging at the edges of restless sleep. My body is heavy. Sore. Like I¡¯ve been buried beneath stone, like something unseen still drags me down. I do not move. I barely breathe. For a moment, I do not know where I am. I do not know who I am. The memory of white¡ªwhite snow, white hair, white light splitting apart into screams¡ªlurks just behind my eyelids, waiting. Somewhere close, wood scrapes against metal. Embers shift in a hearth. A quiet, steady sound. Familiar. Safe. I open my eyes. Elias stands by the stove, stirring something in a pot. His back is turned to me, broad and unmoving, his dark hair tied at the nape of his neck. The room around him is small, cluttered¡ªbooks stacked high, weapons leaned against the walls, dried herbs twisting from the ceiling like brittle vines. ¡°You¡¯re awake,¡± he says, not turning. ¡°Good. You should eat.¡± I push myself upright. The blanket slips from my shoulders. My limbs ache, but the stiffness has dulled, fading into something distant, something bearable. Elias sets a bowl in front of me. A simple stew. Steam rises from the surface, carrying the scent of root vegetables, something richer beneath. He watches as I take the spoon, gaze careful but not pressing. ¡°I¡¯ll keep you here until you remember where you came from,¡± he says, arms crossed. ¡°Your parents. Your home. Anything.¡± I lower my gaze. I do not answer. I do not remember. I am not sure I want to. Elias sits across from me. He asks questions between my slow bites. Where was I before the battlefield? How long had I been there? Did I recognize any names, any faces? Each word feels like a knife pressed against raw skin, pricking something sharp inside me. But when I reach for the memories, all I find is steel cutting through flesh, the phantom taste of blood on my tongue. I shake my head. Elias exhales through his nose. ¡°Alright,¡± he mutters. ¡°I figured as much.¡± He studies me, fingers tapping once against the wood of the table. ¡°Back at the pond,¡± he says, voice careful, ¡°you said my voice was blue.¡± I stop eating. He waits. When I don¡¯t speak, he adds, ¡°What did you mean?¡± I search for the words. It is hard to explain something that simply is. Something I have never needed to explain before. But Elias is patient. Somehow, that makes it worse. ¡°Voices have colors,¡± I murmur finally. ¡°Yours is blue. Dark blue.¡± Silence. I glance up. Elias¡¯s expression is unreadable, his fingers curling slightly against the table. Then, he exhales, a quiet thing, shaking his head like he¡¯s clearing a thought away. ¡°Alright,¡± he mutters, not unkind. He reaches into his pocket, pulls out a familiar bottle. The pills. He sets them beside my bowl. I hesitate. ¡°What are they?¡± ¡°They¡¯ll make you feel better,¡± he says simply. ¡°That¡¯s all.¡± But as the words leave his mouth, something shifts. His voice¡ªa dark blue, steady and cool¡ªis black. There¡¯s no denying it. A color thick and heavy, like ink spilled into water. A lie. I tighten my grip on the wooden spoon, staring at the pills resting in my palm. They are small, harmless in appearance. But the black in his voice lingers, curling at the edges of his words like smoke. I do not know if I believe him. But I take them anyway. After I eat, I step outside. The air is crisp, sharp as a blade against my skin. It bites at the raw ache in my bones, the deep, pulsing soreness that settles in my limbs. Elias¡¯s home stands on the outskirts of the village, where the land stretches wide and empty before curling into dense forest. The village itself is small¡ªstone and wood, smoke rising in thin wisps from the chimneys. A woman passes with firewood bundled in her arms. A man guides a mule down a dirt path. If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. The quiet is thick, unnatural. It coils around me, suffocating. I move toward the pond near the house and kneel at its edge. The water is still, reflecting the muted light of the sky. When I lean closer, my own face stares back at me. Brown hair. Brown eyes. I frown. Were they always this way? Something about them feels wrong. Off. As if I am looking through a stranger¡¯s eyes instead of my own. I reach up, grasping a lock of my hair between my fingers. The color is plain, dull, lifeless. But the moment I touch it, something inside me recoils. A deep, visceral disgust. A wrongness so sharp it steals the breath from my lungs. What should it be? The question barely forms before pain slams into my skull like an iron hammer. I choke on my own breath, body jerking forward as agony lances through my head. Blinding. Merciless. A scream builds in my throat, but I bite it back, grinding my teeth so hard my jaw aches. My fingers claw at my scalp, nails digging in as if I can tear the pain from my skull, rip it out before it devours me whole. A rush of white. Cold like death. The scent of iron, thick and suffocating. A scream. My scream. A hand grips my shoulder. Firm, steady. Elias. His voice cuts through the haze, low and grounding. ¡°Breathe. Kael, breathe.¡± I can¡¯t. My lungs are full of ice. My vision wavers, darkness creeping at the edges. He squeezes my shoulder, anchoring me. ¡°Look at me,¡± he says, quiet but sharp. ¡°You¡¯re alright.¡± I am not. But the pain¡ª It vanishes. As suddenly as it came, it was gone. I find myself kneeling in the dirt, gasping. My hands shake where they hover near my head, fingers trembling, still bracing for agony that no longer exists. What¡­was that? I don¡¯t remember. I don¡¯t know if I want to. Elias stares at me hard, bearing holes into my skin. The silence presses in around us. Then¡ª A rustle. A shift. Elias stiffens. My gaze flickers to the ground near the pond¡¯s edge, to the small, broken shape lying there¡ªa bird, limp and lifeless. It wasn¡¯t there before. For a moment, nothing. Then its chest twitches. A single, shuddering breath. It does not move. It does not blink. But I swear¡ª I swear it breathes. ---------- Elias takes me to the village¡¯s bootmaker, saying I cannot walk barefoot forever. The streets are livelier here, pulsing with an energy that feels foreign. People chatter excitedly, their voices weaving into a chorus of joy. As we move closer to the town square, I understand why. They are preparing for a festival. Colorful banners stretch between buildings, fluttering like restless spirits in the breeze. Brightly painted paper lanterns hang from wooden beams, their glow flickering in the fading light. Merchants laugh as they set up their stalls, arranging trays of sugared almonds and spiced meats. A woman sings an old folk song as she kneads dough, flour dusting her apron like snow. Children dart between the stalls, wooden swords clashing in mock battle, their laughter shrill and wild. But it is what stands at the center of the square that makes my stomach turn. A massive straw figure towers over the crowd, its arms stretched outward in mock surrender. Its body is made of white hay, its eyes painted a striking, unnatural blue. Signs hang from its chest: ¡°No More Veyrn Scum.¡± ¡°The Devils Are Dead.¡± I stare. Nearby, a group of men drink from wooden tankards, their faces flushed with ale and celebration. One of them raises his cup in a toast. ¡°To the end of the Veyrn!¡± he bellows. ¡°To peace at last!¡± The others cheer, slamming their drinks together in agreement. A woman hands a boy a torch, ruffling his hair as he beams up at her. He clutches it with both hands, glancing toward the effigy with giddy anticipation. The people laugh, dance, oblivious to the grotesque monument at their center. A girl with flowers braided into her hair prances barefoot across the square, spinning beneath the effigy¡¯s shadow. A man hammers another nail into its base, sealing its fate. The hollow thud rings through my bones. A sudden bump against my side jolts me. I turn to see a little girl, her brown hair tied in twin braids. She looks up at me, eyes bright, curious. ¡°Where did you come from?¡± she asks. Her voice is yellow, streaked with red and pink. I open my mouth. Then close it. I do not know what to say. ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± I answer finally. She tilts her head, studying me. Then she grins. ¡°You¡¯re like a ghost boy,¡± she says with a giggle. Then she is gone, darting back into the crowd. I look back at the strawman. At the firewood stacked at its base. At the blue eyes painted onto its face. They are celebrating. But I do not know for whom. Elias calls my name. I turn. He hands me a new pair of boots. ¡°Come on,¡± he says, his voice low. ¡°We¡¯re leaving.¡± ---------- On our way back, the streets are still alive with celebration. I watch as people string lanterns along rooftops, as musicians tune their instruments. The air carries the scent of roasted meat and honeyed bread. Laughter spills from taverns, warm and uninhibited. But I do not understand. ¡°Why are they celebrating?¡± I ask. ¡°Who are the Veyrn?¡± Elias stiffens. His steps slow, as if the weight of my question has settled onto his shoulders. He does not answer immediately. I watch his throat work around unspoken words, his mouth pressing into a thin line. And then I see it. His voice darkens again, from blue to pitch black, just like this morning. A hollow dread creeps into my chest. Elias exhales sharply, running a hand over his face. When he speaks, his voice is steady, careful. ¡°It¡¯s nothing you need to worry about.¡± Black. My fingers curl against my sides. The lie is small, almost gentle, like he wants to shield me from something I¡¯m not meant to know. It doesn¡¯t matter. He¡¯s still lying. ¡°Elias,¡± I whisper, though I do not know what I am asking for. He glances at me, something unreadable flickering in his expression. ¡°It¡¯s complicated.¡± But his voice remains black. We walk in silence after that, the crunch of leaves beneath our boots the only sound between us. The air feels heavier now, thick with something I don¡¯t understand. I steal a glance at Elias, his face unreadable, his strides steady, purposeful. I do not ask again. But the question lingers, curling in my chest like smoke. Why is he lying? 4. Fractures Elias Kael is still asleep when I wake. His breathing is slow and steady, his frame curled beneath the blanket like he¡¯s trying to disappear into it. I step lightly as I move around the house, careful not to disturb him. The food I leave for him is simple¡ªbread, cheese, and the last of the stew from yesterday. Enough to keep his strength up. My gaze lingers on him as I pull my coat over my shoulders. His hair has darkened even more, the brown deepening, spreading like ink through water. Soon, it will be as if the white was never there at all. I swallow against the unease curling in my stomach and step outside. It¡¯s odd to stare into his eyes when he¡¯s awake, but Marwen the witch better be right in making them brown, too. And I still owe her a boar for the pills. ---------- The next town is a short walk away, but I take my time, letting the cold morning air settle my thoughts. By the time I reach the soldier¡¯s guild, the sun has risen high enough to cast long shadows over the well-worn stone streets. I came to Drakewall to find work¡ªenough to feed myself, and now, enough to feed Kael. Drakewall is larger than my own, its buildings taller and sturdier, its people accustomed to a different way of life. It sits closer to the capital, a crucial hub during the war. Now, Drakewall¡¯s markets are thriving again, but the royal sigils on its thousand-year-old walls constantly remind me of this town¡¯s strength in the war. After all, it was in Drakewall that I first became a soldier all those years ago. The regional military headquarters looms near the center of town, its banners still hanging, though now faded by time and neglect. Drakewall was the beating heart of the war effort, the command post from which campaigns were launched. Even now, soldiers still patrol its streets like it is still the days of war. Inside the soldier¡¯s guild, the air is thick with the scent of sweat and ale, despite the early hour. The men inside are different now. The war is over. The Veyrn are gone. Drakewall had always provided the king with the best soldiers in the region, but now these same soldiers look for other work¡ªguards, laborers, anything that will put food on the table. Some sit in groups, talking in hushed voices about what comes next. Others linger near the job postings, scanning for anything that might give them purpose. ¡°Elias!¡± I turn at the familiar voice. A large, dark haired, burly man pushes away from where he¡¯s been leaning against the wall, a grin splitting his scarred face. I feel a smile creep up on my face as my old friend walks towards me. Mikael had always been larger than life, his presence filling every space like a force of nature. I remember the way he stood on the battlefield¡ªbroad-shouldered and unyielding, his sword swinging like an extension of himself. The Veyrn feared him. We all did, in a way. Not because he was cruel, but because he never hesitated. His hands, scarred and calloused from years of war, had ended more lives than I could count. Yet off the battlefield, he was the first to laugh, the first to break the weight of silence with some wry remark. That was Mikael¡ªblunt as a hammer, sharp as a blade, never one for softness. His words hit as hard as his strikes, always direct, always honest, never sparing anyone from the truth. But he was loyal. Fiercely so. When the Veyrn pushed us to the brink, when we stood back-to-back in the mud and blood, it was Mikael who never wavered. He fought like a man with nothing to lose, like a man who had already decided long ago that if he fell, he would do so standing. After the last great battle, chaos scattered us all. Mikael and I were separated, lost in the smoke and ruin, and when the fighting finally ended, I never found him again. A part of me feared the worst¡ªthat he had been buried among the nameless dead, another life swallowed by the war. But now, standing before me, he is here. Alive. Whole. We clasped each other¡¯s forearms, laughing in relief. ¡°Haven¡¯t seen you in weeks,¡± he says, clasping my forearm with a grip that is both firm and familiar. ¡°It¡¯s great to see you, my old friend,¡± I replied, patting his back with a laugh. Mikael releases me and leans back with an exaggerated sigh. ¡°What now, eh? War¡¯s done, but what¡¯s left for us? Guard work? Some miserable post watching over nobles who wouldn¡¯t know a battlefield from a ballroom?¡± I manage a small shrug. ¡°I haven¡¯t decided yet.¡± ¡°Well, decide fast. Word is, there¡¯s trouble brewing in the capital. Internal nonsense¡ªthe king¡¯s family at each other¡¯s throats.¡± His lips curl in distaste. ¡°Fools. We finally rid the world of those Veyrn devils, and now they want to start their own war. Typical.¡± His expression darkens as he spits to the side. ¡°The Veyrn deserved worse. Playing with the dead, twisting life into something unnatural¡­ should¡¯ve wiped them out sooner.¡± I say nothing, the weight of my secret pressing against my ribs. I only nod, letting him believe I agree. Before Mikael notices my discomfort I clasp his forearm, forcing a smile. ¡°I¡¯ve been busy.¡± ¡°Busy,¡± Mikael scoffs, shaking his head. ¡°Can¡¯t imagine what with. The war¡¯s done, my friend. No more monsters in the night. No more reanimated corpses tearing through villages.¡± No more Veyrn. Mikael¡¯s smile sharpens, his voice lowering as he adds, ¡°Damn glad those devils are gone.¡± I force myself to nod. To agree. To pretend I do not have one of those devils hidden away in my home. Mikael crosses his arms, studying me. ¡°So, what now? You planning to take up farming?¡± I huff a short breath. ¡°Not sure yet. You?¡± ¡°Guard work, probably. Maybe I¡¯ll head to the capital¡ªhear they¡¯re looking for strong men to keep the peace.¡± He scoffs. ¡°Peace. Can you imagine? Spent my whole life fighting, and now they expect us to play nursemaid to drunkards and thieves.¡± I nod, though my thoughts are elsewhere. Mikael drops his voice, glancing around before leaning in. ¡°Rumors say the king¡¯s got problems of his own. Something about his brother¡ªsome noble bastards making a play for the throne.¡± I frown. ¡°An internal war?¡± ¡°Nothing outright,¡± Mikael shrugs. ¡°Yet. But it¡¯s only a matter of time. You¡¯d think with the Veyrn gone, we¡¯d finally have peace, but people always find new reasons to fight.¡± He exhales sharply, his expression darkening. ¡°At least we took care of the real threat. Those monsters deserved worse.¡± His lip curls. I do not respond. The words press against my ribs, heavy and suffocating. I can still hear Kael¡¯s breathing in my mind, steady and slow, as if he were any other boy. But he isn¡¯t. ---------- You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story. Kael Elias is gone when I wake. A plate of food sits on the table, waiting for me. Next to it is a small pill, just like the one from yesterday. I eat in silence, listening to the quiet crackle of the fire. The pill goes down fast, too, before I question again what it¡¯s for. Once I am done, I step outside. The wind brushes against my skin, cool and dry. My thoughts drift back to yesterday¡ªto the dead bird, to the way it twitched, like something inside it still lingered. I find it near the tree line, lying motionless where I last saw it. But this time, it does not move. It does not breathe. I crouch beside it, staring, searching for that spark of life that had made it tremble before. A little girl stands a few paces away, her brown hair catching the sunlight in loose, uneven waves. Her wide eyes, the color of chestnuts, study me with open curiosity, her face freckled. She clutches a handful of wildflowers, their petals slightly crumpled in her small hands. She is probably my age, or maybe a bit younger. She grins as I stared at her. ¡°I saw you yesterday.¡± She tilts her head, waiting for me to say something, but the words don¡¯t come. No one talks to me this openly, easily, without hesitation. ¡°A dead bird, huh?¡± she continues, stepping closer. ¡°Will you bury it?¡± Her voice is yellow, bright like sunlight. What a contrast to Elias¡¯s deep blue. I shake my head. My throat feels tight. I try to speak again, but for some reason, my words won¡¯t come forward. She doesn¡¯t seem bothered by my silence. Instead, she plops herself onto the ground, spreading out her collection of flowers. ¡°You¡¯re really serious,¡± she says, as if she¡¯s known me forever. ¡°You need to smile more.¡± I don¡¯t answer. The last time I smiled was¡ª I don¡¯t remember. ¡°Here,¡± she pats the ground beside her. ¡°Sit with me.¡± I hesitate, glancing toward Elias¡¯s house. He isn¡¯t here. No one is. It¡¯s just me and her, and the flowers crushed between her small fingers. Reluctantly, I sit. She beams, as if this is a victory. ¡°I¡¯m Karin, by the way.¡± She picks up a daisy and starts weaving the stems together. ¡°My dad¡¯s the blacksmith in town. He¡¯s been real busy ¡®cause of the festival.¡± I watch her hands. Small, careful. She moves with purpose, twisting the stems without breaking them. ¡°Festival?¡± I ask. She looks up at me, eyes bright. ¡°Yeah! You don¡¯t know what it¡¯s about? It¡¯s to celebrate the end of the war. No more Veyrn, no more monsters.¡± She pauses, pressing her lips together. ¡°They say the Veyrn were devils. That they brought the dead back to life. My dad told me stories about them¡ªhow they tore through villages, how they cursed people. That¡¯s why we have the festival. To make sure they never come back.¡± I don¡¯t move. My fingers dig into the dirt beside me. ¡°They really were monsters,¡± she repeats again. ¡°The absolute worst ones.¡± I swallow hard. My hands feel cold despite the sunlight. The girl keeps talking, but her words blur together. Monsters. Devils. Raising the dead. ¡°Where are you from, anyway?¡± Karin asks suddenly, her fingers deftly weaving another stem. I freeze. She glances up, waiting. ¡°Far,¡± I say finally. ¡°That¡¯s not an answer.¡± She grins, undeterred. ¡°What¡¯s it like there?¡± I open my mouth, but nothing comes. I don¡¯t know what to say, or even how to say that I couldn¡¯t remember anything after I woke up among the dead. Karin doesn¡¯t seem to notice my hesitation. ¡°Well, it¡¯s nice here. You¡¯ll like the festival. We have music and dancing and really good food¡ªoh! And flower crowns!¡± She lifts her half-finished crown. ¡°My mom said I¡¯ll need to make lots of these to give to the other little boys and girls later tonight. We¡¯ll wear it while dancing around the burning giant Veyrn. Want me to show you how to make one?¡± I don¡¯t respond fast enough, because she takes my hand and presses a few stems into it. ¡°Okay, so first, you twist them together like this.¡± Her fingers guide mine, nimble and confident. ¡°Then you weave the next one through, like a braid.¡± My hands move stiffly, awkward compared to hers. But she just laughs. ¡°You¡¯re too tense,¡± she says. ¡°Loosen up. It¡¯s just flowers.¡± Just flowers. Just a game. But my hands still shake. ¡°How did they bring the dead back?¡± I ask quietly. Karin tilts her head. ¡°How what?¡± ¡°The Veyrn. How did they do it?¡± She wrinkles her nose, twisting another stem into place. ¡°With magic. That¡¯s what my dad says. They had powers that normal people didn¡¯t. Evil powers.¡± I glance down at my hands. The cuts on my fingers from days ago have already started to heal. A strange, uneasy feeling coils in my stomach. ¡°Did they always look like monsters?¡± I ask. Karin stops weaving for a moment, thinking. ¡°Well, no. My dad said some of them looked like normal people. But they weren¡¯t. You could always tell by their eyes.¡± My mouth feels dry. ¡°Their eyes?¡± She nods. ¡°He said they looked...wrong. Empty, but glowing. Like something was inside them that shouldn¡¯t be.¡± She pauses, then adds: ¡°Oh, there¡¯s the hair too! Their hair just isn¡¯t the right color like yours and mine.¡± A chill creeps down my spine. I keep my head down, staring at the flowers in my lap, trying to ignore the pounding in my chest. I open my mouth to speak¨C ¡°Kael.¡± A shadow falls over us. I turn, and Elias is standing there, his face unreadable, his eyes dark with something sharp and dangerous. His voice is brown, heavy like the earth beneath my feet, but the edges of it burn red. I didn¡¯t need to guess what it was with those colors. Anger screamed from his eyes, his mouth pursed into a straight line. My stomach twists. For some reason, this was worse than his black-colored voice. Before I can react, Elias reaches down and grabs my wrist, pulling me to my feet. His grip is tight, unyielding. ¡°You shouldn¡¯t wander without me,¡± he says, his voice low but firm. His fingers dig into my arm, and I know better than to resist. Karin frowns. ¡°Go away, mister! We were just making flower crowns.¡± Elias doesn¡¯t even look at her. ¡°Come on.¡± He leads me away, his pace brisk, his grip never loosening. I glance back once. Karin is still sitting there, watching us with a confused expression, her half-finished flower crown in her lap. We don¡¯t speak on the way back to the house. When we step inside, Elias finally releases me. ¡°You can¡¯t just wander off,¡± he says, rubbing a hand over his face. ¡°It¡¯s not safe.¡± ¡°I was just outside,¡± I say, my voice flat. Elias exhales sharply. ¡°That¡¯s not the point, Kael. You don¡¯t understand how dangerous things can be.¡± I clench my fists, my nails digging into my palms. ¡°You don¡¯t understand either.¡± Something flickers in his expression, but he only shakes his head. ¡°You stay here. And you don¡¯t go anywhere without me. Understand?¡± I don¡¯t answer. I just look away. ---------- That night, Elias leaves to hunt. He says he needs to bring something back for the witch, something big enough to last her through the week. He doesn¡¯t say when he¡¯ll be back. I lay on my bed, staring at the moon outside, its pale glow cutting through the darkness. My mind drifts back to the bird, wondering where it is now¡ªif something ate it, if its body has already started to rot. Or if it ever did. It should have been dead from the start, but it wasn¡¯t. Not at first. It twitched. Moved when it shouldn¡¯t have. And Elias saw it. Maybe that was why he was angry. Not at me, not really. At the bird. At what it meant. My fingers curl into the blanket. Elias''s grip around my wrist had been tight¡ªtighter than necessary, like he wasn¡¯t just pulling me away from Karin but from something else. His voice had trembled, just for a second, before steadying into something firmer, sharper. His voice¡¯s color keeps changing, shifting from deep brown to red, burning at the edges, flaring and retreating as if he can¡¯t quite decide what to feel. While Karin¡¯s stays as brightly yellow as the sun, unwavering. Elias has never been afraid before. He¡¯s never been uncertain. But today¡ªsomething unsettled him. I exhale slowly, turning onto my side. The Veyrn were the ones people feared. Monsters, Karin had called them. Devils who raised the dead. The kind of creatures that could not be trusted, could not be understood. That was why they were hunted down, because they brought the dead back. Maybe it¡¯s the bodies of the people in this village, their fathers and brothers. Maybe Karin saw it herself. But how? How did they do it? How did they bring back the dead? The bird had moved. It had clung to life when it shouldn¡¯t have. And Elias had been there. He saw it. He saw me looking at it. What did he think? Did it scare him? Did he think I had something to do with it? I close my eyes, but sleep doesn¡¯t come. The questions circle in my mind, looping back over and over. Then, a light knock against the glass. I blink and turn. Outside, half-hidden in the night, Karin stands beneath my window, grinning up at me. ¡°Hey,¡± she whispers. ¡°Come with me.¡± I hesitate. She lifts something into view¡ªa flower crown, now fully woven. ¡°Come on,¡± she urges. ¡°The festival¡¯s starting.¡± Elias told me not to leave. But right now, I don¡¯t care. I push the window open, and the night greets me with a breath of cool air, slipping against my skin. Karin walks ahead, chattering, her yellow-bright words flitting past me like fireflies. But I don¡¯t catch them. All I see is the village ahead, glowing like embers against the dark. Lanterns flicker gold and orange, their light pulsing in time with the steady thrum of a distant drum: deep red, rolling through the night, steady as my heartbeat. Voices rise in tangled hues, with laughter bursting in sparks of silver, singing curling through the air in twisting ribbons of blue and violet. Colors swirl, spilling and bleeding together, shifting with every note, every shout, every beat. And beneath it all, a chant surges forward, sharp and unrelenting, searing the night in jagged streaks of white: "Die, die, Veyrn die!" Karin hums along as we descend the hill. The tune is simple, looping, burrowing into my head. I don¡¯t know the words. But as Elias¡¯s cabin fades behind me, I hum too. 5. A Name, A Promise Elias The night is thick with the scent of damp earth and pine, the cold settling deep into my bones as I move through the underbrush. Frost clings to the branches. The forest is quiet¡ªtoo quiet. No birdsong, no rustling of small creatures in the undergrowth. Just the sound of my own boots pressing into the frozen ground. I tighten my grip on my spear. Hunting at this hour isn¡¯t ideal, but a promise is a promise, and I owe Marwen a boar. The witch gave me the pills that keep Kael hidden, and in return, she expects something in kind. The pills look to be working without any side effects, and I¡¯d rather not find out what happens if I take too long to deliver her request. Still, I can¡¯t focus. My mind keeps circling back¡ªto Kael, to the questions he¡¯s starting to ask, to the way he looked at the burning effigy in the town square. He doesn¡¯t know what he¡¯s asking. He doesn¡¯t even know who he is. But he¡¯s looking for answers. Listening. Watching. He¡¯s trying to piece things together, and I don¡¯t know how much longer I can keep those pieces apart. Marwen¡¯s words press against my skull. Don¡¯t let him know. Don¡¯t let him remember. But how am I supposed to do that? I inhale deeply, forcing the cold air into my lungs, clearing my head. Footprints in the frost catch my eye¡ªdeep grooves, too wide for a deer. A boar. I crouch low, following the trail through the brush. The tracks lead to a clearing where the moonlight pools silver across the ground. I spot the creature rooting around near the base of a fallen tree, its thick hide bristling as it snorts through the dirt, searching for something edible beneath the frost. Slow. Steady. I raise my spear, adjusting my stance. I only get one good throw¡ªif I miss, I¡¯ll have to track it down again. I breathe out. Then, I throw. The spear flies true, piercing deep into the beast¡¯s side. It squeals, thrashing, but I¡¯m already moving. I grab my knife as I reach it, driving the blade into its throat before it can kick back. The struggle lasts only seconds, then it goes still. I exhale, rolling my shoulders. It¡¯s done. The night is still once more, the silence pressing in heavier than before. I kneel to wipe my blade, but my thoughts drift again. Kael. I don¡¯t just need to protect him. I need to make him stronger. If I keep shielding him forever, he¡¯ll never survive on his own. He doesn¡¯t even know how to hold a blade, how to read a threat, how to blend in among humans. If I want to keep him safe, I can¡¯t just hide him away and hope no one finds him¡ªI have to teach him. I need to train him. The thought settles deep in my chest, solid and certain. If I can teach him how to fight, how to walk like a soldier, speak like one, become one, then maybe¡ªjust maybe¡ªit will be enough. Maybe he won¡¯t have to find out what he really is. I carve into the boar¡¯s flesh with slow, practiced movements, slicing off a portion before wrapping up the rest. I¡¯ll take the bulk of it to Marwen, but for now, I sit by the fire, spearing a chunk of meat on my knife and holding it over the flames. The scent of roasting fat fills the air, blending with the crisp bite of the cold. Marwen¡¯s getting her payment. But she owes me, too. A few years ago, when the war was still raging, I found her hut nearly reduced to rubble after a skirmish between our soldiers and a group of retreating Veyrn. They were desperate then, lashing out at anything human. A stray spell set her home ablaze, and if I hadn¡¯t been passing through, the fire would have taken everything. I spent the better part of that night dragging water from the river to douse the flames, and when the soldiers came back to scavenge, I was the one who told them to keep moving. She never thanked me outright, but I know she remembers. I smirk slightly to myself, turning the meat over the fire. A debt for a debt. That¡¯s how the world works. By the time the fire burns low and the boar¡¯s meat is sizzling over the flames, I feel like I finally have a plan. I¡¯ll apologize to him. And then I¡¯ll train him. Several minutes later the boar is cleaned and wrapped, ready for Marwen. I throw it over my shoulder and make my way back down the path toward my cabin, the weight of the beast nothing compared to the weight lifting off my mind. For the first time in the last few days, I feel almost good. I push open the cabin door. ¡°Kael?¡± Silence. I step inside, scanning the room. The blanket is tossed aside, the food I left barely touched. The air is still, too still. Something in my chest tightens. I drop the boar. It lands with a dull thud against the wooden floor, but I barely hear it. My stomach churns as I step back outside, eyes lifting toward the distant glow of the village. A loud cheer erupts from beyond the hills, rolling through the night like a wave. The festival. The celebration. The burning. I grip the doorway, my jaw clenched, my pulse hammering in my ears. Of course, how could I forget? He¡¯s there. Watching the symbol of his people go up in flames¡ªlaughing, singing, celebrating¡ªwithout even realizing what it means. Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators! My hands curl into fists. I turn toward the village and start walking. ---------- Kael The festival is overwhelming. Lanterns sway overhead, casting long ribbons of gold across the cobbled streets. The air is thick with the scent of roasting meat, spiced cider, and something sweet that I can¡¯t place. Voices rise and fall in waves, a swirling mess of color¡ªbursts of orange and pink from the laughter of dancing women, streaks of blue and violet from the musicians playing a fast, stomping tune. Everything shifts too quickly, too loudly, spilling into my head like paint smeared across a canvas. I focus on the one thing that doesn¡¯t move too fast, doesn¡¯t burn too bright. Karin. Her voice is steady, a warm yellow glow, bright but soft around the edges, like early morning sunlight. She weaves through the crowd effortlessly, calling out to every other person we pass. ¡°Hi, Mrs. Tavren! Oh, Master Olrik, your stew smells amazing tonight!¡± She belongs here. She fits. She moves through the chaos like it¡¯s second nature, like she has never once questioned her place in it. I follow her, unsure of what else to do. ¡°Hey, who¡¯s this?¡± A boy steps into our path, blocking the way. He¡¯s taller than Karin, broader too, with a thick frame and a smirk that sits too easily on his face. His voice is orange, edged with red. ¡°This is Kael,¡± Karin says cheerfully. ¡°He¡¯s new.¡± The boy¡ªThom, I hear someone call him¡ªnarrows his eyes. ¡°New, huh?¡± His gaze drags over me, assessing. ¡°You talk at all?¡± I don¡¯t answer. Karin steps in front of me, hands on her hips. ¡°Leave him alone, Thom.¡± Thom snorts, crossing his arms. ¡°Just saying. Haven¡¯t seen him before. You sure he¡¯s not some ghost?¡± ¡°I¡¯d know if he was a ghost.¡± Karin tosses her hair. ¡°You¡¯re just mad ¡®cause he¡¯s quieter than you.¡± Thom rolls his eyes and walks off. Karin sticks out her tongue at his back before turning to me. ¡°Ignore him. He¡¯s got the brains of a pig.¡± I nod slightly. I don¡¯t know how to respond. I don¡¯t know what I should say. Before I can think too much about it, she grabs my wrist again, tugging me through the crowd. ¡°Come on! You have to meet my dad.¡± She pulls me toward a large wooden stall where a man is hammering metal against an anvil, sparks flying in bursts of white and yellow. ¡°This is my dad.¡± The man¡ªAleksys, I hear someone call him¡ªlooks up, wiping his hands on a thick apron. He¡¯s taller than Elias, broader, his arms thick with muscle. His beard is streaked with gray, his face worn but kind. ¡°Who¡¯s this?¡± His voice is deep, steady¡ªa rich brown color, warm but solid. ¡°This is Kael! He¡¯s my new friend,¡± Karin says proudly, as if she¡¯s just decided it for the both of us. Aleksys looks at me carefully. His gaze lingers¡ªtoo long. His eyes narrow, just slightly, but whatever he sees, he doesn¡¯t comment on it. I find myself staring back. ¡°Nice to meet you, boy,¡± he says after a moment. ¡°Stay out of trouble, yeah?¡± I nod again. Karin beams. ¡°Come on, let¡¯s go dance!¡± She doesn¡¯t wait for me to agree. She just pulls me forward, weaving through the crowd until we reach the center of the square. The first thing I see is the figure burning. It¡¯s the same tall figure I saw yesterday, with the white hay and blue eyes. But now its body is charred black where the flames eat away at it. The words written on it yesterday are distorting as the fire consumes them. Smoke rises into the night, twisting in thick plumes, carrying the scent of burning wood and something bitter underneath. The children dance around it, so many around them. They don¡¯t seem to notice that bitter smell at all. There¡¯s a large circle gathered around the bonfire, their feet kicking up dust as they spin and laugh, chanting along with the song ringing through the village. The music is fast, the drumbeats thudding through my chest, shaking the ground beneath me. "Die, die, Veyrn die!" Karin grabs a flower crown from a pile nearby, pressing it onto her head before carefully placing one onto mine. ¡°Now you have to dance,¡± she says, grinning. I hesitate. I don¡¯t know how to dance. I don¡¯t know if I want to dance. But then she takes my hands and spins me into the circle, pulling me into the rhythm of the music. The world blurs around me¡ªheat and movement, colors colliding, voices swirling into golden streaks, bright and endless. My heart pounds, not from fear, but from something lighter, something easier. The weight pressing against my ribs loosens. The music folds around me, the warmth of the fire on my skin, the steady drum in my bones. Karin is laughing. I don¡¯t know what it is about that sound¡ªthe pure, unfiltered joy of it¡ªbut it pulls something from me, something unfamiliar and fragile. And for the first time, I laugh too. And then, in the middle of it all, my gaze lifts. And I see him. Elias. He stands at the edge of the crowd, unmoving, his face set in stone. The laughter dies in my throat. Everything slows. The music dulls. The warmth disappears. Elias steps forward, silent, expression unreadable. Then, without a word, he takes my wrist and pulls me away. ---------- Elias The walk back to the house is silent. Kael doesn¡¯t resist. He doesn¡¯t ask where we¡¯re going, doesn¡¯t try to explain himself. He just follows, his footsteps light against the dirt, his presence so quiet it¡¯s like he¡¯s trying to disappear. The festival¡¯s noise fades behind us, swallowed by the trees and the cold night air. I glance down at him once, at the flower crown still sitting atop his head, tilted slightly from when I pulled him away. A reminder of what I took him from. The firelight had flickered against his face when I found him, warm and golden, so different from how he looked when I first saw him buried in that grave. He had been smiling. But now, his expression is unreadable again. A closed door. I push open the cabin door, letting him step inside first. The fire from earlier has dimmed, leaving only embers. The room is quiet, the contrast against the festival almost jarring. Kael lingers near the table, hands curling at his sides. Then, finally, he speaks. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± His voice is quiet, but there¡¯s no hesitation in it. I exhale slowly, rubbing the back of my neck. I should be angry. I was angry. But looking at him now, small and still standing in the dim light, I can¡¯t bring myself to be. ¡°I just¡­¡± I let out a slow breath. ¡°I don¡¯t want you to get hurt.¡± Kael lifts his gaze, his gray-brown eyes unreadable. ¡°Why does the village celebrate the Veyrn¡¯s death so much?¡± I hesitate. Because they should. Because the war took everything from them. Because the Veyrn were a threat, something unnatural, something that needed to be wiped out. Because the world is better without them. That¡¯s what I should say. But Kael just stares at me, waiting. And I can¡¯t bring myself to tell him those things. ¡°Because they¡¯re afraid,¡± I say instead. His fingers twitch slightly. ¡°Afraid of what?¡± I don¡¯t answer. Because I do know the answer. I know exactly what they¡¯re afraid of. They¡¯re afraid of the dead rising. Afraid of Veyrn eyes glowing in the dark. Afraid of something ancient and relentless, something that no amount of fire can truly erase. They¡¯re afraid of him. And one day, if he ever finds out who he is, if he ever remembers, they will hunt him too. The silence stretches. Kael lowers his gaze. I step forward before I can think better of it and place a hand on his head. His hair is soft under my palm, warm. For a second, he stiffens¡ªshoulders tensing, body rigid, like he doesn¡¯t understand the gesture. Then, slowly, he relaxes. ¡°I don¡¯t know why you were in that grave,¡± I tell him, my voice quieter now. ¡°And I don¡¯t know why you see colors. But I do know one thing.¡± He blinks up at me. ¡°I¡¯m going to protect you.¡± His eyes widen¡ªjust a little. A flicker of something beneath the quiet. For the first time, his voice is steady when he speaks. ¡°Okay.¡± 6. Echoes Awake Kael I run, but there is no ground beneath me. The world is nothing but darkness¡ªendless, stretching in all directions, swallowing sound, swallowing breath. My feet make no noise, my chest heaves with effort, but it feels like I am running through water, each movement dragging, each step sinking. Ahead, the woman with white hair stands, her back turned. Her long, blood-matted strands ripple slightly, as if moved by wind, though the air around me is still and suffocating. Her shoulders shake. Her fingers tremble. I try to call out, but no voice comes. Then, from behind me, the darkness moves. A soundless scream rips through the void¡ªdeep and jagged, vibrating with unnatural force. The air shudders. Figures rise from the blackness, their shapes flickering, shifting, their limbs too long, too sharp. They claw at the space between us, hands reaching, voices wailing. They aren¡¯t normal. They aren¡¯t human. Their voices don¡¯t carry like normal sound. Instead, color bursts into my vision¡ªblack edged with red, pulsing like open wounds, twisting and curling like smoke. I run. But the figures surge forward, dragging behind me like shadows stretched too thin. Hands tangle in my clothes, claw at my arms, my legs, my hair. Their fingers are ice against my skin, pulling, dragging me back. "No¡ª" I wrench forward, gasping, fighting against the weight. The woman is still ahead, still trembling, still just out of reach. "Who are you?" She turns, and my breath dies in my throat. Her eyes¡ªher bleeding eyes¡ªstare through me. Red runs down her pale face, her lips trembling, her mouth opening to form a single, fragile word. "Kael, my son¡ª" Pain bursts in my skull. I scream. The darkness swallows me whole. ---------- A hand grips my shoulder. "Kael." I jolt awake, my chest heaving, my throat raw. The ceiling of Elias¡¯s cabin tilts into view, but my vision blurs at the edges, my breath too fast, too uneven. My skin is damp, my hands trembling in the blanket¡¯s folds. Elias crouches beside me on my bed, his grip steady but firm. His face is tense, his dark eyes searching mine. ¡°You were mumbling,¡± he says. ¡°Looked like a nightmare.¡± I swallow hard, trying to calm the hammering in my chest. The woman. Her face. Her voice. The blood in her eyes. Elias watches me carefully. ¡°What did you see?¡± I hesitate. My throat feels tight. ¡°A woman. White hair. I don¡¯t know who she is.¡± His jaw shifts slightly. ¡°Anything else?¡± I force a swallow, gripping my hands together. ¡°Black figures. They were chasing me. They weren¡¯t normal. Their voices¡­ they screamed in colors.¡± Elias¡¯s expression darkens, but he quickly looks away, running a hand over his jaw. A silence lingers between us before he sighs. ¡°You should eat,¡± he says, his voice lighter, though I can hear the weight behind it. ¡°And drink something. I¡¯ll be training you today.¡± I blink at him. ¡°Training?¡± Elias nods, standing. He hands me a wooden mug filled with water, along with a bowl of stew, thick and fragrant with root vegetables. The warmth seeps into my fingers, grounding me slightly. I don¡¯t realize how hungry I am until I take the first bite. Elias sits across from me, arms crossed. ¡°Don¡¯t push yourself to remember too hard,¡± he says suddenly. ¡°It won¡¯t do you any good.¡± I pause mid-bite, glancing at him. Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon. ¡°You don¡¯t need to figure everything out all at once,¡± he continues. ¡°Just focus on what¡¯s in front of you.¡± I stare at the wooden spoon in my hands. I don¡¯t know what to say to that. Elias shifts slightly, reaching into his pocket. A small bottle appears in his palm¡ªthe pills. He sets one on the table, his expression easy. ¡°This will help.¡± I stare at the pill. I¡¯ve taken it every day. Without question. Without hesitation. But last night, Elias had pulled me away from the festival. He had been angry. Too angry. Something inside me is telling me not to trust it. I nod, picking up the pill. Elias watches as I press it past my lips, tilting my head back. But as soon as he turns away, I tuck it under my tongue. I wait until his back is turned. Then I spit it into my hand, closing my fingers around it before slipping it into my pocket. Elias walks to a wooden chest in the corner, lifting the lid. He pulls out folded fabric and turns back to me, tossing it lightly onto the bed. ¡°These are for you.¡± I reach out, running my fingers over the material. A simple white tunic. Black pants. Fresh clothes. I lift them slowly, something unfamiliar curling in my chest. The tunic is slightly too big. The fabric rough but clean. I glance up at Elias, my fingers gripping the cloth tightly. ¡°Thank you.¡± He grunts. ¡°Don¡¯t look so stiff about it.¡± A small, pained smile tugs at my lips. ---------- The air outside is crisp and cool, the morning light filtering through the sparse trees. Elias stands in the open space near the house, a wooden sword resting against his shoulder. I hesitate, eyeing the second wooden sword lying at his feet. ¡°This is for you,¡± he says. ¡°Pick it up.¡± I bend down, wrapping my fingers around the hilt. The weight is strange¡ªheavier than I expected, but not unmanageable. Elias steps forward. ¡°First rule. Don¡¯t grip too tight. You¡¯ll tire yourself out.¡± I adjust my hold. He nods. ¡°Good. Now, try to hit me.¡± I blink at him. Elias gestures. ¡°Go on. Don¡¯t hesitate.¡± I lift the sword, feeling ridiculous, and swing. Elias moves effortlessly, knocking my attack aside like it¡¯s nothing. The force jolts up my arms, and before I can react, he taps his own wooden blade lightly against my shoulder. ¡°If that were real,¡± he says, ¡°you¡¯d be dead.¡± I scowl. ¡°Again,¡± he says. I try. Again and again. Each time, Elias blocks, dodges, counters. I land on the ground more times than I can count, my muscles aching, my frustration mounting. But Elias never laughs, never taunts. He just holds out a hand to pull me back up, every time. ¡°You¡¯re learning,¡± he says. ¡°Slowly. But you are.¡± I breathe heavily, gripping the wooden sword tighter. ¡°Why are you making me do this?¡± Elias watches me for a moment. ¡°Because you need to be strong. One day, you¡¯ll need to protect people too.¡± I don¡¯t know how to respond to that. But I don¡¯t get the chance. A sudden, blinding pain spikes through my skull. I stagger, the wooden sword slipping from my fingers. The pain spreads¡ªlike roots burrowing through my mind, down my spine, clawing through my veins. I gasp, my knees buckling. ¡°Kael?¡± Elias is beside me in an instant, grabbing my arms. I can¡¯t see. The colors are too bright, too loud. My head feels like it¡¯s splitting open, and something in me¡ªsomething wrong¡ªstirs. Then, in the periphery of my blurred vision, I see Elias¡¯s face change. His eyes widen in horror. I barely register his voice, his hands gripping my shoulders, his mouth moving¡ªbut then I see it. A lock of my hair, falling over my face. Not brown. White. I gasp, pain turning into a raw, broken sound. Elias¡¯s hands tighten around me as I tremble, as my vision wavers, as I feel like I¡¯m slipping into something I don¡¯t understand. And then¡ª His gaze flicks downward. At the dirt beside me. At the small pill lying there, untouched. ---------- Thom crouched behind the tree, his breath ragged, his pulse hammering in his ears. He saw it. The boy¡¯s hair had turned white. Not a trick of the firelight. Not his imagination. Real. A bone-deep fear coiled in his stomach, twisting tight like a snake. His father¡¯s words echoed in his head¡ªstories of demons with pale hair and gray eyes, of corpses rising from graves, of villages swallowed whole in the dead of night. He had to tell someone. His mother. The guards. Anyone. His breath hitched, and he turned, legs tensed to sprint¡ª Then he stopped. A few feet ahead, lying still in the dirt, were three dead birds. Their tiny bodies were twisted at odd angles, wings bent, necks limp. Blood seeped from their beaks, staining the frost-bitten earth. Thom¡¯s stomach lurched. A wave of nausea rolled through him. Had they been there before? A gust of wind cut through the trees, rustling the branches above, but it wasn¡¯t the wind that made him shudder. It was the silence. The air pressed against him, thick and heavy, clamping down on his throat. Then¡ª The birds twitched. Thom¡¯s breath stilled. A slow, jerking movement, one wing shuddering, a claw scraping against the dirt. He took a step back. One of the birds breathed. A long, rattling inhale. Thom¡¯s stomach dropped. His legs nearly gave out beneath him. No. No, no, no¡ª The bird¡¯s head twitched toward him. Its beak opened slightly, as if gasping for something unseen. A strangled whimper slipped from Thom¡¯s throat as he ran as fast as he could into the village, their twitching bodies burned into his mind. 7. The Things That Should Stay Dead Thom I wasn¡¯t supposed to be there. I was supposed to be bringing home a boar. That¡¯s what I told Mama when I left in the morning, gripping the dull hunting knife she let me carry¡ªthe one Papa used before he left for the war. If I could bring back something real, something big, maybe it would mean something. Maybe it would mean I was strong, like him. But I got lost. The trees stretched too tall, too wide, swallowing the light as I walked deeper. The farther I went, the quieter it got. No birds, no wind, just the sound of my own footsteps and my breathing. Papa told me once that the world goes still before something bad happens. Maybe I should have turned back then. Maybe I should have listened. But then¡ªI saw them. Elias and a brown haired boy. I only knew Elias by name. He was one of Papa¡¯s old soldier friends, the kind people talked about when they thought no one was listening. Loyal to the king, but never acted like it. A soldier who didn¡¯t stay with the others. Lived out in the woods instead of in the barracks, never came to town unless he had to. I never cared about him before. But now, I wish I never saw him. I crouched behind a tree near his cabin, watching. I didn¡¯t mean to spy, but something about them felt wrong. Elias was teaching the boy how to fight, a wooden sword clutched in his hands. It took me a second to recognize him¡ªthe quiet one with Karin at the festival. So he was with Elias? His kid? Someone he took in? He moved awkwardly, his swings too slow, his footing all wrong. I almost laughed, almost called out, but something made me stop. He wasn¡¯t like the other boys who trained in the square, who yelled and boasted and swung wildly. He was too quiet, too focused. And then¡ªhe started getting better. His stance steadied. His grip tightened. His eyes never left Elias. Like he was memorizing everything. Like he wasn¡¯t just learning¡ªhe was absorbing it. Then it happened. The boy dropped his sword, hands flying to his head. His body seized, his breath coming out in ragged, painful gasps. I thought maybe he was sick, maybe he was dying. And then¡ªhis hair started changing. White. Not pale. Not gray like an old man¡¯s. White like snow, spreading through the brown in thick streaks, like frost creeping over glass. I slapped a hand over my mouth, something cold settling in my stomach. That¡¯s not normal. That¡¯s not human. And then I saw the birds. The dead ones. They moved. Not twitched. Not shuddered. Moved. ---------- The woods are dark, the trees towering and twisted like they''re reaching for me. My breath comes in sharp gasps, my chest burning, my legs aching, but I don¡¯t stop running. I can¡¯t. The images won¡¯t leave me. His hair turned white, I¡¯m sure of it. And those birds¡ªthey were dead. I saw them die. And then they weren¡¯t. I trip on an exposed root and slam my hands into the dirt. Pain jolts up my arms, but I barely feel it. My head is pounding. My ears are ringing. My whole body knows I should run the other way, but I force myself to get up. To keep moving. My friends call me, but their voices sound like they¡¯re underwater. I knew it. That boy. The way his eyes looked at me. Those white devils. The ones that killed Papa. Before I knew it I burst through the front door of my house so hard that it crashed against the wall. Mama jumps, nearly dropping the wooden spoon in her hand. The stew pot rattles. She turns, scowling. ¡°Thom! What in the world¡ª?¡± I double over, gripping my knees, struggling to breathe. My hands shake at my sides. Mama wipes her hands on her apron, already exasperated. ¡°Where have you been? Where¡¯s that boar?¡± I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. My throat feels tight, dry. I can still see them¡ªthe birds, their twisted wings, the way they convulsed like something was puppeteering them from the inside. No one would believe me. Mama folds her arms. ¡°Well?¡± I swallow hard. ¡°Mama,¡± I whisper. ¡°I saw something bad.¡± She exhales through her nose. ¡°Thom, I swear, if you¡¯re making up another story¡ª¡± ¡°I¡¯m not!¡± I snap, too fast. She gives me a look. That flat, unimpressed kind of look that means she¡¯s already decided I¡¯m lying. And maybe she has a reason to. Last winter, I told her I saw a shadow beast in the trees so I could get out of chopping firewood. And last spring, I swore on my own life that I saw a ghost near the baker¡¯s shop¡ªjust to see if I could make the younger kids scared. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. But this isn¡¯t like that. I open my mouth to argue, to make her believe me, but my voice catches in my throat. What if saying it makes it worse? What if talking about it brings it back? Mama sighs and turns to the shelf, grabbing a bowl. ¡°Go wash up,¡± she says, scooping a portion of stew. ¡°You¡¯re talking nonsense. I¡¯ll find some other meat for supper. So much for boar tonight.¡± I want to argue. I want to scream. But I just stand there, my hands clenching and unclenching at my sides. Mama sets the bowl down and looks at me again, softer this time. ¡°Go on, Thom. You¡¯re just worked up. A good meal will fix you.¡± The stew smells warm. Safe. But my stomach twists. I step back. Then another. I saw it. I know I saw it. Would anyone believe me? ---------- Elias The room is too quiet. The kind of quiet that isn¡¯t peaceful, but heavy, thick with something unsaid. The fire has burned low, the last of the embers pulsing weakly in the hearth. Shadows stretch across the walls, flickering with every small shift of the dying flames. Kael sleeps, curled beneath the blanket, his breath slow but uneven. Even in rest, he holds himself tight, his hands gripping the fabric like he¡¯s afraid it might be ripped away from him. Like he¡¯s waiting for something to go wrong. I exhale and rub a hand over my face. He looks small like this. Fragile. He shouldn¡¯t have to live like this¡ªhiding, unaware of who he is, unsure of where he belongs. But if he knew, if he remembered¡­ what would happen then? The white is coming back. It¡¯s slow, gradual, but it¡¯s there. I see it when the firelight flickers across his hair, the strands at his temples turning pale again, creeping back like frost reclaiming a thawed river. I glance down at my palm. The pill sits there, small, harmless. Deceptively harmless. I roll it between my fingers, watching how the firelight glints off its surface. He spat it out. What a smart boy. But maybe, a little too smart for his own good. Once his body rejects the disguise, you won¡¯t be able to hide him anymore. Marwen¡¯s voice echoes in my mind, clear and certain. I want to believe that there¡¯s still time, that I can keep the truth from him a little longer. But deep down, I know better. The illusion is breaking. The mask won¡¯t hold forever. And when it falls apart, what will be left? He never should have been alive in that grave. Yet here he is now, this little, frail creature from a world so far from my own, with no one like him left. I tighten my grip around the pill. I shouldn¡¯t do this. I don¡¯t want to do this. But if his hair turns white again¡ªif his eyes lose the last of their brown¡ªsomeone will see. Someone will know. And then he¡¯s dead. I close my eyes. I wish there was another way. A way to keep him safe without lying to him. A way to protect him without poisoning him with this damned pill every morning. But there isn¡¯t. Forgive me for this. I lean forward and carefully slip the pill between his lips. Kael stirs slightly, a faint murmur escaping his throat, but he doesn¡¯t wake. I watch him, my own breath shallow, waiting for him to resist, to spit it out again. But after a moment, his throat bobs. He swallows. I let out a slow breath, my shoulders sagging. But there is no relief. Instead, something ugly twists inside me. That was a mistake. I feel it immediately. A deep, cold sickness in my gut. Because Kael has no idea what I just did to him. I force myself to my feet, my movements sharp. I can¡¯t sit here any longer. The cabin feels too small, too stifling, too full of secrets I don¡¯t know how to carry anymore. I need air. I need to think. I need to talk to Marwen. Because if the pills aren¡¯t working anymore¡ªif Kael is starting to change despite them¡ª Then what the hell am I supposed to do? ---------- Kael I wake up cold. Not the kind of cold that comes from the air outside, but something deeper. Inside. Like the warmth has drained from my bones, leaving only emptiness. The blanket is still over me, but it feels thin, useless. My limbs are stiff, a slight ache filling it. My head is heavy, fogged over. There¡¯s a strange weight pressing at the back of my skull, like something is clawing its way in. I push myself up, rubbing at my temples. The space near the hearth is empty. Elias is gone. Slowly, I swing my legs over the bed and step outside. The night air bites at my skin, crisp and sharp. The full moon is only just creeping over the trees, bathing everything in a dull, grayish light. The world is still. No voices, no footsteps, just the whisper of the wind through the branches. Then, I see them. The birds. Three small bodies lie twisted in the dirt. Their wings bent at unnatural angles, necks limp, claws curled tight. Lifeless. I freeze. My stomach knots, something tight and sick twisting inside me. I take a slow step forward. My pulse hammers, a steady, uneasy thrum in my ears. Something is wrong. The world around me feels different¡ªtoo quiet. And then¡ªa pulse runs through my fingers. I don¡¯t move. But something inside me does. It unfurls from my chest, crawling down my arms like ice splintering through my veins. My fingertips tingle¡ªthen burn¡ªlike they¡¯re pressing against something not of this world. And then, I see it. A light¡ªblack and violet, twisting like smoke¡ªleaks from beneath my fingernails. It shifts and writhes, curling along my skin, bleeding into the air in slow, eerie tendrils. I jerk back, sucking in a sharp breath, but it doesn¡¯t stop. The darkness clings to me, stretching, reaching¡ªbefore latching onto the birds. The glow slithers from my fingers like ink spilled into water, tendrils curling around the lifeless bodies. A slow, faint shudder. A wing twitches. A tiny claw jerks. I stumble back so fast my breath snags in my throat. My hands are trembling. My heart is pounding against my ribs. No. No, that¡¯s not¡ªI didn¡¯t¡ª The birds move again. One of them jerks violently, its black, glassy eyes snapping open. It looks at me. I choke on a breath. My foot lands on something thin and fragile. Ice. A sharp crack splinters through the silence. A pool of water ripples beneath me, its surface distorting before settling. I see my reflection, and my breath stops. My hair. A streak of white threads through the brown, pale as snow, crawling past the strands that should have been darker. My eyes¡ªthey¡¯re not brown anymore. The gray is spreading, swallowing the warm color that had once been there. No, no, no¡ª I reach up with shaking fingers, grabbing at my hair, yanking the strands down as if I can pull the color back. The birds rustle against the dead leaves. I suck in a ragged breath, my chest tight, panic closing around my throat like a noose. I did this. I made them move. I made them breathe again. The glow at my fingertips flickers, then fades. My pulse is a deafening roar in my ears. The ground feels unsteady, the world tilting too fast. What am I? A shadow falls over me. I whirl around. Elias stands there. His face is pale, his eyes wide, flicking between me and the bird¡ªthe one that should be dead. But it isn¡¯t. The bird stands, ruffling its feathers as if waking from a deep sleep. As if it never died at all. Elias doesn¡¯t move. I can¡¯t breathe. My voice cracks, breaking apart as I whisper, "Am I a devil?" Then everything goes black. 8. The Color of Truth Kael I wake to a dull ache in my head. The cabin is quiet, dim, the fire reduced to embers. My body feels heavy, the blanket over me thick and warm, but it doesn¡¯t chase away the cold lodged deep inside my chest. I shift, and pain lances down my spine, sharp and unforgiving. My breath stutters, and I squeeze my eyes shut, willing it away. But the memories come back. The birds. The way their broken bodies twitched, the unnatural pull of their limbs. The black-purple light curling from my fingers, spilling from the edges of my hair. White hair. My stomach twists. Slowly, I force myself to sit up. The room tilts, my vision swimming before it settles. Elias is sitting across the room, watching me. I freeze. His expression is unreadable, but his eyes¡ªhis eyes are too sharp, too careful, like he¡¯s waiting for something. My fingers tighten around the blanket. My throat feels dry. ¡°What¡­ happened?¡± ¡°You blacked out,¡± Elias says. His voice is steady. Too steady. ¡°The pain hit you, and you collapsed.¡± I breathe in, then out. I already know that. That¡¯s not what I want to ask. I hesitate. My gaze flickers to my hands, to my fingers curled in the fabric. The memory is too vivid, too real. The dark light creeping up my skin. The birds shifting, shuddering, rising from death. My voice is quieter than I mean it to be. ¡°Why did it happen?¡± Elias doesn¡¯t answer. I look up, meeting his gaze. ¡°Why did the dead birds come back?¡± Still, nothing. Then, Elias shifts. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out something small, something I recognize immediately. A pill. He holds it out to me. ¡°Take this.¡± His voice is calm. Careful. ¡°It¡¯ll help.¡± I stare at him. His voice is black. I swallow hard, my pulse hammering against my ribs. ¡°What is it really for?¡± Elias doesn¡¯t answer right away. His fingers curl tighter around the pill. I see it¡ªthe hesitation, the flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. I already know. He¡¯s lying. Again. I stare at him as the silence envelopes us. ¡ª---- Elias After I slipped the pill into Kael¡¯s mouth as he slept¡ªbefore I saw the dead birds rise, before I realized just how little time I had left¡ªI made my way to the witch¡¯s hut, my mind tangled in questions I couldn¡¯t answer. The village was still awake, even at this hour. The air was sharp with the bite of lingering winter, the full moon shifting in and out of the clouds. Lanterns flickered in windows, and faint laughter drifted from the tavern, but the center of the square was empty now. The burnt Veyrn effigy¡ªthe one Kael had danced around, smiling like he belonged here¡ªwas nothing but ash swept away by the wind now. For a moment, the town felt like it had before the war. Quiet. Whole. But the silence did nothing to settle me. My fingers curled and unfurled at my sides as I walked, my thoughts relentless. Has his body already started rejecting the pills? Will it happen again, even if he swallows them? How long do they even last? The witch never told me that. And the pain¡ªwhere is it coming from? I press a hand to my temple, the dull ache of exhaustion creeping in. The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement. I need answers. Now. Before I knew it, her hut loomed in front of me. The wooden structure is half-swallowed by the dark, barely visible between the trees. The lantern outside flickers weakly in the cold wind. But I¡¯m not the only one here. Mikael stands in front of the witch, arms crossed, speaking in low tones with her. His large frame is hard to miss, broad shoulders casting long shadows against the pale glow of the lantern. I keep my face neutral as I enter the door, and they turn to face me. ¡°Mikael? Didn¡¯t think I¡¯d run into you here.¡± Mikael glances over his shoulder, grinning. ¡°Elias, my old friend.¡± His tone is easy, but there¡¯s something weighted beneath it. ¡°Didn¡¯t think I¡¯d see you either. What brings you out to a witch¡¯s hut in the middle of the night?¡± I shrug. ¡°Could ask you the same.¡± Mikael chuckles, shaking his head. ¡°Fair.¡± He pats the satchel at his hip. ¡°Got what I needed.¡± I glance at the witch. She doesn¡¯t meet my eyes. That alone puts me on edge. Mikael notices my look and grins wider. ¡°Relax. It¡¯s just a strength potion.¡± I raise a brow. ¡°For what?¡± Mikael exhales through his nose, rolling his shoulders. ¡°Lord Desivynir¡¯s given me a new mission.¡± That catches my attention. Lord Hans Desivynir. The name alone is enough to tighten my chest. The lord of this region. The warlord who led the final campaign against the Veyrn. Ruthless, strategic, and utterly relentless in his pursuit of wiping them from existence. They say he never let his soldiers take prisoners¡ªonly bodies. He crushed the Veyrn strongholds one by one, burned their cities until there was nothing left but ash. Some call him a hero. Others whisper that he is something else entirely. Mikael and I fought under his command for years. I knew that everything the people say about him is as true as Kael¡¯s very existence. And now, if he has work for Mikael, it can¡¯t be good. ¡°What kind of mission?¡± I ask carefully. Mikael glances at the witch, then lowers his voice. ¡°There¡¯s been talk.¡± I stay silent, waiting. ¡°Soldiers on patrol have found dead birds around the village at night,¡± Mikael continues, voice quieter now. ¡°And then¡­ they get back up.¡± My blood turns to ice. Mikael doesn¡¯t seem to notice my tension. ¡°We don¡¯t know where it¡¯s coming from yet. But Lord Desivynir¡¯s not taking any chances.¡± He exhales, crossing his arms. ¡°You know how the stories go. The Veyrn don¡¯t just raise people¡ªthey don¡¯t even have to try. Fear, anger, grief¡­ strong enough emotions can wake the dead right out of the ground.¡± His voice lowers slightly, eyes narrowing. ¡°If one of them survived the war, who knows what kind of havoc they¡¯re wrecking now.¡± I keep my breathing steady, but my mind races. The witch shifts slightly beside me, but she doesn¡¯t speak. She doesn¡¯t have to. Mikael studies me. ¡°Come with us.¡± I shake my head immediately. ¡°No.¡± His brow furrows. ¡°No?¡± ¡°I have other things to take care of.¡± Mikael scoffs. ¡°Other things? What, hiding away in the woods?¡± His tone is light, teasing, but I know him too well. There¡¯s a thread of suspicion beneath it. I don¡¯t answer. His eyes narrow slightly. ¡°Elias, this is big. If there¡¯s even a chance that a Veyrn survived¡ª¡± ¡°There isn¡¯t,¡± I say. Mikael tilts his head. ¡°You sure about that?¡± I don¡¯t like the way he looks at me. I hold his gaze. ¡°I¡¯m sure.¡± A long silence stretches between us. Then, Mikael sighs and steps back, shaking his head. ¡°Fine. Your loss. But if I were you, I wouldn¡¯t get too comfortable out here.¡± I don¡¯t respond. Mikael watches me for a moment longer, then smirks and strides toward his horse. ¡°Don¡¯t disappear too far, Elias.¡± I don¡¯t watch him leave. The moment the door creaks shut behind us, the witch exhales sharply. ¡°It¡¯s happening, isn¡¯t it?¡± I press my fingers to my temples. ¡°He spat the pill out.¡± She doesn¡¯t look surprised. ¡°Then it¡¯s starting.¡± I drop into the chair across from her, rubbing a hand over my face. ¡°What do I do?¡± The witch watches me, eyes sharp. ¡°You don¡¯t have much time left, Elias.¡± Her voice is calm, but there¡¯s something final in it. ¡°If the pills aren¡¯t working anymore, there¡¯s no delaying it.¡± She leans forward. ¡°You need to decide now.¡± ¡°Decide what?¡± I snap. Her expression doesn¡¯t waver. ¡°Whether you¡¯re going to keep protecting that boy¡¯s innocence.¡± She doesn¡¯t have to say the other option. Or whether you¡¯re going to die protecting him. I close my eyes. I already know my answer. ¡ª---- Kael The cabin is silent. The only sound is the faint crackling of the dying fire, the soft howl of wind outside. Elias hasn¡¯t answered me. I watch him carefully. His jaw is tight, his fingers pressed around the pill in his palm. I can see the way his shoulders tense, the way his breath comes slower, steadier¡ªlike he¡¯s bracing for something. He¡¯s hesitating. I swallow and lower my gaze to my hands. My fingers curl into the fabric of the blanket draped over my lap, gripping it tightly. I can still feel the cold outside, the black-purple glow that came from my hands, the way the birds¡ª I force the thought away. Instead, I whisper, ¡°Your voice was black when you told me the pills were to help me.¡± Elias stills. I look up. His expression doesn¡¯t change, but I see it in the way his fingers flex, in the slight shift of his posture. I take a slow breath and speak again, my voice steady but quiet. ¡°I know when you¡¯re lying.¡± A long silence stretches between us. The weight of it presses against my chest. Elias exhales, running a hand through his hair. His gaze drops, his fingers tightening into fists before he finally looks at me. His voice is careful, firm. ¡°You¡¯re not a devil.¡± For a second, I almost believe that means I¡¯m safe. That whatever is happening to me¡ªwhatever I am¡ªisn¡¯t something to fear. But then Elias finishes. His voice is low, unwavering. ¡°But you are a Veyrn. The very last one.¡± The words settle in the air, heavy and inescapable. And for the first time in a while, when I look at his voice¡ªdeep, steady, unshaken¡ªit''s clear blue. 9. The Weight of One Word Kael The fire has burned low, but I haven¡¯t moved. I sit with my back against the wall by my bed, knees pulled to my chest, arms wrapped tight around them. My body is stiff, my fingers curled so hard against my sleeves that they ache. But I don¡¯t let go. If I let go, I might shake. Elias sleeps near the fire. Or at least, he looks like he does. His breathing is even, his face slack, the firelight casting flickering shadows over his sharp features. He looks calm. At peace. Like the weight of what he¡¯s done¡ªwhat he¡¯s told me¡ªdoesn¡¯t press on him the way it does on me. "You are a Veyrn. The very last one." I can still hear his voice. Quiet. Steady. Unshaken. The words coil tight in my skull, pressing, suffocating. I squeeze my eyes shut, but it doesn¡¯t help. The memories are there, waiting. The bodies. The blood in the snow. My stomach churns. I press my forehead against my knees, my breaths coming shallow and uneven. This whole time, I thought that maybe I was just some lost kid that fell into that grave. That all those nightmares are nothing, meant nothing. But now¡ª I don¡¯t even know what I am anymore. A slow shift in the silence. My head snaps up just as Elias¡¯ eyes open. For a moment, neither of us move. He studies me, gaze sharp, unreadable, like he already knows the storm in my chest is about to break. His voice is rough with sleep. ¡°Kael¡ª¡± ¡°Would you kill me?¡± The words spill out before I can stop them. My own voice sounds strange¡ªtight, uncertain. Elias blinks. I swallow hard, trying to keep my breathing even. ¡°If I really am Veyrn. If I¡¯m the last one. Shouldn¡¯t you kill me?¡± His expression doesn¡¯t change. ¡°No.¡± I shake my head. ¡°Why not?¡± ¡°Because you haven¡¯t been given a chance to live yet.¡± His voice is calm, firm. ¡°Because you deserve that chance. But if you want to survive, Kael, you need to be stronger.¡± Something in my chest twists, sharp and painful. Stronger. He says it like it¡¯s that simple. Like strength is a choice. I force out a breath. ¡°Then why did you help me?¡± Elias exhales slowly, rubbing a hand over his face. ¡°I told you already.¡± ¡°No,¡± I snap. The anger comes sudden, sharp, pushing past the fear. I shove to my feet, pacing, my pulse hammering in my throat. Anger claws its way up my ribs, pushing past the fear. I shove to my feet, pacing, my pulse hammering in my throat. ¡°You knew what I was, and you still pulled me out of that grave. You knew what could happen, and you still kept me alive. Why?¡± Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site. Elias watches me, his gaze steady. I shake my head, my throat tightening. ¡°Back in the village, they hated the Veyrn. They laughed while the effigy burned, danced around it like it was some kind of festival. They threw trash, spat on it¡ªlike even the idea of them wasn¡¯t worth the dirt under their boots. And you¡ª¡± My voice wavers, but I force it steady. ¡°You saw all of that. You knew. And instead of telling me the truth, you fed me those pills, said they¡¯d make me feel better¡ªwhen I don¡¯t even know what they are.¡± My hands clench at my sides. ¡°If everyone wanted someone like me dead¡­ then what makes you any different?¡± Elias sits up slowly, running a hand through his hair, watching me with unreadable eyes. I keep going, my voice rising. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you just leave me there? Why didn¡¯t you kill me then, if you knew what I was? Wouldn¡¯t it have been easier?¡± Elias exhales through his nose. ¡°Would you rather I had?¡± I hesitate. My breath is ragged, my hands trembling. He studies me, then shakes his head. ¡°I told you. You deserved a chance to live.¡± I let out a sharp, bitter laugh. ¡°A chance? At what? At running for the rest of my life? At hiding?¡± My chest is too tight, too full, every thought crashing into the next. My voice drops, raw and shaking. ¡°Why am I any different? Why should I get to live when they wanted me dead?¡± Elias¡¯s expression hardens. ¡°Because you¡¯re not a monster.¡± The words hit something deep inside me, something I don¡¯t know how to name. I squeeze my eyes shut. My body feels wrong, like my skin doesn¡¯t fit, like the weight of my own presence is unbearable. The air crackles around me, and I feel it before I see it¡ªthe unnatural glow, curling off my fingertips, seeping into the strands of my white hair. A blackish-purple light, flickering at the edges of my vision. Elias is on his feet in an instant. Before I can do anything, his hands clamp down on my shoulders, firm and grounding. ¡°Breathe,¡± he says, his voice steady. ¡°Kael, breathe.¡± I drag in a shaky breath. And another. Slowly, the light dims. I feel sick. Weak. My knees threaten to give out, but Elias doesn¡¯t let me fall. For a long time, neither of us speak. The only sound is my breathing, too fast, too uneven. Finally, my voice comes out small. ¡°If you kept me alive to help me live, then teach me to fight.¡± A beat of silence. Elias exhales, slow and measured. ¡°I don¡¯t know how to stop that power in you,¡± he says. ¡°I don¡¯t know how to make it go away.¡± His voice is careful, deliberate. ¡°But I do know how to make you stronger. Strong enough to survive.¡± The words settle between us. My pulse is still hammering, my body taut with too much feeling, but now that the anger has burned itself out, all that¡¯s left is exhaustion¡ªand guilt. I drop my gaze, swallowing hard. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± I murmur. ¡°For yelling. For¡ª¡± I gesture vaguely at the space between us, at the sharp words I¡¯d thrown like weapons. ¡°I don¡¯t want to get mad anymore. I just¡­ I just want to know the truth. About everything.¡± Elias watches me for a long moment. Then, without a word, he steps forward and places a hand on my head. A firm, grounding weight. Not forcing me to meet his gaze. Just¡­ steadying. ¡°You¡¯re allowed to be angry,¡± he says simply. ¡°But don¡¯t let it decide who you are.¡± His hand lingers for a second longer before he steps back. Then, without breaking eye contact, Elias reaches into his pocket and pulls out the last of the pills. He turns toward the fire and, without hesitation, tosses them in. They hit the flames with a sharp crackle, burning for a brief moment in an eerie flash of purple before disappearing into the embers. When he speaks again, his voice is firm. ¡°I¡¯m not going to hide you anymore.¡± There¡¯s something final in those words, something that makes my chest feel too tight, my breath too shallow. Before I can process what that means¡ªwhat any of this means¡ªElias turns, rummaging through his things, and pulls out a simple woolen cap. Dark brown, rough-spun. I blink at it. He steps closer, pressing it into my hands. ¡°But until we know what we¡¯re up against, you still need to be careful. Keep your hair covered when we¡¯re training outside in the morning.¡± For a moment, I just stare down at the cap. A stupid thing, really. It shouldn¡¯t mean anything. But somehow, it does. When I look up again, I manage the smallest, hesitant smile. Elias nods, almost like he¡¯d been waiting for it. Then, quietly, he says, ¡°Get some rest. I won¡¯t go easy on you, kid.¡± 10. To Fight The Inevitable Kael The smell of cooking meat pulls me from uneasy sleep. For a moment, I don¡¯t move, staring up at the wooden ceiling of Elias¡¯s cabin. The weight in my chest hasn¡¯t lifted. If anything, it¡¯s heavier today. Memories press at the edge of my mind from last night¡ªthings I don¡¯t want to think about, don¡¯t want to feel. I push them away and sit up, rubbing my hands over my face. My body still aches. The soft crackling of the fire and the scent of food draw me toward the kitchen. Elias stands by the hearth, flipping strips of meat in a pan. He moves with the same quiet efficiency as always, never wasting motion. He glances at me, but doesn¡¯t say anything right away. Instead, he nods toward the table, where a wooden bowl and spoon is already set. ¡°Eat,¡± he says simply. I hesitate, but hunger wins. I sit, picking up a piece of meat and biting in. It¡¯s tougher than what I remember eating before, but I don¡¯t care. The warmth spreads through me, settling something restless in my stomach. Elias stands by the table as I eat, arms crossed. He watches me for a few moments before speaking. ¡°We¡¯re going into the woods today.¡± I pause mid-bite. He doesn¡¯t elaborate, waiting for me to respond. ¡°¡­Why?¡± ¡°Because you need to train,¡± he says. ¡°And because it¡¯ll be safer for you. No one will find you there.¡± The way he says it makes something in me prickle. I set my food down. ¡°You think someone¡¯s looking for me.¡± It¡¯s not a question. Elias doesn¡¯t confirm or deny it. He just holds my gaze, then he turns back to the fireplace. ¡°Finish eating,¡± he says. ¡°We leave soon.¡± A hollow feeling settles in my stomach, heavy and twisting. I don¡¯t ask. Because some part of me already knows. And the thought makes me sick. ---------- The woods stretch wide and endless around us, the towering trees swallowing the sky in a canopy of green and gold. The deeper we go, the quieter it gets¡ªno distant hum of village life, no crackle of a fire, just the rustling of leaves and the occasional snap of a branch underfoot. Elias doesn¡¯t talk much as we walk, but he doesn¡¯t have to. I already know why we¡¯re here. This place is hidden, isolated. If someone was searching for me, they wouldn¡¯t find me out here. ¡°Not bad,¡± I mutter, glancing around. ¡°A little eerie, but I see the appeal.¡± Elias hums. ¡°You¡¯ll appreciate it more when you¡¯re the one doing the hunting.¡± I scoff. ¡°Right. Because that¡¯s going to happen.¡± ¡°You¡¯d be surprised.¡± He throws me a look over his shoulder. ¡°Try to keep up.¡± I roll my eyes but pick up the pace, trailing behind him as he weaves through the thick underbrush like he¡¯s walked this path a thousand times. Eventually, we reach a small clearing. The ground is soft with fallen leaves, the air damp from last night¡¯s rain. Elias stops, turning to me with his arms crossed. ¡°Alright,¡± he says. ¡°Let¡¯s see what you can do. We start with the basics,¡± he says. ¡°Survival. Endurance. Focus.¡± I nod stiffly, not trusting myself to speak. He draws a knife from his belt and tosses it to me. I catch it¡ªbarely¡ªand fumble with my grip. The metal is cold, heavier than I expected. I glance up at him. ¡°What happened to wooden swords? We used those before.¡± Elias watches impassively. ¡°A wooden sword won¡¯t do much if someone comes at you with real steel.¡± I scowl, adjusting my grip. ¡°I don¡¯t plan on fighting anyone.¡± I pause before adding, ¡°At least, not yet.¡± ¡°That¡¯s the problem.¡± He nods at my hands. ¡°Hold it properly, or you¡¯ll lose a finger.¡± I exhale sharply and shift my hold, trying to ignore how unnatural it feels in my palm. Elias studies me for a moment, then steps forward. ¡°Here.¡± He reaches out, adjusting my fingers with a firm but steady touch. ¡°You want control, not just strength. If your grip¡¯s too tight, you¡¯ll slow yourself down.¡± I nod, swallowing. The knife suddenly feels a lot heavier. I adjust my grip once more, feeling the weight of the blade in my palm. This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. Elias steps behind me, his voice steady and measured. ¡°Your grip is too tight this time. It won¡¯t run away. Loosen it.¡± He watches as I lighten my grip, then scowls. ¡°Too loose, you¡¯ll drop it with one hit. Try again, Kael.¡± Frustration pricks at my nerves. ¡°I didn¡¯t know knife holding had so many rules,¡± I muttered as I grit my teeth and tried again. Elias moves to stand in front of me. ¡°A knife is an extension of yourself. It should feel like part of you.¡± ¡°It doesn¡¯t.¡± ¡°Then make it.¡± I exhale sharply. He doesn¡¯t wait for me to argue. Instead, he moves, striking fast. I barely get my knife up in time to block him, and even then, the impact sends a jolt up my arm. Elias doesn¡¯t hesitate. He moves again, sweeping my legs out from under me. I hit the ground hard. I groan. Elias steps back, giving me room to get up. ¡°Again.¡± I push myself up. Try again. Fail again. Over and over. The frustration builds. I can feel it clawing at my ribs, twisting in my stomach. I¡¯m not good at this. My body feels slow, my mind even slower. Every time I move, I hesitate. Every time I strike, I pull back at the last second. And Elias notices. His sharp gaze tracks every flinch, every moment of doubt. But he doesn¡¯t comment. Not yet. He just keeps knocking me down. ---------- I don¡¯t know how long we train. Minutes, hours¡ªit all blurs together beneath the weight of exhaustion. My arms ache. My legs are sluggish. Every breath feels too fast, too sharp, like my lungs can¡¯t keep up. But Elias doesn¡¯t stop. He keeps pushing. Keeps forcing me to move, to react. And every time I hesitate¡ªevery time I let a thought slip between instinct and action¡ªI hit the ground. ¡°Focus,¡± Elias says, standing over me as I push myself up again. ¡°You¡¯re not here. You¡¯re in your head.¡± I wipe sweat from my face and glare at him. ¡°I¡¯m trying.¡± ¡°No, you¡¯re thinking.¡± I grit my teeth and lunge, aiming low, trying to catch him off guard. But he sidesteps with infuriating ease, catching my arm and twisting just enough to send me sprawling into the dirt. Pain jolts through my shoulder. I groan, rolling onto my back, but before I can catch my breath, he¡¯s there¡ªboot planted beside me, knife glinting in his hand. ¡°If I were an enemy, you¡¯d be dead.¡± His voice is calm, but sharp. ¡°If I were one of the soldiers that burned your Veyrn village, what would you do?¡± I tense. My hands curl into fists. ¡°I¡ª¡± He crouches beside me, lowering the knife to my throat¡ªnot cutting, just pressing lightly enough to make a point. ¡°Would you just let them take you?¡± I clench my jaw. ¡°No.¡± ¡°Then prove it.¡± The blade vanishes. He moves back, giving me space. I suck in a breath, my pulse hammering as I push myself up again. Anger burns beneath my skin, mixing with exhaustion. I don¡¯t want to keep failing. I don¡¯t want to be weak. Elias watches, waiting. My breath is ragged, my fingers curling into the damp earth. My head pounds. My body screams at me to stop. And then¡ª A sharp crack in the air. Something inside me snaps. The weight in my chest coils tight¡ªtoo tight. The air around us shudders. And then, without warning¡ª A rabbit not far from us collapses. We turn at the sound of its small body hitting the ground. There was no struggle. Just¡­ dead. Like someone pressed a button on it, making it as limp as a doll. My stomach twists violently. This again. Not this again. Elias stills. His eyes flick to me, but he doesn¡¯t move. I stumble up to my feet before I could think twice. I kneel beside the rabbit, my hands trembling, my breath sharp and uneven. No, this creature didn¡¯t deserve this¡ª My fingers shake above the rabbit¡¯s mangled, lifeless body. I did this. It¡¯s the birds all over again. A weight inside me twists, something pulling from deep within. A flicker of light dances at my fingertips¡ªblack edged with deep violet, shifting like smoke. My breath catches. I know this. The sight of it sends a cold spike of terror through my chest. No. Not again. The glow slithers forward, curling toward the rabbit¡¯s limp body. The air sharpens, turning bitterly cold. My stomach knots so violently it hurts. I try to pull back, to stop whatever is happening¡ª But it¡¯s already too late. A violent jerk. The rabbit¡¯s body spasms, its limbs snapping rigid as if seized by an unseen force. Its chest heaves, sucking in a breath that shouldn¡¯t be possible. The sound is wrong¡ªwet and gurgling, lungs filling with something thick and unnatural. Its head twists toward me with a sickening crack. I recoil, horror twisting through me. The rabbit moves¡ªno, lunges. It shouldn¡¯t be able to. Its body is broken, lifeless just moments ago, but now it surges forward, claws raking at the dirt, its mouth parted in a grotesque mimicry of a snarl. Its eyes¡ªonce glassy and vacant¡ªare filled with something else now. Something wrong. I scramble back, my breath catching in my throat. No¡ªno, this isn¡¯t happening¡ª A flash of silver. A sharp, clean slice. The rabbit collapses mid-lunge, its body thudding against the earth. Lifeless. Truly lifeless. Silence crashes down. My hands shake. My entire body shakes. Elias watches me, his gaze unreadable. Slowly, he lowers the blade, wiping the blood clean before tucking it away. When he speaks, his voice is steady. Unshaken. ¡°The Veyrn don¡¯t just raise the dead, Kael.¡± Elias¡¯s voice is steady, but there¡¯s something heavy beneath it¡ªsomething grim. His gaze locks onto mine, unyielding. ¡°They kill with strong emotions. That¡¯s how they build their armies. Fear. Anger. Pure hatred. It kills anything and everything, and they bring it back to life.¡± The words sink in, heavy and suffocating. I killed it. Not just once. Twice. My throat tightens. I feel sick. Elias steps closer, his voice low but firm. ¡°You cannot let your emotions take over.¡± He gestures toward the rabbit. ¡°You still don¡¯t understand the full extent of what you are¡ªwhat you can do. And if you let this power control you, even for a second¡­¡± His expression hardens. ¡°You may do something you can never take back.¡± 11. Out of Time Elias The forest is quiet, save for the soft rustling of leaves in the wind and the rhythmic scrape of steel against stone. Dying sunlight bleeds through the canopy, stretching long shadows over the damp earth. In the clearing ahead, a small herd of boars roots through the undergrowth, their thick bodies moving in slow, deliberate motions. The largest of them, scarred, tusked, wary, stands apart from the rest, its ears twitching at the faintest sound. Behind me, the steady sharpening of a knife continues. I glance back. Kael sits on the gnarled roots of an old oak, his head bent, his movements methodical. His woolen hat, now worn and slightly frayed, sits low over his forehead, covering the mess of white hair beneath it. He pulls the blade against the whetstone with a quiet focus, the last light of the day catching on the metal¡¯s edge. His face is the same as the first day I saw him in that grave: lean, sharp-boned, still very much like an innocent young boy. But something about him feels different. His shoulders set firmer now, his posture less restless. His gray eyes, once uncertain, seem steadier, more aware. It¡¯s been a week since we started training. A week since I began teaching him how to fight, how to move, how to keep his emotions from slipping into his power. He¡¯s faster now. Stronger. His strikes have weight behind them. His steps are quieter, more precise. But what I notice most is how he holds himself. Not like a frightened runaway, but like someone forcing themselves to grow into something more. I wish I could say the nightmares were gone. That he no longer woke up in the middle of the night, questioning why I protected him, or whether I¡¯d betray him. That he didn¡¯t still look at me sometimes with that flicker of doubt, as if waiting for the moment I¡¯d turn on him. Why did you protect me? Are you going to turn me in? Would you kill me in my sleep? I don¡¯t answer them. Not directly. Because I know the real question hiding beneath those words. One that neither of us wants to say out loud. He doesn¡¯t remember his past. He doesn¡¯t know where he comes from. And worse: he knows he¡¯s the only one left. I¡¯ve been trying to teach him to channel that uncertainty. To turn it into something useful. Survival. Strength. Control. But control is harder when you don¡¯t know where you stand in the first place. A final scrape of steel on stone. Kael puts the whetstone away and tests the blade¡¯s edge with his thumb. He exhales slowly, then lifts his gaze toward the clearing. ¡°I¡¯m ready,¡± he murmurs. His voice is calm. I follow his line of sight to the boar: the largest one. A veteran, marked by old battles, its body thick with muscle, its tusks yellowed and jagged. It¡¯s the kind of beast that wouldn¡¯t hesitate to gut a man if cornered. I nod. ¡°Go.¡± Kael moves straight ahead, into the clearing. He¡¯s learned how to step lightly, how to use the terrain to his advantage. But the boar is wary. It senses him a second too soon. Its ears twitch, its muscles coil, and then it bolts. Kael curses under his breath and sprints after it. I stay where I am. This is his kill. Through the trees, I track his movement: the quick, fluid strides, the way he adjusts his angle. He¡¯s cutting off its path. Driving it where he wants. The boar skids, its hooves kicking up dirt. Kael lunges. For a moment, it looks like the beast will throw him off. He grips onto its thick hide, muscles straining, trying to wrestle it down. The struggle is brief but intense, the sound of hooves pounding against the earth, the sharp grunt of a cornered animal. Then, Kael¡¯s knife flashes. A single, clean strike. The boar shudders, then falls still. Kael doesn¡¯t move at first. Just kneels there, chest rising and falling, blood darkening the earth beneath him. He stares at the body, his face unreadable. Not frightened. Not shaken. Just¡­ steady. I walk over, nodding. ¡°Clean kill.¡± He exhales, rolling his shoulders back. There¡¯s something different in his eyes now. No fear. No hesitation. Just certainty. I grin. ¡°Guess you could take down anything now, huh? Would be easier if you just used your fancy necromancy powers. Drop something dead on the spot.¡± I elbow him lightly. ¡°As long as you don¡¯t bring it back to life afterward.¡± Kael¡¯s expression darkens. ¡°I don¡¯t want to use it,¡± he says. His grip tightens around the knife. ¡°I don¡¯t care if I¡¯m Veyrn. I don¡¯t care what I am.¡± His voice is quiet, but firm. ¡°I¡¯ll do whatever it takes to control it. To never use it.¡± I don¡¯t say anything. Because I don¡¯t know if he can. But a part of me feels¡­ proud. ¡ª---- By the time we make it back, the sky is washed in hues of deep purple and orange, the last breath of daylight stretching thin over the horizon. Kael carries the boar over his shoulders, its weight heavy against his back, but he doesn¡¯t complain. He barely even stumbles. A week ago, he would¡¯ve struggled. A week ago, he would¡¯ve hesitated before making a kill. Now, he walks with quiet resolve, the rim of his woolen hat casting a shadow over his gray eyes. As we reach the cabin, I kneel beside the boar, drawing my knife and cutting into its hide with practiced ease. The blade moves cleanly through muscle and sinew, parting flesh as blood pools dark against the dirt. The scent is thick in the cold air. Earthy, metallic, familiar. I work in silence, separating the carcass into portions, setting aside the best cuts. The larger ones go into a sack, wrapped in cloth to keep them clean. Kael watches from the side, quiet. I look down at him as I open the door, the sack heavy on my shoulder. ¡°I¡¯ll be heading down to the village.¡± Kael nods, already expecting it. ¡°For the witch?¡± ¡°Partly. We owe her for the pills.¡± And for keeping quiet. ¡°The rest is ours. Should last a while.¡± Kael looks at the ground. I catch the slight furrow in his brow, the way his fingers tighten against the fur. He doesn¡¯t ask, but I know what he¡¯s thinking. What if you don¡¯t come back? ¡°I won¡¯t be long,¡± I assure him, but the words feel hollow. ¡°Just keep your hat on. Don¡¯t answer the door. No one should be coming, but if they do¡ª¡± ¡°I know,¡± Kael cuts in. His voice is quiet but firm. ¡°I won¡¯t let anyone in.¡± His face is the same, but there¡¯s something about him now. Something more solid, more assured. He¡¯s still Kael, still the boy I pulled from the grave. But for the first time, I wonder if he¡¯s starting to become something else, too. I exhale, pushing the thought away. ¡°Good. I¡¯ll be back soon.¡± ¡ª------ This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it. The village is alive with voices. As I walk the familiar path between the buildings, I catch snippets of hushed conversations. People stand close together, speaking in low tones. The air feels tight, like something coiled and waiting to spring. It doesn¡¯t take long to hear why. ¡°They say a traitor¡¯s hiding in the region.¡± ¡°The Lord himself believes it. He sent his soldiers from Drakewall.¡± ¡°They¡¯re looking for someone.¡± ¡°A traitor? In our village?¡± I don¡¯t stop, don¡¯t slow my pace, but my stomach knots. I need to get to the witch fast. The witch¡¯s hut is at the edge of the village, tucked away from the main road, hidden beneath the twisted branches of an old yew tree. I slip inside without knocking, the scent of dried herbs and burning tallow wax meeting me instantly. The witch glances up from her work, her lined face calm but knowing. ¡°I take it you¡¯ve heard,¡± she murmurs. I drop the sack onto her wooden table before looking her in the eye. ¡°They¡¯re searching for someone.¡± ¡°A traitor.¡± The witch¡¯s voice is dry. ¡°How vague.¡± I don¡¯t have time for games. ¡°They think someone¡¯s hiding a Veyrn.¡± The witch stops. For a long moment, she just watches me, her old, knowing eyes searching my face. Then she turns back to her work, opening the sack and slicing clean through the boar¡¯s thick hide with a well-worn blade within seconds. ¡°And you¡¯ve come to warn me.¡± ¡°I have to get back.¡± She doesn¡¯t argue. Doesn¡¯t question. Just nods, like she¡¯s already considered what might come. ¡°Kael knows,¡± I add quietly. ¡°I¡¯ve thrown the pills away.¡± The witch pauses for a moment, and then sighs through her nose. ¡°Then you already know what to do, don¡¯t you?¡± I clench my jaw. If I want to protect him, I have to be ready for anything. ¡ª------- I step out into the cooling night. The village¡¯s torches flicker, casting long shadows along the path. My mind is already on the way back. On Kael, on making sure nothing has gone wrong in the short time I¡¯ve been gone. Then I hear¡ª ¡°Elias.¡± I stop. Turn. Mikael stands a few feet away, arms crossed, watching me with a familiar, easy confidence. His dark cloak barely shifts in the wind, but the golden embroidery catches the firelight. There are four men with him. Drakewall soldiers, their black and red armor dull in the fading light, like dried blood over iron. They stand just behind him, rigid, unmoving, their hands resting near their weapons. Silent. Waiting. Like hounds held on a leash, waiting for the command to strike. I ease my stance, keeping my face neutral. ¡°Mikael. Didn¡¯t think I¡¯d see you back here so soon. Need another strength potion from the witch?¡± Mikael raises an eyebrow, stepping forward. ¡°Didn¡¯t think I¡¯d see you coming out of the witch¡¯s hut. Bringing her gifts, are you?¡± I roll my shoulders, forcing out a short breath that could pass for a chuckle. ¡°Something like that. Traded a boar for some supplies.¡± Mikael makes a noise in the back of his throat, as if considering it. ¡°Supplies? Didn¡¯t take you for a hunter.¡± I shrug, as if it¡¯s nothing. ¡°Man¡¯s got to eat.¡± His eyes linger on me, thoughtful. ¡°Thought you were aiming for a soldier¡¯s post.¡± I keep my expression easy, shifting my weight just enough to look comfortable. ¡°Still am. Haven¡¯t found the right place yet.¡± Mikael hums, taking another slow step. ¡°Then I might have a job for you.¡± I tilt my head, waiting. ¡°Do you remember that mission I told you about? Well, it¡¯s much more interesting than I thought,¡± Mikael continues, voice calm. ¡°The Lord says there¡¯s a traitor in this village. Someone is definitely hiding a Veyrn.¡± My pulse kicks up, but I keep my face steady. I shake my head, feigning disinterest. ¡°That so?¡± Mikael watches me. Not like he¡¯s trying to interrogate me¡ªno, that would be too easy. He¡¯s watching like he¡¯s peeling something apart, like he¡¯s looking for the cracks. ¡°You¡¯ve been out here for a while, haven¡¯t you?¡± His tone is light, but the question is anything but. ¡°About a few months now, before the war ended.¡± ¡°And in that time, you haven¡¯t seen anything¡­ unusual?¡± I shake my head. ¡°Just boars. And the occasional drunk wandering into the forest.¡± Mikael¡¯s lips twitch. ¡°Then you wouldn¡¯t mind joining the search.¡± I exhale through my nose, shifting my stance. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t be much use. Like you said, I¡¯m not a hunter.¡± Mikael hums again, slower this time. The flickering torchlight catches on the gold of his belt, the sharp line of his jaw. The men behind him don¡¯t move, don¡¯t even shift their weight. Mikael¡¯s lips curve, slow and knowing. ¡°I always thought you were good at keeping secrets.¡± A cold weight settles in my gut. I force a smirk, shifting my stance like I¡¯m just adjusting the weight on my feet. ¡°And I always thought you were bad at minding your own business.¡± Mikael chuckles¡ªquiet, easy. But there¡¯s something else in it now. Something sharp. I take a step back. Mikael steps forward. The men behind him move, just slightly, but it¡¯s enough. Closing the gaps. Blocking the street behind me, cutting off the clear paths. Not obvious. Not rushed. Just¡­ inevitable. I exhale through my nose, keeping my shoulders loose. ¡°I should be heading back.¡± Mikael tilts his head, like he¡¯s considering it. ¡°What¡¯s the rush?¡± Another step forward. His men follow, shifting around me like wolves tightening a ring. I roll my shoulders, feigning nonchalance. ¡°I¡¯ve had a long day.¡± ¡°And I¡¯ve got questions.¡± His voice is calm, measured, but the tension beneath it coils tight. ¡°Like why you¡¯re skulking around the witch¡¯s hut, looking like you¡¯re rushing to head home.¡± He¡¯s close now. Close enough that I can see the gleam of torchlight in his eyes, the glint of steel at his hip. Another step. The space around me shrinks. I glance past him. Just a flick of my eyes, just enough to check my exits. But Mikael catches it. He sighs, shaking his head. ¡°Elias, you¡¯re making this difficult.¡± I don¡¯t answer. I don¡¯t need to. Because I know, and he knows, that I¡¯m running out of time. ¡ª----- Kael The fire crackles softly in the hearth, the only sound in the dimly lit room. I sit cross-legged on the floor, my back against the rough wooden wall, Elias¡¯s knife resting on my palm. The blade catches the light, its edge gleaming like silver. I run my thumb along the worn handle, tracing the grooves. It¡¯s familiar now, the weight of it, the shape. A week ago, I nearly dropped it when Elias tossed it to me. Now, I know how to hold it. How to use it. I don¡¯t know if that makes me feel any better. The woolen hat scratches against my ears, but I don¡¯t take it off. I don¡¯t even push it back. The days of hiding streaks of white beneath the brown are long gone. My hair has turned completely white now, bone-pale, stark even in the low firelight. My eyes, too. Once brown with hints of gray, now just empty silver. Veyrn eyes. I pull the hat lower. Elias should be back by now. A nagging feeling sits heavy in my chest, the kind that coils tighter the more I try to ignore it. I tell myself he¡¯s fine. That he¡¯s only taking longer because of the witch, or maybe he¡¯s buying some more food. The training¡¯s been making us hungrier than before. But my hands won¡¯t stay still. I keep flipping the knife, rolling the handle in my grip, pressing the tip into my thumb just hard enough to sting. Then¡ª Tap. I freeze. A single sharp sound against the door. Then another. And another. I move toward the window, slow and silent, careful not to let the floorboards creak beneath me. Peering through the glass, I catch a glimpse of a figure standing outside, dimly lit by the moon. A boy. A familiar one. My stomach twists. I remember him from the festival, the boy who teased Karin and me, the one who laughed too loudly, who grinned with too many teeth. He was forgettable then: average looking, brown hair, sharp chin. A typical village boy. Slightly larger than the other boys, but that was about it. Someone I barely thought about. Thom. Hs face is twisted in a way that makes my breath hitch. Malice flickers in his eyes, his mouth curled into something between amusement and something else. Something darker. He tilts his head, and his grin stretches too wide. ¡°I know you¡¯re in there,¡± he calls out, voice light, almost playful. ¡°Come on out.¡± I don¡¯t move. Thom steps closer, boots crunching on the dirt. ¡°Elias is looking for you,¡± he continues, voice lilting. ¡°Don¡¯t you wanna know why?¡± My fingers tighten around the window frame. He can¡¯t know that. He¡¯s guessing. He has to be. I swallow, forcing my voice steady. ¡°You don¡¯t know that.¡± Thom chuckles: a dry, humorless sound that makes the hairs on my arms rise. He shifts his weight, rolling his shoulders as if preparing for something. ¡°I know your secret,¡± he murmurs, softer now. ¡°No one believes me, but I swear, I know what you are.¡± My pulse pounds in my ears. His voice¡ªfaint shades of red before¡ªdarkens. Deepens. Blood red. A blade flashes in the moonlight. Then¡ª Shhkk¡ª The knife buries itself into the wooden door, right next to my face. I jerk back, breath caught in my throat. The wood splinters, sharp fragments dusting my sleeve. Thom doesn¡¯t stop. His hands grip the door, and he tears at it, the blade carving into the wood, widening the hole. His breath is ragged, wild. The flickering light of the hearth stretches his face into something monstrous. His eyes are burning, teeth bared. His movements are jerky, unnatural, driven by something feverish and frenzied. More animal than human. ¡°You think you can hide?¡± he hisses, shoving his way through. The door groans under his weight. The wood cracks, splinters raining down. Then¡ªsuddenly¡ªhe¡¯s inside. And he¡¯s looking right at me. His knife glints, gripped tight in his hand. His chest rises and falls, too fast, too erratic. His eyes are alight with something unhinged, something that makes my blood run cold. I can see his voice now¡ªsee it burning¡ªdeep, pulsing red, filling the space between us, seeping into the walls, staining the floor. Then he lunges, his scream filling the night air. ¡°You Veyrn murderer!¡± 12. Found You Kael Thom¡¯s blade came down fast. I barely had time to move before it buried itself into the wooden table behind me with a dull thunk. My breath came sharp and ragged as I staggered back, nearly tripping over a fallen chair. My knife felt awkward in my hand, but I gripped it tighter anyway. I had no choice. Thom wrenched his knife free with a snarl, his face twisted with fury. "Murderer," he spat, his voice thick with hate. His eyes burned as they locked onto me. "Devil." He lunged again, slashing blindly, his blade a blur in the dim firelight. I ducked, barely avoiding the tip as it whistled past my face. "Stay light on your feet," Elias¡¯s voice echoed in my mind. "Let the enemy burn their strength on anger¡ªlet them tire first." But Thom wasn¡¯t tiring. If anything, his rage only seemed to fuel him. He came at me like a man possessed, knocking over a stool in his charge. My back hit the table, hard enough to send pain jolting through my spine. I raised my knife instinctively, but it was sloppy¡ªtoo slow. Thom slammed into me, his weight driving me against the wooden surface. The blade in his hand flashed toward my ribs. I twisted just in time. His knife carved through my tunic instead of my skin, the fabric splitting open. I shoved him off me and scrambled to the side, sending a stack of wooden plates crashing to the floor. "Don''t meet strength with strength," Elias had told me, his voice ringing louder in my head than Thom¡¯s raging screams. "You''re not strong enough to win that way. Move.Your life depends on it." I forced myself to breathe, to think. But Thom wasn¡¯t giving me time. He roared and swung again, this time aiming for my throat. I barely managed to duck. The tip of his knife nicked my left cheek, fire-hot pain cutting through my skin. I gritted my teeth. Move. I dodged left, then right, forcing Thom to keep turning, forcing him to keep missing. He growled in frustration, his movements growing wilder. His foot caught on the upturned rug by the hearth, and for a fraction of a second, he stumbled. Now. I lashed out, my knife slashing across his forearm. He let out a sharp grunt, but he didn¡¯t slow down. If anything, the sight of his own blood only made him angrier. "The Veyrn killed my father!" he snarled. "You don¡¯t belong here!" His blade came down again, even faster now. I dove to the side, and his knife struck wood instead of flesh. Before he could recover, I grabbed the nearest thing¡ªa heavy iron pot from the counter¡ªand swung it with all my strength. It connected with his temple with a sickening crunch. Thom stumbled, dazed, blood dripping from the side of his forehead. He spat to the side and grinned. "That all you got?" Then he was on me again. His blood red voice filled my sight, begging to distract me. We crashed through the door in a tangle of limbs, my back slamming into the hard dirt outside. The cold night air burned my lungs as Thom landed on top of me, pinning me down. His knife pressed against my throat. "You should''ve died with the rest of them," he growled. I gritted my teeth and did the only thing I could¡ªI slammed my knee into his stomach. Thom gasped, his grip loosening just enough. I twisted, throwing him off me, and scrambled to my feet. "He''s tiring." I could hear Elias¡¯s voice in my head, calm even in the middle of this chaos. "He''s using too much energy. Stay on your toes." Thom got up slower this time, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. His stance wasn¡¯t as steady as before. Good. I gripped my knife tighter. We circled each other under the moonlight, our shadows stretching long across the dirt. Neither of us spoke. Our ragged breath was the only sound between us. Then, slowly, Thom lowered his knife. He threw up his free hand in surrender. "I won¡¯t try to kill you," he panted. "As long as you leave the village. Now." Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author. I didn¡¯t lower my blade. My heart was still hammering, my mind still reeling. I watched him, waiting for a trick. "Where¡¯s Elias?" I demanded. Thom let out a bitter laugh. "How should I know? Soldiers came looking for him. For you." Soldiers. My stomach twisted. If they had Elias¡ª I barely saw the movement before it was too late. Thom lunged, grabbing his knife from the ground. I reacted on instinct. My blade flashed, and I felt it sink deep. Thom let out a strangled gasp. I staggered back. My knife was buried in his left shoulder, the steel slick with blood. Thom fell to his knees, his face twisted in pain, but he still grinned. "Weak," he hissed. His eyes flickered to the ground, and it took me a second to realize why¡ªmy woolen cap had fallen off in the struggle. My white hair was fully visible under the moonlight. Thom let out a breathless, wheezing laugh. "Look at you," he muttered. "Go on. Do it." I took a step back. "Do what?" His grin widened, even as blood dripped from his mouth. "Use your necromancer magic," he rasped. "Bring me back as your puppet. Isn¡¯t that what you devils do?" I shook my head. "Shut up." "Go on," he taunted, voice weaker now. "Do it. Make me one of your monsters. Just like the rest of your kind." I clenched my jaw. "Breathe," Elias had told me. "Control it." But I couldn¡¯t breathe. Not when Elias was in danger. Not when Thom kept talking. "You¡¯ll get him killed, you know," Thom whispered. "Just like the Veyrn killed my father. Just like you¡¯ll kill everyone you ever care about." Something inside me snapped. A cold, searing pain split through my skull. My vision blurred, and suddenly, the world around me darkened. My hands trembled as a deep purple glow curled around my fingers, twisting and writhing like smoke. The air crackled. The sky rumbled, heavy with the scent of rain. Thom¡¯s grin didn¡¯t falter. "Go on," he whispered. "Prove to me how much of a devil you are." I couldn¡¯t stop it. I lunged. Thom screamed. A burst of purple light exploded from my hands. Then¡ª Nothing. When I opened my eyes, the world was silent. Thom lay in front of me, his lifeless eyes wide, unseeing. My knife was buried deep in his chest, right through his heart. Blood spread across his tunic, dripping into the earth. I stumbled back, my breath coming too fast, too shallow. My hands shook. What have I done? The first raindrops hit my skin. Then the purple glow came again. I tried to stop it¡ªI really did¡ªbut it was like trying to hold back a flood with bare hands. My fingers tingled, the glow spreading, seeping into Thom¡¯s body like ink in water. Then he blinked. I froze. Thom twitched. A low, guttural moan tore from his lips, raw and unnatural, like something dragged up from the depths of a dying throat. Thom¡¯s body convulsed, his limbs seizing as if pulled by invisible strings. His fingers twitched, curled, then stiffened into claws. His head lolled to the side, the wound in his chest still oozing dark, wet blood, but his body¡ªhis body wasn¡¯t dead. Not anymore. With a sickening jerk, he sat up. His breath rasped, wet and ragged, his shoulders rising and falling in an unnatural rhythm. His hands trembled against the mud before finding purchase. Slowly, shakily, he pushed himself to his feet. His legs buckled at first, his body swaying as though it didn¡¯t quite remember how to stand. But then he steadied. His head lifted. His eyes¡ªno longer brown but a pale, milky white¡ªlocked onto mine. His lips parted, and a broken, shuddering moan escaped him. Then he moved. One step. Another. His arms hung limply at first, fingers twitching, but as he drew closer, they reached¡ªgrasping, clawing for me. I couldn¡¯t breathe. Flashes of the grave filled my head. The corpses. The way they had moved, the way their pale, dead hands had reached for me. No. No, no, no¡ª A sharp whistle cut through the rain, slicing through the heavy silence like a blade. Then¡ªa sickening thud. Thom¡¯s body jolted. His head snapped back as an arrowhead punched clean through his skull, just above his brow. For a single, horrifying second, his body remained upright, frozen in a grotesque mockery of life. Then his knees buckled. He crumpled forward like a puppet with its strings severed. Warm blood sprayed across my face. The coppery tang filled my mouth, my nose. I sucked in a sharp breath, my entire body convulsing as I stumbled back, heart hammering against my ribs. The rain came harder now, washing streaks of red down Thom¡¯s slack, lifeless face. His vacant eyes stared up at the storming sky, unblinking. A shadow stretched over me. I forced myself to look up, my breath catching in my throat. A man stood near me, flanked by soldiers in black and red. One held a bow, arrow nocked and aimed at my back. The man at the center was tall, broad-shouldered, his armor sleek and dark, trimmed in crimson. The rain slicked over the metal, running down in rivulets. A long cloak of black and gold billowed behind him, the deep red of it reminding me of old blood. His face was sharp, angular, his jaw strong and dusted with the shadow of a beard. Dark hair, nearly black, was tied back at the nape of his neck. His eyes¡ªcold, piercing¡ªstudied me with a quiet amusement, a hunter appraising trapped prey. One gloved hand rested on the pommel of a sword at his hip. The other hung loosely by his side, relaxed, as if none of this was anything out of the ordinary. Behind him, one of his men held a little, crying girl. She struggled weakly, but his grip was unyielding. Her small frame trembled in the rain. My breath caught in my throat instantly. Karin. Her eyes¡ªwide, frightened¡ªfound mine. I couldn¡¯t move. The man took a slow step forward, his boots sinking into the wet earth. The moonlight above us played across his face, casting sharp shadows over his cheekbones, the cruel curve of his mouth. Then he smiled. "Found you." 13. The Path Unknown Elias Pain. It was the first thing I felt, a deep, throbbing ache that pulsed through my skull, my ribs, my arms¡ªevery part of me. My body was stiff, limbs heavy as though weighed down by iron. I blinked, my vision swimming, the world around me a dark blur. Cold, uneven stone beneath me. The sharp stench of damp rot, rusted iron, and old blood clung to the air, thick and suffocating. Chains rattled somewhere in the darkness. Above, a lone iron candelabrum dangled from the vaulted ceiling, its flickering flames casting jagged, shifting shadows against the damp, blackened walls. I tried to move, but a thick rope bit into my wrists. My shoulders screamed in protest as I shifted, feeling the coarse fibers cut into raw skin. My breath came heavy, uneven. Slowly, my senses returned. Then I saw it¡ªthe sigil. A black raven stretched its wings across a blood-red banner, the fabric hanging like a silent omen against the dungeon wall. Drakewall. I exhaled sharply, my chest tightening. Captured, huh? The memories came rushing back¡ªKael running, the fight in the cabin, Thom¡¯s empty eyes staring into nothing. Mikael. Where was Kael? Panic twisted through me. If they had taken me, had they found him? Was he still running, or had he already been dragged away in chains? The thought struck like a knife to the gut. I should have done more. I should have trained him harder, taught him how to survive without me. The regret coiled around my ribs, suffocating. If he was dead, if they had gotten to him before he had the chance to fight¡ª No. I refused to believe it. I wrestled against the ropes, forcing my hands to twist, to find any slack. My muscles screamed, but I kept going, gritting my teeth against the pain. Then footsteps. Slow. Confident. The heavy iron door groaned open, and a figure stepped into the light. Mikael. His dark hair was tied back, his face shadowed by the flickering light. That smirk¡ªsharp, smug¡ªcurled at the corners of his lips as he took his time closing the door behind him. His uniform was pristine, every thread in place, the red-and-black of Drakewall draped over him like a second skin. The sight of it made my stomach turn. This wasn¡¯t the man I had fought beside, the one I thought was lost to the war. That Mikael had bled beside me, had laughed in the face of death. But the man before me now couldn¡¯t be my old friend. That Mikael would risk his life for me, and I for his. Now, there was something hollow in his gaze, something twisted in the way he carried himself. As if something had crawled inside him and made a home beneath his skin. His eyes met mine, and for a moment, neither of us spoke. Then he let out a soft chuckle. ¡°You always were a stubborn bastard, Elias.¡± I glared, saying nothing. His boots echoed against the stone floor as he stepped closer. "You really thought you could keep him safe?¡± His voice was smooth, almost amused. ¡°You made a mistake, old friend. A very big mistake." I clenched my jaw. "Where is he?" The smirk vanished. Faster than I could react, his fist collided with my face. My head snapped sideways, pain exploding in my skull. Blood filled my mouth, the coppery taste thick on my tongue. Mikael exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking out his hand like he was shaking off an annoyance. "Do you even hear yourself?" he muttered, his voice laced with something between anger and disbelief. "Risking everything¡ªfor him? A Veyrn?" I spit blood onto the floor, lifting my gaze. "Where. Is. He?" His nostrils flared. His next blow struck my ribs, hard enough to steal my breath. I choked on the pain, but I didn¡¯t fall. I wouldn¡¯t. "I thought you were better than this," he said, his voice quieter now, but no less dangerous. "You fought for years against them. You killed them. Hell, we fought them together. We almost died countless times to them. And yet you threw all of that away for a single boy?" I refused to break under his gaze. Mikael¡¯s lips curled in frustration. He hit me again, then again. My vision blurred, my body screaming in agony. But I didn¡¯t speak. As I drifted in and out of consciousness, I managed to rasp one last time, "Where... is he?" Mikael sighed, wiping the blood off his knuckles. Then he crouched down, leveling his gaze with mine. ¡°He¡¯s on his way to Lord Desivynir¡¯s castle,¡± he murmured. ¡°Locked in the back of an army carriage. And when he gets there, they¡¯ll burn him at the stake.¡± The words sank into my skull like ice. ¡°For your treason,¡± Mikael added, his voice tinged with something unreadable, ¡°you¡¯ll burn right after him.¡± Fear gripped me, deeper than any pain I had endured so far. But before I could react, Mikael¡¯s fist crashed into my temple, and everything went black. Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel. ¡ª-------- Kael I woke to the lurch of wood and the distant clatter of hooves on stone. My body jerked with the motion, every muscle stiff, every limb leaden. A dull, throbbing pain pulsed at the base of my skull, each heartbeat sending sharp waves through my head. My throat burned, dry as dust, my breath rasping against the cloth biting into the corners of my mouth. I shifted, or tried to¡ªrough fibers dug into my wrists, cinching tighter as I strained. My ankles, too, bound. The more I pulled, the more the ropes bit into my skin. Panic flared in my chest, burning with every second. I twisted harder, breath quickening, but the knots held fast. The wooden walls of the carriage loomed around me, dimly lit by slivers of moonlight cutting through the cracks. The air was thick with the scent of damp wood, sweat, and something else¡ªsomething metallic. Blood. A muffled sound pulled my attention, and I turned my head. Across from me, a small figure sat curled in on herself, wrists bound, shoulders shaking. Karin. Her brown eyes met mine, wide with guilt, fear, maybe both. Strands of dark hair clung to her tear-streaked cheeks, her lower lip split and swollen. But it wasn¡¯t the bruises that made my breath catch. It was the way her gaze flickered, lingering on my hair, white as fresh-fallen snow. She was crying, but when she spoke, her voice¡ªbright yellow, always yellow¡ªnever wavered. ¡°I¡ªI told them,¡± she whispered. The words sank into me like a blade. She sucked in a shuddering breath. "They took my father. They said they''d hurt him if I didn''t tell them where Elias was. I¡ª" She swallowed hard, her voice shaking. "I tried to lie. I swear, I tried. But they knew. They beat him anyway." Something twisted inside my chest, sharp and tight. She shook her head, blinking away fresh tears. "Thom... I think Thom was the one who told them. I don¡¯t know how, but they already knew something was happening. They just needed me to lead them to the cabin." Thom. His name struck me like a hammer, knocking the breath from my lungs. You¡¯re a monster. A demon. A devil. The memory of his final words burned through me, mixing with the horror of what I had done. My stomach turned. I had killed him. I had killed him, and now Elias could be dead¡ªbecause of me. A sharp pressure built behind my eyes. My hands curled into fists, nails digging into my palms. My breathing turned ragged. I tried to force it down, the fear, the grief, the guilt, but it swelled and swelled until it was too much, and before I could stop it¡ª ¡ªthe glow came. A dark, inky light seeped from my fingers, curling through the air like smoke. That dark purple, familiar glow. My whole body pulsed with it, tendrils of shadow unfurling like the creeping arms of something alive. Karin gasped, shrinking back. I squeezed my eyes shut, biting down on the gag, trying to force it away¡ªbut it was inside me. It was me. Suddenly, the carriage lurched to a violent stop, hurling me sideways into the wooden walls. Karin yelped as she slammed into me, our bound limbs useless to break the fall. Outside, the horses screamed¡ªhigh, panicked. Then came the sounds of chaos. Shouts. The metallic clang of swords meeting. A wet, gurgling cry. Heavy thuds. Then¡ªsilence. My heartbeat roared in my ears. Karin gripped my sleeve, her breath sharp and trembling. The carriage door burst open. A figure stood in the doorway, framed by the moonlight¡ªa woman, cloaked in deep blue, the fur on her shoulders thick and pale as winter frost. Silver hair spilled down her chest in long braids, the weight of age and power etched into her sharp features. But it wasn¡¯t what she wore that caught me. Her eyes glowed. Golden. The moment I saw them, something inside me twisted. A flash of metal. A battlefield soaked in blood. I gasped. A vision rushed through me in fractured pieces. This woman, standing in a storm of fire, her hands raised to the sky. Lightning cracking from her palms, striking down men in black armor. Their screams. My head throbbed. Another glimpse¡ªher face, streaked with blood, eyes just as sharp, just as terrible. I knew her. I had seen her before. But¡­how could that be? I had never seen her before. I struggled to breathe, barely noticing the way the air shifted around us, the way the ropes around Karin¡¯s wrists snapped apart as if they had never been tied. Karin let out a sharp gasp, rubbing at her wrists in shock. But my body was frozen. My breath felt thin. The woman turned her gaze on me. Something unseen pressed down on my chest, an invisible weight squeezing the air from my lungs. My fingers curled, the remnants of that terrible shadow still flickering at my fingertips. Her gaze flicked to the darkness coiling around my hands. And for just a second¡ªjust the briefest moment¡ªher lips pressed into a thin line.. I opened my mouth, throat dry, the question escaping before I could stop myself. ¡°Are you¡ª¡± My voice cracked as I dared to speak. ¡°Are you the witch Marwen?¡± A pause. The woman studied me for a long, suffocating moment. Her expression did not change. Then, with a voice like the sky before a storm, she said: ¡°Get up.¡± The color of her voice surprised me. Golden with brown and red edges. She turned, stepping back into the night, her cloak billowing behind her like shadows come alive. Karin¡¯s fingers clamped around my wrist, her grip tight, urgent. ¡°Kael¡ªcome on! We need to run before the soldiers wake up!¡± She yanked me forward, and as I stumbled out of the carriage, my breath caught. At the edge of the forest, just beyond where the carriage had stopped, the witch stared at us in silence, studying us like a snake would study its prey. Her golden eyes glowed in the darkness, locked onto mine¡ªsteady, unreadable, silently commanding me to follow. Then my gaze dropped. Bodies lay sprawled across the ground by the carriage. Soldiers in black and red, their weapons flung from their hands, their armor dented and smeared with dirt. The horses were gone, their reins slashed. I swallowed hard. What kind of power had done this? When I looked back up, the witch was gone¡ªbut no, not gone. She had drifted deeper into the forest, her form barely a shadow between the trees. Karin didn¡¯t hesitate. She bolted ahead, her dark hair flying, her breath ragged. I forced my feet to move, chasing after her. Into the dark. Into the unknown. ¡ª------- The forest swallowed us whole, its towering shadows stretching like grasping fingers under the sliver of moonlight. The ground was uneven, treacherous, the thick underbrush clawing at our legs. Karin¡¯s grip on my wrist was tight, her nails digging into my skin as she dragged me forward, breathless, desperate. But ahead of us, the witch did not run. She moved, yes, but not like we did. Not with frantic, stumbling panic. She glided. Her cloak billowed behind her like a phantom¡¯s veil, untouched by the tangled roots and jagged stones that threatened to trip us. And then, she looked back. Her glowing golden eyes locked onto mine, and I felt it again. That terrible, aching pull, the fragments of memories just beyond reach. The battlefield. The storm. Her. Are you really the village witch Elias and I caught boar for? The words burned at the tip of my tongue, but I couldn¡¯t force them out. I stumbled, nearly falling, and for a heartbeat, her expression changed. A flicker of something I couldn¡¯t name. Then she turned away, moving faster, disappearing deeper into the dark. A cold shiver ran down my spine. And I knew, with a certainty that made my blood freeze¡ª I had followed this woman before. 14. What Lies in the Ashes Kael I woke to the scent of earth and herbs. The world was slow to take shape. Blurred edges, the flicker of firelight, the damp chill of morning pressing into my skin. My body ached like I had been running for days. For a moment, I didn¡¯t know where I was. Then it all came rushing back. Thom¡¯s body slumping to the ground, the arrow sticking out of his head. My own hands, slick with blood. The way I had pulled him back from the dead, something dark and terrible opening inside me, something I didn¡¯t understand. But most of all, Elias is gone. He could be dead somewhere far away while the carriage rattled beneath us last night. I pushed myself upright too quickly. The world tilted, my vision swimming with spots of color and shadow. Beside me, Karin was already awake, curled in on herself with her legs pulled to her chest. Her arms wrapped around her knees, fingers digging into the fabric of her torn sleeves. Her wide, wary eyes darted between the witch and me, lingering on my hair again. I couldn¡¯t blame her. The last time she¡¯d seen me, I had brown hair, brown eyes¡ªjust like any normal human. Now, I looked like something else entirely. ¡°Karin,¡± I whispered. ¡°Are you alright?¡± She turned to me, her expression tight. ¡°I thought you were dead,¡± she murmured, voice barely above a breath. ¡°You looked dead.¡± Her fingers curled against the fabric of her tunic. ¡°And now... I don¡¯t even know where we are. Or where my father is.¡± I had no answer for her. Silence stretched between us before we both turned¡ªslowly, warily¡ªto the sound of a crackling fire. Across from us, the silver-haired woman from last night knelt by a small fire, grinding something between her fingers, letting the crushed pieces fall into a steaming metal pot. The scent of bitter roots and damp leaves curled in the air. Her hands moved with careful precision, her cloak pooling around her like spilled ink. The witch with glowing, golden eyes. It had to be Marwen. She was real. Not just a flicker of vision in the dark. Not just a phantom with burning eyes, vanishing into the trees. She had saved us. I swallowed, my throat dry. Marwen stirred without looking up, her expression unreadable, but I could still see it. The ghost of that golden fire in her gaze. Marwen didn¡¯t acknowledge us at first. She continued her work, grinding, sifting, stirring. The fire popped, sending a brief glow over her sharp features¡ªhigh cheekbones, gold-flecked eyes, a mouth set in something that wasn¡¯t quite a smile. I swallowed against the rawness in my throat. ¡°Where did you take us?¡± She didn¡¯t look up from her work, grinding the herbs with careful precision. ¡°Somewhere safe.¡± Safe. The word felt weightless, meaningless after everything that had happened. My fingers curled into the damp earth. ¡°Are you¡ª¡± I hesitated, my voice lower now. ¡°Are you the village witch? Marwen?¡± At that, her gaze lifted, settling on mine. Golden eyes on my gray ones. A slow nod. ¡°And you are the last Veyrn.¡± Marwen stirred the pot, her gold-flecked eyes steady on mine. ¡°Because I was the one who gave Elias the pills that turned your hair and eyes brown.¡± Karin sucked in a sharp breath beside me. I turned just in time to see her eyes widen in shock. ¡°That¡¯s why¡ª¡± She looked at me again, her gaze raking over my white hair, my pale eyes, like she was seeing me for the first time. ¡°That¡¯s why you look so different now.¡± Before I could reply, Karin added, ¡°Where are we?¡± She rubbed at her arms, casting a wary glance around. Marwen stirred the pot once more, her voice calm, certain. ¡°The Deepwood. Far beyond the reach of any human patrol.¡± The name sent a chill through me. Just last week, Elias and I had been training in the forest near his cabin. I had been tracking a deer, moving too far, too deep, when he caught my arm and yanked me back. ¡°Not there,¡± he had warned, his eyes sharp., his grip tight on my forearm. ¡°That¡¯s the Deepwood. No one who goes in ever comes out.¡± And now we were here. A sharp pang shot through my chest. Grief, panic. Just a week ago, Elias had been beside me, alive and safe. Now, he was captured. Maybe worse. Maybe dead. I remembered running with Karin under the moonlight, following Marwen before the soldiers could wake up. I remembered the night swallowing us whole. But how had we made it this far? As if sensing the question, Marwen finally set down her work. ¡°You don¡¯t remember because you were both nearly unconscious. The magic of this forest does that. It keeps those who do not belong out, and those who do, in.¡± The fire crackled. My stomach twisted. Marwen tilted her head slightly, studying me. ¡°You¡¯ve seen me before, haven¡¯t you?¡± A strange pressure built in my chest. I had. Not just in the village, not just in passing. I had seen her in glimpses, in flashes just last night. My voice was hoarse when I spoke. ¡°Not in person, no. But I know you from Elias. We hunted a large boar for you.¡± Marwen gave the smallest nod. ¡°And now he is a prisoner in Drakewall. I don¡¯t think I need to explain exactly why.¡± The words landed like a stone in my stomach. A prisoner. And we were here, alive, because of her. Karin shifted beside me, her hands curled into fists. ¡°Why did you help us?¡± Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon. Marwen¡¯s gaze flickered to her. Then, back to me. ¡°Because I have been waiting for you.¡± A chill scraped down my spine. She stirred the pot again, the scent thickening, settling deep into my lungs. ¡°Eat first,¡± she said. ¡°Then, I¡¯ll tell you everything.¡± I wasn¡¯t sure if I wanted to hear it. But I knew I had no choice. ¡ª---- We ate in silence. The boar stew was thick, dark, bitter in a way that sat heavy on my tongue. It warmed my chest, but the aftertaste clung to my throat like damp earth. Karin grimaced at her first bite but didn¡¯t complain. We both knew we needed the strength. Marwen didn¡¯t eat. She sat by the fire, watching us with a patience that made my skin crawl, like she could wait forever if she had to. When the bowls were empty, she set them aside. Then, she broke the silence. ¡°I did not find you by chance last night,¡± she said. ¡°I have been watching. Waiting.¡± Her gaze settled on me. ¡°You are Veyrn. I know that Elias had told you the truth. But more than that, you are Thaneborn.¡± The fire crackled. The trees swayed slightly in the wind. Karin shifted. ¡°Thaneborn?¡± Marwen inclined her head, her gold-flecked eyes unblinking. ¡°The oldest bloodline of the Veyrn. The Thaneborn were the only ones who could kill with strong emotion alone. The only ones who could raise the dead beyond what any other necromancer could dream.¡± She continued on before I could speak. ¡°The Thaneborn were the only Veyrn who could see the colors of sound. A voice reveals more than words alone. It shows the shape of a soul. The heart of a person, before they even know themselves.¡± I swallowed, my throat tight, heartbeat drumming in my ears. Marwen¡¯s gaze held mine, steady and knowing. The firelight caught in her gold-flecked eyes, making them gleam. ¡°You¡¯ve seen them, haven¡¯t you? The colors in other people¡¯s voices. In my voice.¡± My breath hitched. So that was why. ¡°The kings of the Veyrn,¡± she continued, her voice quieter now, ¡°could only be born from the Thaneborn. Your ancestors were rulers, Kael. Kings and queens, each one carrying the weight of their people¡¯s survival.¡± The words landed like stones in my chest. Kings. Queens. Rulers. My ancestors. Me. A hollow feeling swept through me. I barely remembered my past, yet here Marwen was, speaking as if my existence meant something greater than I had ever dared believe. As if I had been saved for a reason. The fire crackled between us, sending up a swirl of smoke. I stared at the flames, at the shifting embers, feeling the weight of it settle deep in my bones. If what she said was true, then everything I thought I was, everything I thought my life would be, had already been decided long before I had a choice. Karin was staring at me now, something unreadable in her expression. ¡°The Veyrn never ruled,¡± she said quietly. ¡°They kept to themselves.¡± Marwen hummed, almost amused. ¡°Is that what they say in the cities? That the Veyrn were meek? That they never held power?¡± Karin¡¯s fingers curled against her knees. ¡°That¡¯s what the soldiers told us. The lords. The king himself. They said the Veyrn¡ª¡± She stopped. Exhaled sharply. ¡°They said the Veyrn started the war.¡± Marwen¡¯s gaze was sharp. ¡°And do you believe them?¡± Karin hesitated. Then, after a moment, she shook her head. ¡°I don¡¯t know what to believe anymore.¡± Silence settled between us. The fire crackled, casting flickering shadows across the trees. I cleared my throat. ¡°You knew Elias, didn¡¯t you?¡± Marwen¡¯s gaze softened, just a little. ¡°I did.¡± My chest tightened. ¡°You let us hunt for you. You made those pills to make me look like anyone else. You¡ª¡± My voice caught. ¡°You were just there. In the village. Why?¡± Marwen exhaled slowly. ¡°Because I was waiting for you to realize your power.¡± Karin¡¯s brow furrowed. ¡°You mean¡ªyou were hiding there, with the humans?¡± Marwen nodded. ¡°A spell can make a woman old, unassuming, easily forgotten. Is that any wonder, now that you know that I created those pills? The best way to gather knowledge is to blend in with those who have it.¡± A pit formed in my stomach. ¡°So you were spying.¡± Marwen tilted her head, her expression unreadable. ¡°Believe what you want,¡± she said evenly. ¡°I needed to see how this war would unfold. To know what would come after. ¡°So I transformed myself into someone no human would like to see: an old, odd witch lurking on the fringes of society. Someone unsettling enough to keep people away, save for the desperate and the foolish.¡± The firelight cast flickering shadows across her face as she continued, her voice steady. ¡°I let them believe I was bitter, that I despised the Veyrn as much as they did. A lie woven carefully enough to keep suspicion off me.¡± Her golden eyes met mine, sharp and unyielding. ¡°But more than that, I needed to find the last Veyrn before the wrong hands did.¡± The fire crackled between us, casting shifting shadows across her face. She had known. Not just that someone had survived, but that it would be me. My chest tightened. And the wrong hands¡­? ¡°There were once five great tribes,¡± Marwen said, her voice quiet but steady. ¡°They stood with the Veyrn. They fought for them. And when the humans burned the world, they burned with it.¡± The fire flickered, light dancing in her gold-flecked eyes. ¡°The Vaelryn, who rode the winds and soared higher than any arrow could reach. The Daevrin, who slipped into darkness like mist, unseen, untouchable. The Skorren, whose very skin turned to stone, making them near unbreakable. The Vashari, who glimpsed what was to come, warning of dangers before they arrived.¡± She exhaled, her gaze heavy with something unreadable. ¡°And my people¡ªthe Sylvren. We could change our forms, become something else entirely.¡± Marwen¡¯s gaze didn¡¯t waver. ¡°And all of us served the Veyrn for the last five thousand years. Long before any human king. Long before the humans massacred each tribe, leaving the Veyrn to die last.¡± The words settled like stones in my chest. Five thousand years. Five entire civilizations, wiped from the world. I felt every year of those centuries weighing heavier on my shoulders as each second passed. I held my legs tight to my chest, feeling my fingers shake. Karin swallowed hard. Her fingers dug into her sleeves. ¡°All of those tribes are gone?¡± she asked, her voice small. Marwen¡¯s lips pressed together. ¡°Not all.¡± A breeze stirred through the trees. A rustle, a whisper of movement beyond the clearing. ¡°There are survivors,¡± Marwen said. ¡°There¡¯s three of them. Just like me, they all hold powers the humans wanted to extinguish forever. And they, too, have been waiting.¡± A chill crept down my spine. ¡°For me?¡± Her gaze didn¡¯t waver. ¡°For their prince.¡± The word lodged in my throat, foreign and wrong. But I couldn¡¯t look away. ¡°They have waited in the shadows,¡± she continued, her voice quiet but firm. ¡°Surviving on vengeance. Biding their time for the day they could rise again, for the day they could strike back against those who tried to erase them. The humans of Drakewall. Every human who sought to bring them to extinction.¡± I swallowed hard. ¡°They still believe, as their ancestors did, that only the Veyrn can lead them,¡± she said. ¡°That only you can give them justice.¡± The fire crackled between us, but the weight of her words was heavier than the silence that followed. ¡°You must trust them,¡± Marwen pressed. ¡°Just as they will trust you. They will help you save Elias from Drakewall. But you must be their prince. Their leader.¡± ¡°To fight back,¡± I said, my voice barely above a whisper. Marwen¡¯s gold-flecked eyes gleamed in the firelight. ¡°To take back what was stolen. To end Lord Desivynir¡¯s reign before he ends what little of our kind remains.¡± The flames flickered, shadows dancing across her face. ¡°You¡¯ll meet them soon enough,¡± she added finally. The wind shifted. Karin tensed beside me. I turned, scanning the dark gaps between the trees, feeling the presence there. The weight of something unseen. Survivors. I didn¡¯t know whether to be relieved or afraid. Then, Karin inhaled sharply. I turned back to her. ¡°What?¡± Karin didn¡¯t answer. She was staring at her arm, fingers hovering over where the bruises from last night had been. I followed her gaze. Her wounds¡ª They were gone. Not just scabbed over. Not just fading. Completely healed, as if they had never been there at all. My stomach twisted. She met my eyes then, wide with fear and uncertainty. But she didn¡¯t say anything. And for the first time since waking in this clearing, I realized how little I truly knew. 15. Remnants of A Forgotten Past Kael The trees press in tighter as we follow Marwen deeper into Deepwood. The last slivers of sunlight drip through the branches, casting the world in hues of gold and rust. Shadows stretch long across the forest floor, twisting like grasping fingers. The air is thick here. The smell of damp earth and pine fills my nose and thoughts. This Deepwood is unnervingly silent. No birdsong, no rustling in the undergrowth, no distant crack of hooves against earth. Just the crunch of our footsteps, too loud in the hush that surrounds us. Karin walks beside me, silent, watchful. Ahead, Marwen moves like she was born from the forest itself, her steps light, effortless. She doesn¡¯t need to slow down for us¡ªshe does it anyway. ¡°How much farther?¡± I ask, my voice low. Marwen glances back. ¡°Not long now.¡± I steal a glance at Karin. Her arms are locked across her chest, shoulders drawn in tight, as if bracing for a blow she can¡¯t see. She keeps her distance from Marwen, every step measured, hesitant. I could feel the tension emanating off her. It¡¯s coiled like a wire, waiting for the snap. Marwen keeps moving ahead, her back to us, weaving effortlessly through the trees. The moment she¡¯s a few paces out of earshot, Karin leans in. ¡°I don¡¯t trust her,¡± she whispers, her voice thin, stretched tight. ¡°She helped us, but¡­ why?¡± I glance at Marwen. She doesn¡¯t look back. ¡°I¡¯m a prince, apparently,¡± I whisper, flat, almost flippant. But the words settle like stones in my gut. Karin shakes her head. ¡°Sure, but what about me?¡± Her arms draw tighter around herself. ¡°She could¡¯ve let me die in that carriage, but she didn¡¯t. Why?¡± I don¡¯t have an answer for that. ¡°She scares me, Kael,¡± she admits, so quietly I almost don¡¯t hear it. I don¡¯t know what to say to that, either. Because she scares me, too. Marwen¡¯s golden eyes flicker back to us, catching the dim light. I open my mouth, hesitation curling at the edges of my words. ¡°How much farther?¡± My voice is quiet, steady. ¡°Not long now,¡± she says, turning forward again. She¡¯s been vague on the details, careful with her words. But we already know what waits ahead¡ªa hidden camp, three survivors. ¡°You said you¡¯ve been bringing them supplies,¡± I say. ¡°For how long?¡± ¡°Since the war ended,¡± she replies. ¡°Food. Medicine. News.¡± ¡°And they just stayed here?¡± Karin¡¯s voice is edged with skepticism. ¡°All this time?¡± Marwen exhales through her nose. ¡°Where else would they go?¡± The question lingers. I already know the answer. The same reason we¡¯re running. There is nowhere else. Still, the thought sits uneasily in my chest. ¡°And now they¡¯re ready?¡± Marwen doesn¡¯t hesitate. ¡°They¡¯ve been ready.¡± She looks back at us. ¡°And what about you?¡± Marwen asks, her golden eyes piercing through me once more. ¡°Are you ready?¡± The cold weight in my stomach turns to stone. I don¡¯t answer. Ready. No. I am far from it. I don¡¯t want to fight with anger curling in my gut, don¡¯t want to wield my power with blood boiling in my veins. I don¡¯t want to kill with my emotions again. I don¡¯t want to raise the dead again. We walk in silence after that, the forest stretching taller, darker around us. Then, without warning, the trees part. The clearing is bigger than I expected, tucked away beneath towering trees whose thick branches stretch overhead, forming a dense canopy. The air is heavy with the scent of damp earth and woodsmoke, the quiet pressing in around us. Four canvas tents stand in the clearing, their fabric worn and weathered. A soft yellow glow seeps from within each light, casting faint light against the growing darkness around us. The largest tent is open just enough to show wooden chairs and a table inside. At the center of it all sits a fire pit, ringed with smooth, blackened stones. There¡¯s no fire this time, but the smell of burnt wood lingers, as if it was burning not long ago. And beside it, waiting, stand three figures. They don¡¯t move. They don¡¯t speak. But the moment we step into the clearing, their eyes lock onto me. Marwen steps forward, her voice calm but firm. "Liora. Rowan. Torren." She motions toward me. "This is Prince Kael Thaneborn." The three figures remain still, their gazes unreadable. Then, the first of them steps forward, and the weight of her presence alone makes my chest tighten. A young woman stands by the fire pit. Unlike Marwen, she looks remarkably young, maybe just a few years older than me. The sunset casts a faint glow around us, but the light doesn¡¯t quite reach her,like even fire knows better than to get too close. Her black eyes sweep over me, sharp and measuring, like she¡¯s taking me apart piece by piece. Strands of short, dark hair fall unevenly from beneath the hood of her cloak, framing high cheekbones and a mouth set in something close to disapproval. Her dark clothes are wrapped tightly around her: layers of dark fabric strapped to her slim body, belts and buckles securing weapons I can¡¯t see but know are there. Three swords rest against her back, hilts wrapped in worn leather. The steel glints faintly in the low light. Red accents run through her outfit, like dried blood on black cloth. She stares at me like a snake would eye its prey. I gulp hard, immediately understanding why she survived. Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit. Marwen¡¯s voice is steady as she speaks. ¡°Liora is Daevrin. Or what¡¯s left of them.¡± I glance at her, but Marwen keeps her gaze on the woman before us. ¡°The Daevrin were the first to fall,¡± she continues. ¡°Slaughtered before they even saw the war coming. Now, only a handful remain, scattered across the kingdom, hiding in whatever ways they can.¡± Liora watches me, unblinking. ¡°She survived through me,¡± Marwen says. ¡°I wove her into different skins, let her shift when she needed to disappear. But the body isn¡¯t meant to hold too many faces. A sickness took root in her, and she chose to remain as she is.¡± Liora tilts her head, a ghost of a smirk playing at her lips. ¡°I think I preferred being someone else,¡± she muses, her voice curling through the air in dark maroon¡ªalmost black, like dried blood. Then she twirls a finger through the air. The shadows around us from the setting sun suddenly begin to coil like living things. Karin stiffens beside me. My own breath stills as I watch them slither across the ground, stretching, shifting, until Liora lowers her hand and they settle once more. ¡°The Daevrin didn¡¯t just serve the Thaneborn,¡± Marwen continues. ¡°They were their closest allies. Shadows to the Veyrn¡¯s power. Assassins, spies, bound together in war, in council, in blood.¡± Liora¡¯s gaze flicks over me, slow, measuring. ¡°And now, here you are,¡± she drawls. ¡°A Veyrn prince, back from the dead.¡± She takes a step forward, angled just slightly, like she¡¯s always ready to strike. Liora steps forward, her movements slow, deliberate¡ªlike a blade sliding from its sheath. There¡¯s something almost playful in the way she carries herself, a kind of dangerous ease that makes my stomach tighten. ¡°Tell me, princeling,¡± she purrs, the word rolling off her tongue like she¡¯s amused by it. ¡°Are you really the one we¡¯ve been waiting for?¡± Her gaze drags over me, lingering just long enough to make my skin crawl. She doesn¡¯t just look¡ªshe studies, peels me apart with her eyes as if she¡¯s already figured out all my weaknesses and is deciding which one to sink her knife into first. ¡°Kael, right? Prince Kael?¡± she muses, circling slightly, voice as smooth as silk pulled taut. ¡°Let me tell you something. Blood alone doesn¡¯t make you strong. The rest of your kind burned, and the world kept turning.¡± She tilts her head, a slow, knowing smirk curling at the edge of her lips. ¡°So tell me, princeling: what makes you so special?¡± I force myself to hold her gaze, but my pulse hammers against my ribs. ¡°How does a boy, even one with Thaneborn blood,¡± she murmurs, stepping just close enough to unnerve me, ¡°intend to finish what they couldn¡¯t?¡± The second figure clears his throat, cutting through the tension with effortless ease. "Alright, Liora, let¡¯s not scare the princeling off just yet," he says, his voice unfurling in dark green. "Besides¡­" He tilts his head, appraising me with a lopsided smirk, his left hand on his waist. "He might still be a little too young to grasp just how deep he''s in." Liora scoffs but doesn¡¯t argue. Marwen gestures toward him. "Rowan of tribe Vaelyrn." Rowan steps forward with a fluid ease, tilting his head as if already sizing me up. His dark brown hair is pulled into a loose ponytail, strands falling free around a tanned face that looks like he¡¯s one second away from telling a sarcastic joke. The fur lining his cloak shifts as he moves, making him seem both regal and rugged at once, though the well-worn leather of his doublet tells me he¡¯s spent more time in the field than in any grand hall. With a sweeping, exaggerated bow, he smirks. ¡°At your service,¡± he drawls, voice carrying just enough humor to sound almost sincere. But there¡¯s something sharp in his eyes, something watchful beneath the charm. He¡¯s testing me. Just like Liora, only with a lighter touch. "You¡¯ve heard of us, haven¡¯t you?¡± Rowan says, his gaze steady, amused, but not careless. ¡°We were called windcallers. We took flight like birds, patrolling the skies with our powers and our gear.¡± His smirk deepens, but there¡¯s a weight behind it, something testing. ¡°We were the eyes of the Veyrn. We built the machines that let us soar, and in return, your people made sure we never fell.¡± His voice dips, just slightly. ¡°Until, of course, we did.¡± I swallow hard. He exhales through his nose, considering me. "So tell me, princeling: how does an amnesiac Veyrn boy plan to lead us? Because from where I stand, you''ve got a hell of a gap to fill." My stomach tightens. They know. Somehow, they already know I don¡¯t remember. And worse, that just makes me look even more useless. Marwen shifts her attention to the last figure, her voice steady. ¡°And finally, this is Torren of tribe Skorren.¡± The third figure, an absolute giant of a man, steps forward, his heavy boots crunching against the dirt. He¡¯s built like a fortress. Broad, solid, every inch of him honed for war. His armor is dark, mixed with leather and metal, adorned with bone-like designs that make him look sculpted from the earth itself. A tan cloth drapes from his waist, moving slightly with each step. His head is shaved save for a short strip of dark hair, and his face is set in a grim, unwavering expression. I had no doubt that this man has seen more than enough of true, actual war. ¡°The Skorren,¡± Marwen continues, ¡°were the shield of the Veyrn. They could harden their bodies like stone, becoming unstoppable in battle. It made them invaluable soldiers.¡± She pauses. ¡°But their gift had limits. They could only sustain it for an hour before their strength faltered. And in the end, they fell like the rest.¡± Torren doesn¡¯t hesitate. He moves with purpose, stopping in front of me before bowing deep, bending his large waist. ¡°My lord,¡± he says, his dark brown-colored voice deep, unwavering. ¡°I swear my blade and my life to you. The Skorren have always served the Veyrn, and I will not break that vow.¡± I stare at him, stunned. Liora lets out a quiet scoff, and Rowan snorts, crossing his arms. ¡°Oh, that¡¯s rich,¡± Rowan mutters under his breath. Liora tilts her head, unimpressed. ¡°That was fast.¡± Torren doesn¡¯t even flinch. He stays where he is, head bowed, waiting for my response. I shift uncomfortably, the weight of Torren¡¯s unwavering devotion pressing down on me. It feels wrong¡ªlike I haven¡¯t earned it, like I don¡¯t deserve it. ¡°Torren, sir, you don¡¯t have to do that,¡± I say, rubbing the back of my neck. ¡°I don¡¯t want anyone bowing to me. If we¡¯re going to do this, we do it together¡­.as equals.¡± Torren straightens himself up instantly, his expression unreadable. He doesn¡¯t argue, but he doesn¡¯t move either. Behind him, Rowan exhales sharply, shaking his head. ¡°Well, isn¡¯t that nice?¡± he says, his smirk returning, but it doesn¡¯t quite reach his eyes. ¡°An equal, huh? That¡¯s a bold stance, princeling.¡± Liora crosses her arms, unimpressed. ¡°Admirable,¡± she says, voice flat, ¡°but you might be the only one here who believes it.¡± Their gazes linger on me: assessing, waiting, expecting me to crack under the weight of it all. Marwen steps forward before I can say anything else, her tone leaving no room for argument. ¡°Enough.¡± She looks at each of them in turn, sharp and steady. ¡°From this moment on, we work together,¡± she declares, her voice steady, unyielding. ¡°We have two weeks¡ªand only two weeks¡ªto strengthen each other, to sharpen our skills, and to prepare for what¡¯s ahead. We will not just slip into Drakewall like thieves. We will strike hard, tear through their defenses, and leave them reeling. We will remind the humans of the strength of our tribes. And we will save the human who kept Prince Kael alive.¡± My stomach twists. I don¡¯t care about chaos. I don¡¯t care about making a statement. I just want Elias back. I open my mouth to say as much, but Marwen doesn''t give me the chance. ¡°You may not like it,¡± she cuts in sharply, as if reading my thoughts. ¡°But war does not wait for those who hesitate. If we do this, we do it right. And we do it together.¡± Rowan hums under his breath, amused. Liora nods, satisfied. Torren¡¯s expression remains unreadable. I feel the weight of it all pressing down on me. Two weeks. Two weeks to become something I don¡¯t know if I can be. Her gaze flickers to me. ¡°And in doing all of this, we will also strengthen ourselves. Not just our powers, but our fighting and teamwork skills. Each of us has lost something, but we will not remain broken.¡± I open my mouth, aching to tell them that I don¡¯t want to rely on my necromancy, that I¡¯d rather train my physical skills instead. But then, without a word, Marwen steps beside Liora, curls her right hand into a fist, and strikes it firmly against her chest. She drops to one knee, head bowed, eyes fixed on the ground. My breath catches. Without hesitation, the others follow. Torren kneels in the same way Marwen did, head bowed in complete deference. Rowan follows suit in silence, his usual smirk nowhere to be seen, his expression unreadable. Liora hesitates for just a second, then follows, her movements slow, deliberate. Beside me, Karin looks at me, wide-eyed, awestruck. I barely feel the night air. I swallow hard, the sight twisting something deep inside me. All four of them, kneeling before me. Like loyal soldiers to their king.