He watched her go, her figure swaying in the dusk. A flush crept up his neck—Kazu's old instincts stirring. She's your teacher, idiot, he scolded himself, shaking it off.
Home was a storm waiting to break. Veyra chopped carrots with fierce, staccato strokes, her lips a tight line. Talren sprawled by the hearth, boots off, a scroll dangling from his hand like he cared about it.
Kaelith slipped in, quiet as a shadow, but Veyra's gaze pinned him. "Training go well?"
"Yeah," he said, hopping onto a chair. "Seraphine says I'm a natural."
Talren looked up, grinning wide. "That's my boy! You'll be a mage yet—make us proud."
Veyra's knife stilled. "And then what? You'll run off to some guild, leave us behind?"
Kaelith blinked, caught off guard. "I… maybe. Not soon."
Her face softened, but worry lingered in her eyes. "You're still my little one, Kaelith. There's time."
Talren snorted, stretching. "Let him dream, Veyra. The world's not so bad."
Her glare could've cut stone. "You'd know all about the world, wouldn't you?"
Talren's grin faltered. He stood, brushing off his pants. "I'll check the goats."
The door banged shut. Veyra's knife hit the table with a clatter, her shoulders slumping.
Kaelith watched, a knot tightening in his chest. He's at it again. The hunger stirred, hot and sharp. He bit his lip, tasting copper.
"Mom," he said, voice small. "You okay?"
She turned, pasting on a smile. "I'm fine, sweetling. Just tired."
He nodded, but the lie sat heavy. I'll fix this, he swore silently. Somehow.
Night fell, thick and quiet. Talren didn't return—probably at the tavern, or tangled in someone else's sheets. Veyra's muffled sobs seeped through the walls, piercing Kaelith's sharp ears.
He lay awake, fists clenched. Bastard. He could hear Talren's heartbeat across the village—steady, smug, alive. His fangs throbbed, the hunger clawing.
Not yet, he told himself. But soon…
He needed air. Slipping from bed, he padded to the window. The twin moons—one silver, one violet—bathed the fields in eerie light. The woods called, a dark promise.
He crept outside, barefoot, silent. The village slept, save for the wind and the distant bleat of a goat. He reached his secret clearing, the old log mossy and waiting.
He sat, pulling a pebble from his pocket. Levitate. It floated, steady now, no trembling. He smirked, setting it down.
Then fire. Ignis. A flame sparked, twisting into a spiral, then a wolf, then a phoenix. Each shape held longer, fiercer, fueled by something deep.
But the hunger swelled with it, a beast pacing inside. He snuffed the flame, breathing hard. I need more.
A rustle snapped his head up. A rabbit hopped into the clearing, nose twitching, eyes glinting in the moonlight.
Its pulse thrummed in his ears—fast, fragile, alive. His mouth watered.
Just a taste, he thought, stepping closer. The rabbit froze, staring.
He crouched, hand out. It sniffed, unafraid, drawn by some instinct.
In a flash, he seized it. It squeaked, kicking, but his grip was steel.
He lifted it, fangs bared. The heartbeat pounded, a siren's call.
He bit.
Blood hit his tongue—warm, sweet, electric. Power surged, flooding his veins, his hunger purring. The rabbit stilled, its life draining into him.
He dropped it, gasping, lips stained. The hunger quieted, sated but lurking. Guilt gnawed, but the strength—the clarity—sang in his bones.
This is me, he realized. I can't run from it.
He buried the rabbit, hands unsteady, then slipped back home. The hunger slept—for now.
Morning brought a stranger. A traveler, cloaked and dusty, rode into Talsara with a scroll for the elders. Kaelith lingered in the square, watching Torvyn and the others huddle, faces tight.
Lirien appeared beside him, her braids bouncing. "Heard it's from Valtheris. Bad news."
"What kind?" he asked, his toddler lisp fading but still there.
She shrugged. "Pa says the king's dying. Won't last the season."
Kaelith's mind raced. Kingdom stuff. In Jobless Reincarnation, Rudeus's early years hinted at noble schemes and wars to come. This felt the same.
"What happens if he dies?" he pressed.
"Chaos," Lirien said, grinning. "Princes fighting, lords picking sides. Maybe war."
He nodded, unease coiling. War could reach Talsara—threaten Veyra, the village. He had to be strong enough.
Seraphine was off during training, her usual fire dimmed. She drilled him on shields, barking orders.
"Focus, Kaelith! A mage who can't defend is dead."
He wove a flame barrier, thin but solid. It shimmered, holding against her test spark.
She sighed, pinching her brow. "Sloppy, but it'll do."
"What's wrong?" he asked, dropping his hands.
She glanced at him, surprised. "Sharp for a kid."
"Heard about the king," he said.
"Yeah." She nodded. "If he goes, the kingdom splits. Guilds'll take contracts—mages too."
"You?" he asked.
She smirked. "I go where the wind—or gold—takes me."
He frowned. "You'd fight for money?"
"Everyone's got a price, kid. Money, glory, family—what's yours?"
He thought of Talren, chasing skirts. "Not that," he muttered.
"Fair," she said. "Figure it out fast—the world's moving."
They trained on, but her words stuck. He needed a reason—a real one.
That night, Talren stumbled in late, reeking of ale and cheap perfume. Veyra set his plate down with a bang, silent.
Kaelith ate quietly, the air choking. He couldn't hold it in.
"Dad," he said, voice small. "Why're you always gone?"
Talren froze, fork hovering. Veyra's head snapped up.
"Gone?" Talren chuckled, forced. "Helping friends, little man."
"Liar," Kaelith said, sharp.
Talren's eyes narrowed. "Mind your tongue, boy."
"You're hurting Mom," Kaelith pressed, hunger flaring.
Veyra gasped. "Kaelith—"
"No," he cut in, standing on his chair. "He's cheating. I know."
Talren stood, towering. "You don't understand—"
"I do," Kaelith said, steady. "I hear it. Smell it."
Talren's hand twitched, but Veyra stepped in. "Enough!"
She faced Talren, trembling. "He's right, isn't he?"
"Veyra—" Talren started.
"Out," she whispered, voice cracking. "Now."
Talren paled, then left, the door slamming. Veyra crumpled, sobbing.
Kaelith hugged her leg. "Sorry, Mom."
She held him, tears falling. "Not your fault, sweetling."
He clung to her, hunger growling. I'll protect you.
Days blurred—Talren at the tavern, Veyra working, Kaelith training. One afternoon, Seraphine paused their fire-whip lesson.
"You're sharper now," she said. "What changed?"
"Home," he muttered.
She nodded. "Family's a tangle."
"Yeah."
"Magic won't fix it," she said, soft. "But it's a door out."
"I don't want out," he said. "I want to fix it."
She smiled, bittersweet. "Good luck, kid."
He cracked the whip, slicing air. I'll find a way.
Seraphine's last day came. She handed him a leather spellbook. "Basics," she said. "Study hard."
He took it, awed. "You're leaving?"
"Capital job," she said. "Back in a year, maybe."
"I'll miss you," he blurted.
She ruffled his hair, lingering. "You'll survive, spark."
Her closeness stirred him—Kazu's ghost. She whispered, "Grow up strong. We'll see what's next."
He flushed, stepping back. "I will."
She laughed, leaving. He clutched the book, resolve hardening.
That night, alone by the hearth, Kaelith read. Veyra slept, Talren gone. The spellbook glowed in the firelight—Fireball. Flame Cloak. Inferno.