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—bread, 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.
This town, 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—guards, 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—broad-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—blunt 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—that 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—the king's family at each other's throats. Someone's making a move for the throne, though no one's saying it outright yet."
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—hear 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—some 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. "Raising the dead like that. Playing with things they had no right to."
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.
----------
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—to 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—
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—how 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 were monsters," she says. "Right?"
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—oh! 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–
"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—if 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—tighter 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—something 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—a 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.