Kane
Age sixteen
The snow had fallen heavily this morning, blanketing the trees of the northern Ithradoran wilderness in a thick, unbroken white. The cold bit at my skin, but it didn't bother me. Not the way it bothered him.
"Kane," Callen huffed, his breath clouding in the crisp air. "Can we go back? I can't feel my fingers."
I glanced back at my little brother, barely thirteen, his dark hair dusted with snow, his cheeks red from the cold. He wasn't built for thisâtoo small, too soft. Our father never said it outright, but I could see the disappointment in his eyes when he looked at Callen. The Vaelrik name had no room for weakness.
I had promised him I'd make Callen stronger.
"You wanted to come," I reminded him, adjusting the grip on my training sword. "We're almost done."
He sighed but trudged forward, his boots sinking into the snow. He had insisted on following me out hereâwanted to prove himself. The academy was still years away for him, but he already knew what awaited him: pain, blood, expectation. He had looked up to me for as long as I could remember. I was his shield, his guide, his protector.
I should have been better at it.
A sharp crack split the silence, and in an instant, everything changed.
I turned, instincts screaming, but it was too late. A blur of movement burst from the treesâdark figures, swift and lethal. A glint of steel. The hiss of an arrow.
Callen gasped, stumbling backward, his small hands clutching at his chest. The shaft of an arrow protruded from his ribs, crimson blooming across the furs he wore. My heart slammed against my ribs, a raw, primal terror gripping me in a way I had never known before.
"Callen!" I lunged for him, but shadows surged between us.
Valdyr training took over. I pivoted, dodging a blade aimed at my throat, my sword already in motion. The clash of steel rang through the forest, but I barely heard it over the pounding of my pulse. Another attacker came at meâI slashed across his midsection, spinning to meet the next. I cut them down without thought, without hesitation.
But there were too many.
Another arrow whistled past me. My vision tunneled. I fought my way toward Callen, but he had fallen to his knees, blood staining the snow beneath him. His wide green eyesâeyes just like mineâfound me through the chaos, and in them, I saw something worse than pain.
I saw fear.
I broke. I tore through the last enemy between us, my blade slicing through flesh and bone. I dropped to my knees beside him, pressing my hands to the wound, desperate, frantic.
"Stay with me," I choked out, voice raw. "Just hold on."
He tried to speak, but only blood spilled past his lips. His small fingers curled weakly around my wrist.
And then, he was gone.
The last of the enemies fell, but I didn't move. The snow continued to fall, soft and indifferent, covering the boy who had followed me into the woods, believing I would keep him safe.
I had failed.
A scream tore from my throat, raw and broken. My vision blurred, my hands covered in his blood, my heart cracking apart piece by piece.
The boy I had been died that day in the snow beside my brother.
And what remained was something else entirelyâsomething cold, something ruthless. Something incapable of failing again.
By the time I walked back to the stronghold, carrying his body in my arms, I had already decided.
Never again.
I would become stronger. I would never let myself care enough to be broken like this again.
And no oneânot the academy, not my father, not the gods themselvesâwould ever hurt me like this again.