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.
—----
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—"
"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."
—------
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.
—-------
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—
"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—no, 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—quiet, 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.
—-----
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—
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—faint shades of red before—darkens. Deepens. Blood red.
A blade flashes in the moonlight.
Then—
Shhkk—
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—suddenly—he'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—see it burning—deep, 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!"