Raizen stood in the drill hall, chest heaving from the last pull-up—hands calloused rough, shirt damp with sweat, clinging cold to his skinny frame.
Two days to his tenth birthday, and six weeks of Kezess's grind had changed him—legs leaner, arms tougher, shoulders a touch broader on his kid-sized build, though his bones ached from the strain. He wiped his brow, dirt smearing across his face, and Kezess's voice slithered in, low and sharp. "Ask your father to let you go to town," he said, red eyes glinting faint in Raizen's mind, cold and prodding. "Call it your birthday gift."
Raizen blinked, breath puffing out in a shaky cloud—hesitated, boots scuffing the scratched floor, kicking up faint dust that swirled in the gray light. "Viridian?" he muttered, voice rough, doubtful, throat still raw from shouting counts. Kezess hummed, a cold edge curling in it—Raizen sighed, rolling his shoulders, stiff and sore, and trudged out, dust trailing behind him like a shadow.
The hall's sagging beams faded as he crossed the manor—stone corridors cold underfoot, torchlight flickering weak on damp walls, shadows twitching wild, stretching long and thin like they'd grab him if he slowed. He found Viridian in the study—tall, graying black hair tied tight, green eyes hard as slate, hunched over a desk cluttered with maps and ink-stained parchment, quill moving steady. Always cold—distant, like Raizen was a smudge he'd rather not see, a mistake he'd never claimed.
"Uh... father?" Raizen said, voice cracking faint, hands fidgeting at his sides—Viridian didn't look up, just scratched the quill across paper, the sound sharp, grating in the quiet.
"It's... my Birthday in two days," Raizen pressed, throat tightening, words sticking like mud. "Can I... go to... The northern town? As a gift?" His voice dipped, unsure—Viridian's quill paused, eyes flicking up, cold and flat, sizing him up like he was a stray dog begging scraps at the gate, unworthy of more than a glance.
A beat—then Viridian grunted, low, dismissive, a sound that landed heavy. "Fine," he said, voice clipped, dropping his gaze back to the maps—quill scratching again, louder now, insistent. "Take a guard. Don't make trouble." No warmth, no flicker—just cold permission, like tossing a bone to shut him up, nothing more.
Raizen nodded quick, chest loosening a fraction—then footsteps clicked sharp behind him, heels striking stone like sparks. Marchioness Teriel swept in—gray streaking her dark hair, lips tight, eyes burning bitter as she glared at Raizen, then Viridian, fury simmering in her stance.
"Town?" she snapped, voice cutting like a whip, hands clenching her skirts 'til her knuckles whitened. "You're letting him go gallivanting while we—" Viridian didn't look up, just waved a hand, brushing her off mid-sentence—her scowl deepened, jaw twitching hard, but she bit her tongue, storming past Raizen, shoulder brushing his with a sting that lingered, her cloak snapping behind her like a flag in a gale.
Kezess's voice hissed low, "What a pathetic excuse of a father. Tch." Raizen flinched—eyes darting to Viridian, a flicker of resentment tightening his chest, bitter and hot—but Viridian ignored it all, hunched over his work, Teriel's bitterness bouncing off him like rain on stone, unheeded, unacknowledged.
A small voice piped up—"Happy advanced birthday... Rai." Ryan stood in the doorway, freckles stark on his pale face, brown eyes soft—hands twisting a frayed scarf, a shy smile tugging his lips, tentative but warm.
Raizen's chest warmed, a grin starting, soft and real—then Teriel spun, snarling, "Ryan!" She grabbed his hand hard, yanking him back—his smile dropped, eyes widening with a flash of fear as she stormed off, dragging him down the hall, his boots scuffing faint protests against the stone, a fading echo.
Raizen's grin faded, resentment flaring sharper, cutting deeper—Viridian didn't blink, just kept scratching that damn quill, the sound a cold rhythm in the silence.
Raizen turned, boots thudding heavy—found Garen, the one guard who wasn't an ass, polishing a sword in the barracks.
Broad, scarred jaw, brown hair cropped short—gruff but fair, never sneered like the others, just nodded when Raizen caught his eye.
"Garen," Raizen said, voice steadying, rough edges smoothing out, "Father's letting me go to town. Come with?" Garen grunted, sheathing the blade with a soft scrape—nodded once, sharp, and grabbed his cloak, gray and patched, slinging it over his shoulder with a practiced flick.
They headed out—manor gates creaking open slow, cold wind biting Raizen's face, tugging at his damp shirt as the town sprawled ahead, a messy jumble of wood and stone hugging the riverbank, smoke curling faint from crooked chimneys.
'Why do you suddenly want to see around?" Raizen asked, voice low, glancing at the empty air—Kezess's presence prickling his skull, a cold itch he couldn't scratch.
"You'll see..." Kezess slithered back, voice cold, teasing—red eyes glinting faint in his mind, like he knew something Raizen didn't, a secret dangling just out of reach. Raizen frowned, hands shoving into his pockets, boots crunching gravel loud as they hit the outskirts—Garen trailing quiet, sword clinking soft at his hip, a steady rhythm against the wind.
The town buzzed—narrow streets winding tight, mud slick underfoot, stinking of fish and wet straw, a sour tang that stung his nose. Shacks leaned crooked, roofs patched with mossy thatch sagging low—vendors barked over rickety stalls, voices hoarse, hawking bruised apples rolling loose, smoked herring strung up, glinting oily in the dim light, bolts of rough cloth dyed muddy red flapping in the breeze.
Raizen's eyes darted—kids ran past, barefoot, splashing mud that splattered his legs, their laughs sharp and wild, cutting through the din. A blacksmith's hammer rang loud, a steady clang-clang, sparks spitting from an open forge, air thick with coal smoke—Raizen coughed hard, throat scratching raw, but kept walking, boots sinking into the muck with wet squelches, dragging heavy.
"Why here?" he muttered, dodging a cart rattling by—oxen snorting loud, wheels churning mud that splattered his pants, cold and thick, sticking in clumps.
Kezess hummed low, silent otherwise—Raizen's gut twisted, unease creeping in slow, coiling tight. Garen stayed close, eyes scanning sharp—caught a pickpocket's hand mid-reach, a skinny kid with quick fingers, twisting it back 'til he yelped loud and bolted, coins clattering free on the cobbles, glinting dull in the muck.
They hit the market square—cobbles uneven, slick with spilled ale that reeked sour, stalls packed tight, voices overlapping loud—fishwives haggling shrill over baskets of wriggling eels, a drunk slurring curses as he stumbled into a crate, a bard strumming off-key on a warped lute, strings twanging flat.
Raizen stopped—a stall caught his eye, piled chaotic with trinkets: carved wooden birds chipped at the wings, chipped clay cups stained brown, a tarnished silver chain glinting faint under a rag. He reached—fingers brushing the chain, cool and rough—then froze. A scream cut through, high and jagged—heads turned fast, stalls quieting in a ripple, the bard's lute faltering mid-note.
Down an alley—narrow, shadowed, walls leaning in—a man pinned a girl to the wall, her dress torn at the hem, hair matted with mud and sweat—his knife flashed, catching torchlight, blade nicking her arm as her pleas choked out wet, desperate.
Raizen's breath hitched—Kezess's voice slithered sharp, "See that?" Garen moved—sword half-drawn with a scrape—but Raizen lunged first, boots slipping in the mud, slamming into the man's side hard. They hit the ground—mud splashing cold, knife skittering free across the stones—Raizen's fists swung wild, cracking the man's jaw with a wet crunch, blood flecking his knuckles, warm and sticky. The girl scrambled back, sobbing loud, ragged—Garen hauled the man up, pinning his arms, growling low, "Stay down," his voice a rough edge.
Raizen stumbled back, panting hard—hands shaking, blood and mud smeared thick across his fingers, the girl's sobs echoing shrill in his ears, bouncing off the alley walls
"That's why!" Kezess said, voice cold, satisfied—red eyes glinting hard, piercing. "You've got it in you—buried deep." Raizen's chest tightened—anger flaring hot, fear knotting cold, something darker stirring low—wiping his hands on his shirt, leaving red streaks smeared jagged, staring at the man groaning in Garen's grip, blood dribbling from his split lip.
"What... what was that?" Raizen rasped, voice shaking—Garen tied the man's wrists with a cord, tight and quick, nodding to a passing guard who'd lumbered over, armor clanking. The girl bolted—disappearing into the crowd, her sobs fading fast—Raizen's stomach churned, fists still clenched, the memory of Kezess's hands—ripping guts, burning flesh—flashing too close, too real, sour in his throat.
They kept moving—town blurring now—past a butcher's stall, cleaver thunking bone with a dull crack, blood pooling dark on the block, dripping slow—past a tavern, laughter spilling loud, ale stink wafting out thick and bitter—past a beggar, hunched and coughing wet, hand trembling for coins Raizen didn't have, his wheeze cutting the air.
His legs burned—six weeks of running showing, muscles taut but heavy, boots caked with mud that cracked dry as he walked. Garen stayed quiet—cloak flapping loose, eyes sharp, scanning—Raizen's mind spun, Kezess's words gnawing deep, a cold claw in his gut.
Back at the manor gates—sun dipping low, sky bruising purple—Raizen stopped, breath puffing white in the cold, misting faint.
"You wanted me to see that?" he muttered, voice low, resentment flaring again—Viridian's cold grunt, Teriel's glare, Ryan's yanked hand all twisting tighter, a knot that wouldn't loosen.
"You'll figure it out," Kezess slithered back, cold and smug—red eyes dimming slow, leaving Raizen staring at the gates, fists tight, mud drying stiff on his skin, that spark in his gut burning hotter, sharper, than he'd admit, flickering alive.