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—too 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—to 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—deep 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—if 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—I 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—just maybe—it 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—laughing, singing, celebrating—without even realizing what it means.
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—bursts 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—Thom, I hear someone call him—narrows 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—Aleksys, I hear someone call him—looks 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—a 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—too 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—heat 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—the pure, unfiltered joy of it—but 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—shoulders 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—just a little. A flicker of something beneath the quiet.
For the first time, his voice is steady when he speaks. "Okay."