Kael
Two weeks.
Two weeks to become strong enough to save Elias. Two weeks to train with warriors who have spent their lives honing their skills while I had only just learned mine existed.
Marwen doesn't waste time. As the first light of dawn filters through the thick canopy of Deepwood, she gathers us in a clearing deep within the ruins where we've made our camp.
I worried about leaving Karin alone, but Marwen had woven a spell over the camp, a barrier so seamless it bent the air itself. No one would find her.
And now, she slept soundly, curled beneath the furs in Marwen's tent as if she were still in the village, safe and untouched.
Marwen tells me more about it as we walk through the ruins. This place is older than the war, she says, older than the fall of the Veyrn.
Once, it was a Veyrn stronghold, an outpost carved from stone and magic, a place where my ancestors once stood. Now, it is little more than a grave.
The ruins rise around us like the skeletal remains of something long forgotten. Jagged stone walls, cracked and half-swallowed by vines, stand as the last defiant remnants of what was once a mighty fortress.
Towering pillars, broken and weathered by time, reach toward the sky like grasping fingers.
Deep in a moss-covered stone at the center of the ruins, a sigil is etched into the crumbling rock. A deep purple crest darkened further by time, its edges softened by creeping vines.
At its center, a black wolf tilts its head toward a full moon, frozen mid-howl. The sight of it sends a strange shiver through me, like something ancient stirring in my bones. I don't recognize it, but something in me does.
Marwen steps beside me, her voice quiet but firm. "Your family's sigil," she says. "The mark of the Veyrn."
The moment she says it, I feel it—like the earth itself is holding its breath, waiting for something.
"Starting from today, we will train as a unit in this spot," Marwen's voice cuts through my reverie. "We sharpen our strengths and expose our weaknesses. We learn to fight together. And most of all, we push past our limits."
Her gaze snaps to me, sharp as a blade. "Especially you, Prince Kael."
A scoff from Liora. Rowan smirks, arms crossed. Torren is silent, unreadable, but there's something in the way he stands. Anticipation, maybe.
I swallow hard. If this is how I can best save Elias, then I have no time to spare.
Marwen moves first.
One moment, she's standing before me. The next, she twists, warping as though her body is made of liquid shadow.
Bones lengthen, muscles coil, dark fur rippling across her skin in waves. Her form shifts, stretching, until the thing before me is no longer human but something monstrous, something ready to hunt.
Then she lunges.
I barely have time to react before she's on me. Instinct kicks in. I throw my arms up, bracing for impact.
Claws flash through the air—too fast, too sharp—raking across my forearm before I can fully block.
Pain flares, white-hot, and I stagger back. My footing falters. Marwen doesn't stop. She pivots, sweeping my legs out from under me in a single fluid motion. The whole time, her golden eyes were locked on me, watching every move.
I hit the ground hard, breath punched from my lungs.
"Too slow," Marwen says coolly, already shifting back, fur melting away as she straightens to her full height. She looks down at me, unimpressed. "You're holding back."
I grit my teeth and push myself up. "I only had a week to train with Elias. I—"
Marwen cuts me off. "And you think that's an excuse?" Her voice is sharper now. "You are Thaneborn. There is a warrior inside you, Kael, whether you want to see it or not. It's time to wake him up."
Liora lets out an irritated sigh, arms folded. "At this rate, he's going to get us all killed."
Rowan whistles low, shaking his head. "Gonna take more than excuses to survive Drakewall, princeling."
Torren steps forward, offering me a hand. I hesitate for only a moment before taking it. His grip is steady and firm. As he pulls me up, he bows slightly, making me feel embarrassed all over again.
I barely have time to process it before Marwen's voice snaps my focus back.
"Again."
A sigh escapes me as I prepare myself.
In seconds Marwen had me pinned down once more, knocking all the air out of me.
—----
If I thought Marwen was relentless, then I had completely underestimated Liora.
She doesn't charge like Marwen. She doesn't need to. One moment she's standing before me, the next she's gone, slipping into the ruins' long, creeping shadows as if she was never there.
The air chills. The dark stretches unnaturally long, curling at the edges of my vision.
I tense.
Where—?
Something cold brushes the back of my neck.
I whirl around, heart hammering, but the moment I move, the ground beneath me shifts. Shadows coil around my ankles like living hands, yanking me back before I can react.
My feet skid against the dirt as I struggle against them, but they only tighten, pulling me down, dragging me into the blackened stone beneath me.
A whisper in my ear. "Too slow."
I barely see the glint of her dagger before it presses against my throat. Liora is behind me now, half-formed from the darkness, her smirk the only clear thing in the gloom.
"You can't even sense them, can you?" Her dark maroon voice drips with mockery. "The shadows. The darkness. The same thing you should be able to command."
The shadows slither around me, climbing higher, tightening like snakes. A sudden force yanks me forward, then another drags me back.
I grit my teeth as I fight against them, but it's like wrestling the wind. Each shadow was shapeless, untouchable.
Liora hums thoughtfully, tapping her shadowy blade on her lips. "You know, it'd be easy," she muses. "There's a bird, right there on that branch.
All you have to do is snap its neck, reanimate its corpse, and use it against me." Her tone is light, almost encouraging. "Wouldn't even take much effort, I'd bet. Just a little reach into that part of you you're so afraid of."
I stiffen, my breath coming sharp and uneven.
She leans in, just enough that I can see the glint in her eyes. "The Veyrn and the Daevrin were so close once. Ever wonder why?"
She twists the dagger in her hand, letting its shadowy form shift like liquid. "Because our powers were near identical. One couldn't exist without the other. My people killed any enemy using their shadows, and yours reanimated them to kill even more. A perfect balance."
A smirk curves her lips. "Maybe that's why you're so afraid. Because deep down, you know that whatever the Daevrin were... the Veyrn weren't so different."
I grit my teeth, straining against the shadows as they tighten again.
Liora sighs. Then, just as easily as they had ensnared me, the shadows unravel. I stumble forward, gasping, my limbs aching from the fight.
She steps back, the darkness peeling away from her like mist at dawn. "No wonder you refuse to use your necromancy," she says, almost lazily. "You're terrified of what it makes you."
"I'm not afraid," I grit out.
Liora throws her head back and laughs. A sharp, cutting sound that slithers through the air like a blade against stone.
It's not just amusement; it's mockery, cruel and knowing, like she's already won. Like she sees straight through me, peeling back every layer of my resistance with nothing but the truth I refuse to face.
Her dark maroon voice drips with scorn. "Oh, Kael," she purrs between chuckles, wiping a nonexistent tear from the corner of her eye. "You really think you can lie to me?"
She steps closer, her smirk widening, shadows coiling at her feet. "You reek of fear."
—------
Rowan waits until my limbs shake from Marwen's relentless strikes and Liora's suffocating shadows, until my breath is ragged, my body heavy, and my patience worn thin.
Then he steps forward, shaking out his arms like this is all just warm-up to him. Like he's been waiting for his turn at me.
"Your turn?" I ask, hardly catching my breath, pain flowing all through me.
"Afraid so." He flashes me a grin, but there's something sharp behind it. There's a cocky lightness in the way he moves, shifting on the balls of his feet, a dancer preparing to spring.
He's coiled energy, barely restrained, a storm waiting to be unleashed.
Then, with a smirk, he takes off.
Wind surges beneath him, lifting him effortlessly into the air. His fur-lined cloak flares behind him like wings, catching the momentum as he ascends higher, circling above me like a bird of prey.
His dark green voice hums with amusement as he calls down, "You're already looking a little winded, princeling. Should I give you a moment?"
I clench my fists.
He dives.
A streak of movement, then pain. He was nothing but a blur when a sharp impact slams into my shoulder, knocking me sideways before I even register he's hit me.
I barely manage to catch myself before he's airborne again, rising effortlessly out of reach.
Rowan laughs. "You're supposed to stop me, not just stand there and look pretty."
I grind my teeth.
He dives again, this time from the left. I twist, expecting it, preparing for it, but it doesn't matter.
He's too fast. His boot slams into my ribs, stealing my breath, sending me stumbling. I don't even get a chance to recover before he's gone again, a streak of wind vanishing into the sky.
I look up, scanning for him, but he's just a blur against the towering ruins. My pulse pounds in my ears. My muscles ache. He's not even breaking a sweat.
Another gust surges from behind. I spin, but it's too late.
Rowan's already there, dropping down like a shadow, twisting midair to plant a foot against my back. The force shoves me forward, and before I can recover, the wind roars beneath me, lifting me clean off the ground.
I flail pathetically, then gravity takes over.
The ground rushes up fast in front of me. I barely manage to roll before impact, but the hit still rattles my bones, knocking the air from my lungs.
Dirt clings to my skin, my ears ringing from the fall. I push myself up, coughing.
Rowan lands lightly a few feet away, graceful as ever, looking down at me with mock sympathy. "Oof." He winces theatrically. "That was unfortunate."
I glare at him.
He grins. "You almost had me, though. I really thought you were going to—" He gestures vaguely. "You know. Fight back with necromancy. Or at least, something."
I force myself to my feet. "I'm trying."
His smirk lingers. "Try harder."
—------
By the time Torren stepped forward, the others had torn me apart.
My body is battered, my limbs aching, my lungs raw from the strain. But as Torren rolls his shoulders, loosening the tight knots in his massive frame, I know this will be something else entirely.
He's a mountain made human. Solid and immovable, carved from the same unyielding stone as the ruins around us. His dark eyes meet mine, steady. Not cruel, not mocking, just assessing.
"You've held up well," he says, voice low and even. Then, with the smallest tilt of his head, "Come, prince. Let's see what's left in you."
I square my stance, using every bit of energy left in me to stand. My knuckles ache as I tighten my fists.
Torren doesn't lunge at me like Marwen. He doesn't slither into the darkness like Liora or whip through the air like Rowan. He just moves forward.
Controlled. Measured. Inescapable.
Torren exhales slowly, and something shifts. His skin tightens, the ridges of his muscles locking into place, hardening like stone.
A subtle shimmer moves across his body, like rock settling into itself. He becomes unyielding, immovable, a force carved from the earth itself.
And he waits.
His dark eyes stay locked on mine, steady, expectant, as if daring me to move. Daring me to strike first.
I aim for his ribs, throwing everything I have into it. It's like hitting a boulder. He doesn't even flinch.
I pivot, trying to aim lower, but his arm snaps out, effortlessly catching my wrist. He twists, and pain lances through my arm as I'm forced to stagger back.
"Good try, my prince," Torren says. "Again."
I grit my teeth and charge.
This time, I aim higher, feinting left before swinging a right hook toward his jaw.
But Torren doesn't take the bait. He steps in, close, and suddenly I'm the one being thrown.
His hands move like iron shackles, seizing me and sending me sprawling onto my back in a breath-stealing crash.
The world tilts. My skull rings.
"Too aggressive," Torren says, standing over me. "You don't just throw yourself at an opponent stronger than you." He offers a hand.
Shame burns hotter than the pain. I take it, letting him pull me up, but the moment I'm steady, I mutter, "Sorry."
A sharp snigger from Rowan. "Oh, that's adorable. He's apologizing now."
Torren doesn't acknowledge it. He only nods. "Don't be sorry. Be better."
That's it. That's all he says before stepping back, waiting, letting me try again.
Something coils inside me, tight and seething.
Frustration. Humiliation. Exhaustion.
It festers beneath my ribs, a raw, ugly thing that throbs in time with every bruise, every aching muscle. They've beaten me, torn me apart, driven me into the dirt over and over again, and still, I am nothing to them. A prince with no kingdom. A fighter who can't land a single hit.
Be better.
The words dig into my skull, sharper than any blade. My breath rattles, my lungs scream, my body begs me to stay down. But I can't. I won't.
I push past the pain and lunge.
This time, I aim low. No desperate punches, no wild swings. Just pure, focused intent. My leg snaps out, a kick meant to take Torren's feet out from under him.
Then, something breaks inside me.
It surges from my chest, a cold, electric burn that coils through my veins and claws its way outward, dragging something from the pit of my soul.
It spills from me, invisible but felt, like a pulse of death itself rippling through the air.
Torren staggers.
Only slightly, but he staggers.
A sharp, rattling gasp tears from my throat. I can feel it now, the familiar dark purple light wrapping around my limbs like smoke, pressing against my skin like an unseen weight.
It crashes down deep in me, crushing the breath from my lungs, driving a white-hot spike through my skull.
My legs give out. The world tilts. The ground rises to meet me, dirt scraping my knees as my strength vanishes all at once.
Somewhere, through the thick, suffocating haze, I hear Rowan's voice, amused, smug, utterly unsurprised.
"Well, look at that. A dead bird. The princeling used his powers after all."