Kael
The world was slipping away.
No, I was slipping away.
A crushing darkness swallowed me whole, thick and suffocating, pressing into my skin. I was floating, or falling, or something in between, my body distant, untethered.
Pain rippled through me in slow, dragging waves, dull and aching one moment, sharp as glass the next. It was everywhere, threading through my bones, weighing down my limbs, curling around my lungs.
I tried to breathe. The sound was ragged, wet. Each inhale burned, scraping through my throat like a rusted blade. Each exhale came out weaker than the last.
Am I…dying?
Voices drifted in and out, warped and distant, like they were calling to me from the other side of a vast, empty chasm. Someone was shouting my name. A girl's voice, sharp and desperate, trembling with panic. Karin.
I tried to reach for it. Tried to latch onto the sound, to drag myself back toward it. But the darkness was pulling harder, thick fingers curling around my consciousness, dragging me deeper.
Another voice: louder, rough with urgency. Torren. Arms slid under me, strong and unyielding, lifting me, but my body barely registered the movement. I was weightless. Nothing. A hollow thing, empty and fading.
And then, in the depths of that darkness, I saw him. Rowan.
A flicker of gold in the void. His body, too still, too pale, the pool of blood beneath him an ugly, yawning abyss. Marwen kneeling beside him, hands pressed to his chest, her lips moving in quick, whispered incantations.
I did that to him.
Another voice, raw and broken. Karin, sobbing.
I wanted to speak. To tell her I'm sorry. But my lips wouldn't move. My throat was too dry, my voice lost somewhere between the waking world and the abyss dragging me down.
I tried again to hold on. But the voices were growing fainter. The firelight dimming.
And the darkness was still waiting.
So I let it take me.
—---------
Karin
Kael was dying.
Or, he looked like he was.
His face was so pale it didn't even look like his anymore. The lantern light made his skin look sickly, and sweat stuck his white hair to his forehead.
His breathing was bad; really bad. Too fast, then too slow, like he couldn't decide if he wanted to keep going or just… stop.
I sat beside him, my hands squeezed into fists in my lap. They had gone numb, but I didn't let go. I couldn't. My chest felt tight, like something heavy was pressing down on it, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't breathe right.
He was still alive, But for how long?
Marwen was the first to speak. She always was.
"He's lucky," she said as she stood next to me, her voice steady, like this wasn't terrifying. As if this was just another wound, another fever, another something she could fix.
I snapped my head up to look at her, something sharp curling in my stomach.
"Lucky?" My voice broke. I hated that it broke. I hated this.
"He could have killed Rowan. He could have killed himself! Those…all those dead animals…how is that lucky?!"
Marwen didn't even flinch. She just pressed a hand to Kael's burning forehead, her fingers careful, calm.
"Yes," she said simply. "If he were any weaker, he wouldn't have survived that kind of power. The strain alone should have shattered him. But it didn't."
I swallowed. My throat was dry, my mouth tasted like dust.
"Why?" I whispered. "How?"
Marwen didn't answer right away. She just looked at Kael, searching for something under his skin, something she could see but I couldn't.
Finally, she spoke.
"Power like his... it doesn't just come from nowhere. It's instinct, yes, but it's also tied to him: his emotions, his very life force. The Thaneborn were powerful, but they were never immune to their own gifts. If they lost control..." She shook her head. "They could destroy themselves."
A shiver crawled down my spine.
I had seen that power. Felt it in the air.
The way the animal corpses had moved, their bodies twisted and wrong, their eyes staring at nothing. The way Kael's voice had sounded when he called them back, like it wasn't his voice at all. Like it wasn't even human.
I thought I had known Kael.
That new, strange boy from the village. The awkward one, the quiet one, the ghost boy.The one who wouldn't speak that night of the festival, who held my hand and smiled as we danced around the burning Veyrn. With that flower crown on his head, he looked so human.
But today…
What I saw today wasn't him.
It was something else.
Something terrifying.
Something like the Veyrn Papa always warned me about.
My heart pounded, too fast, too loud. I had grown up terrified of them. They were the monsters in Papa's stories, the ones with power so strong it burned through them, left nothing behind but ruin.
And now…
Kael was one of them.
Or maybe something even worse.
Because he had no control.
And that meant none of us were safe.
Marwen left soon after, telling me to call for her if anything changed. I nodded. I don't think I said anything.
The tent was quiet again, except for Kael's breathing. Still too shallow, still too weak. I sat there, staring at him, then slowly looked down at my hands.
They had done something before. When I had touched Kael's bruises, when I had thought about making them go away…and they had.
That hadn't been luck. It hadn't been a trick of the light.
It had been real.
My fingers curled against my palms. The air felt colder.
I could try again.
Maybe, if I just…if I focused, if I wanted it bad enough, maybe I could help. Maybe I could do something instead of just sitting here, waiting.
But…
I squeezed my eyes shut.
I didn't want to.
I didn't want to feel that strangeness again, that wrongness crawling under my skin. I didn't want to know if there was something in me, something that shouldn't be there. I didn't want to change. I didn't want to be different.
I didn't want to be like Kael.
But as I opened my eyes, as I looked at him lying there, his face twisted in pain even in sleep, I wondered.
Was my fear more important than saving his life?
—---------
Kael
I woke slowly, dragging myself up from the depths of something cold and endless. My limbs felt like lead, my throat dry, my skin feverish.
The first thing I noticed was the heaviness of the air inside the tent. It was thick with the scent of damp fabric, crushed herbs, and the metallic tang of blood. My blood. It coated my tongue, bitter and stale, making me gag when I swallowed.
Pain bloomed across my body in slow, burning pulses, radiating from somewhere deep inside me. Every inch of me felt battered, torn apart and stitched back together wrong.
I tried to move. My fingers twitched against the rough fabric of the cot. My arms ached, but the pain was dull compared to the overwhelming exhaustion pressing down on me, sinking into my bones.
It was like something inside me had been drained, emptied out, leaving nothing but a hollow shell in its place.
Beyond the tent flap, I could hear voices. Low and murmuring, hushed like they didn't want me to hear them.
Liora. Sharp and controlled. "How is he?"
Marwen's voice followed, steady as always. "Alive. Recovering. But he lost too much blood. No training for him for the rest of the week."
A pause, and I hear Liora's voice again. A little quieter this time.
"And Kael?"
Marwen hesitated.
"For now, he won't be training with the rest of you. It isn't safe."
The weight in my chest grew heavier.
A silence stretched between them, tense and unspoken. Then Torren spoke, his voice quieter than I had ever heard it.
"In all my years protecting the Veyrn, I never once saw a Thaneborn lose control of their power." A longer pause. "If he doesn't learn to control it… it will destroy him entirely."
The words settled over me like ice, sinking deep, curling around my ribs.
They were afraid of me.
And they were right to be.
Because I wasn't sure if I was afraid of myself.
Or if part of me had liked what happened.
That thought—that sick, twisting feeling in my gut—was worse than anything else.
—---------
The lantern flickered, its dim glow barely enough to push back the thick darkness coiled in the corners of Rowan's tent.
Shadows leapt and stretched across the walls, twisting over cluttered shelves and workbenches overflowing with mechanical parts, half-assembled devices, and scattered blueprints.
The place smelled of oil and burnt metal, the acrid scent mixing with the sharp tang of blood and herbs.
Gears, wires, and shattered glass littered the floor, as if a storm had torn through—a storm that had only half-settled.
Tools lay where they'd been dropped in haste, alongside a workbench cluttered with tiny, half-formed machines, their delicate parts catching the lantern light.
Strange contraptions hung from the ceiling like unfinished ideas, waiting for their creator's hands to bring them to life. It was chaos, but it was Rowan's chaos, his mind laid bare in bolts and cogs.
And there, in the center of it all, he lay.
Rowan was propped against a mound of blankets, his torso wrapped in bandages that had already darkened with old blood. His tanned arms, usually so quick, so precise, now rested limply at his sides.
His face was sickly pale, drawn tight with exhaustion, but his amber eyes flickered open the moment I stepped inside. He had been awake, waiting, like he knew I would be there.
I hesitated, my fingers curling into fists. The weight in my chest was unbearable, pressing down like something tangible, something I could sink into and never escape.
I shouldn't be here after what I did.
But I had to be.
Finally, I forced the words out.
"I'm sorry."
Rowan didn't react at first. His eyes stayed locked on mine, sharp despite the lines of pain etched into his face. The silence stretched, pulling tight like a wire about to snap.
Then, his voice—calm and steady, like he had thought this through a hundred times before speaking—cut through the air.
"I can't forgive you. Not yet."
The words struck sharp and deep, leaving something raw in their wake.
I swallowed. "I know."
His fingers twitched at his side, a flicker of movement, and I wondered if it was the pain or something else keeping him tense.
"You tried to kill me, Kael."
I flinched.
I wanted to argue, to say I hadn't been in control, that it wasn't truly me. But that would be a lie. It had been my hands, my power, my rage. There was no one else to blame.
"But," Rowan exhaled, slow and uneven, "I'm sorry, too." His voice softened, just barely. "We pushed you too hard. I pushed you too hard."
I shook my head. "You thought I was—stronger than this."
A weak chuckle escaped him, more breath than sound. "We thought you were something else. That the Thaneborn were natural warriors. That even if you'd lost your memories, something inside you would still know how to fight. How to survive."
His expression darkened, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.
"But we were wrong."
I swallowed hard. "Rowan..."
"It's not your fault, Kael. You didn't lose everything connected to your past because you were weak. We misunderstood it. Maybe the Thaneborn were never what we thought they were."
A lump formed in my throat. "Then why did you doubt me?"
Rowan hesitated, his gaze flickering over my face before dropping to the bandages wrapped tightly around his ribs. His fingers curled slightly, gripping the fabric beneath him.
"Because of the Veyrn." His voice was quieter now, almost reluctant. "Because of their leaders. Your ancestors."
I frowned.
Rowan exhaled, shaking his head. "The Veyrn never saw themselves the way the rest of us did. They called us allies, fought beside us—but deep down, they believed themselves better. Stronger. Above the rest of us. Some of their leaders hated my people, shunned my tribe despite everything we did for them. For the war. They thought the Vaelyrn were nothing more than useful weapons. Tools."
Something bitter twisted in his voice.
For a moment, I didn't know what to say.
"But that's not you," Rowan said. "You're not responsible for the faults of your ancestors. I see that now."
He met my gaze again, steady, unflinching. "You have the chance to bring back more than just the Veyrn. You can revive everything they left behind. And maybe… maybe you can erase the bad blood between us. Change the history they wrote."
A strange, heavy silence settled between us.
I forced myself to ask, "Did the Veyrn really have more enemies than allies?"
Rowan's gaze turned distant, like he was staring past me, past the tent, past the present entirely.
"The Veyrn," he murmured, "made enemies. More than allies." His voice dropped lower, heavy with something unspoken. "And, like your necromancy… the ones they struck down never stayed dead."
A chill ran through me.
I thought of the animal corpses I had called back. The way their limbs had twisted, unnatural and wrong. The way they had obeyed without question. The way the power had surged through me, cold, endless, and hungry.
For the first time, I wondered, what had the Veyrn truly left behind?
And more than that—
What had I inherited?
—---------
Morning came slow.
Pale light filtered through the canvas of Marwen's tent, washing everything in dull grey. The air inside was thick, still clinging to the fever that hadn't yet let go of me.
My body ached, a deep, dragging weight in my bones, but exhaustion refused to take me under. Sleep had never come.
I lay on my cot, staring at the tent's ceiling, following the seams in the fabric as they wove together, unraveling, twisting like the thoughts in my head. Rowan's words still echoed inside me, sinking deeper with each breath.
You have the chance to revive not just the Veyrn, but to erase the bad history and blood between them.
My hands curled into the rough blanket draped over me. The fever had faded, but the cold that settled in my chest hadn't.
The tent flap rustled, and Marwen stepped inside.
She moved without hesitation, her long cloak brushing against the floor as she crossed to me. Her face was sharper in the morning light, the streaks of gray in her dark hair catching on the dim glow.
She reached out, pressing the back of her fingers to my forehead, her touch cool against my heated skin.
A beat of silence.
"The fever's waning," she murmured. "That's good."
I didn't respond. I didn't need to. I already knew what came next.
She pulled away, folding her arms. "For now, you won't be training."
I exhaled slowly, letting the words settle like a stone in my chest.
"You need control," she continued. "Until you have it, you'll watch. You'll learn. That's all."
I clenched my jaw. I had already overheard her saying this outside the tent earlier, when she thought I was still asleep. I had expected it, but the words still grated. Still cut.
She must have noticed something shift in my expression because her voice softened. Just slightly.
"This isn't punishment, Kael. It's preparation."
A bitter laugh scraped at my throat. "For what?"
"For when you don't have the luxury of holding back."
Before I could answer, the tent flap snapped open again.
Liora strode in, her movements sharp, her dark eyes narrowed with urgency.
"There's a problem," she said, voice clipped.
Marwen was on her feet in an instant.
Liora's gaze flicked to me for only a second before turning back to Marwen. "Early this morning, I was scouting the outskirts. I overheard villagers from a town near the Deepwood border."
Something in the way she said it made my stomach turn.
"They were talking about the animals," she continued. "Almost all of them are dead."
Silence.
A heavy, suffocating weight settled over the tent.
My chest tightened.
Liora's expression was unreadable. "They said that the bodies were ravaged," she said, voice steady but edged with something sharp. "Not by predators. By magic."
She hesitated. "If they look closer, they might recognize it for what it is. Necromancy." A pause. Then, quieter, she added, "They spoke like they had seen the war. Like they remembered what the Veyrn's dead looked like when they rose."
For a fraction of a second, her eyes flickered to me again.
The breath left my lungs.
Marwen's mouth pressed into a thin line. "Do they suspect magical beings like us?"
"No. Not yet." Liora's gaze flickered, dark. "But some of them want to enter Deepwood to find the cause."
Marwen muttered a curse under her breath.
"We can't let that happen," she said. "Torren and Liora, you'll go. Make sure no one crosses the border."
I forced myself upright, my muscles protesting the movement. "I should go too."
Marwen shot me a sharp look. "No."
I ignored her. "It was my fault." The words left me before I could stop them. They felt heavier than I expected.
Marwen's jaw tightened.
I pushed forward. "Let me help."
"You're not ready."
I met her gaze, refusing to look away. "I won't fight. I'll just make sure no one gets close. I'll run as fast as I can back to the camp in case they try to fight back. That's all."
Liora had been silent until now, watching me with an expression I couldn't quite read. Cold, assessing, but not unfeeling.
Then she spoke.
"Rather than sitting around doing nothing," she said, "you should still be useful. As long as you don't lose control." She tilted her head slightly, eyes gleaming. "Or drag me down."
Marwen exhaled sharply. "This is a mistake." But after a beat, she muttered, "Fine. As long as Liora does all the fighting, if it ever comes to that."
Liora and I met each other's eyes again. For a moment, something passed between us. Something quiet, unspoken.
Then, just as quickly, her lips curled into a smirk, slipping back into her usual coy, dangerously playful self. "Leave all the fighting to me, and don't slow me down, princeling."
The words were light, teasing. But beneath the confidence, beneath the taunt, I could tell there was something else.
A warning.
As if she knew too well what it meant to let power slip beyond her grasp.