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Nathaniel's POV
The streets of Ardenfel were alive with noise. Vendors hollered at passersby, children darted between carts, and the smell of roasted chestnuts and fried dumplings clung stubbornly to the air. Lanterns swung above us, catching the evening breeze, making the shadows ripple like restless spirits.
Paige had dismissed us earlier, telling us to take a break. "Go breathe or something," she'd said, clearly frustrated after poring over the map too long. She stayed behind to rest her voice of command, but the rest of us spilled into the streets like moths to flame.
The others seemed enchanted by the chaos—Xavier darting from stall to stall like a child lost in candyland, Elisha reluctantly letting himself be tugged along, his usual frown half-hidden under that battered cloak. Darcelle, of course, looked mildly horrified at the dirt beneath her boots.
I wasn't enchanted. I was annoyed. Ardenfel was loud, messy, and stank of desperation. But still… I walked.
The Cloak Shop
I drifted into a clothing store, the bell chiming sharply behind me. The shop smelled of polished wood and new fabric. Rows of cloaks lined the walls, each more ostentatious than the last. Black cloaks with crimson embroidery. Dark wool stitched with golden runes. Some bore silver patterns like lightning bolts etched across their hems.
And then my eyes stopped on one.
A cloak with silver designs along its edges.
It looked almost identical to hers. My mother's cloak.
A strange chill ran down my spine. For a heartbeat, I was eight years old again, standing on the castle balcony, watching her leave with the raiding party. She'd thought she could conquer the unconquerable. She'd thought power alone would carve her name into history. Instead, it had carved her grave.
My jaw tightened.
I muttered under my breath, "I won't fall. I won't let your death be in vain, Mother."
I tore my gaze away and moved deeper inside.
The female attendants swarmed like flies. Their eyes followed me, lips twitching in little smiles as though silently proposing marriage. I ignored them with the same ease I'd ignore ants crawling on the floor.
Then something caught my attention.
The Hair Bells
A small display of silver hair bells.
My feet moved on their own. I lifted one delicately, the cool metal chiming softly. My mother used to buy these for me, threading them into my hair. She used to laugh and say I was born with proud, graceful steps, and she wanted to hear my presence echo wherever I went.
Her son. Her prince charming.
The memory twisted like a knife. She had adored me, yes, but she was strict—merciless even. I was whipped a hundred times for disobedience, scolded until my pride burned away. And yet… she'd been the one to hammer her lessons into me:
Be strong in mind and in heart. Know your worth. Own the world.
But she hadn't lived long enough to see if I could.
I nearly felt a tear, but I swallowed it down and placed the bells back carefully. I walked out of the store with my head high. I would not crack. Not here. Not ever.
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That Night
The walk back to the guesthouse had been uneventful. Elisha trailed behind Xavier, grumbling about money wasted on snacks. Darcelle said nothing, Paige looked exhausted, and I said even less.
When I finally reached our shared room, the sour reminder of last night's disaster returned—me, stuck with that white-haired idiot.
I opened the door.
And there he was. Sitting cross-legged on the bed like a spoiled prince, popping grapes into his mouth as though they were treasure.
I rolled my eyes, set my sword carefully on the table, pulled my cloak off, grabbed a towel, and marched into the bathroom without a word.
The hot water was a relief. Steam curled around me as I sank into the bathtub. For the first time all day, I felt my shoulders relax.
And then the door burst open.
"Elisha."
He stood there, leaning casually against the doorframe, a smirk tugging at his lips. His pale hair caught the dim light, his expression half amusement, half mockery.
I felt his eyes on me—staring far too long.
"How long," I asked coolly, "do you plan on standing there, staring?"
He scoffed, as if rehearsing the insult. "How long do you plan on bathing? Are you giving birth or something?"
I ignored him, sinking deeper into the water. But then he smirked again, probably thinking something indecent. My fists tightened.
And before I realized it, I had stood up out of sheer irritation—like last night. Water streamed down my body. His eyes widened for a fraction of a second, before he covered it with that same mocking smile.
I sat back down, my jaw tight.
"Dog," he muttered under his breath.
My glare cut through the steam. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me. First you called me weak, then worthless, then pathetic. Now a dog. You really suck at nicknames."
"You're still a dog."
He snorted and strolled into the bathroom as if he owned it, brushing past me. I turned my back, refusing to answer when he muttered something about the scars on my back.
When I was finished, I wrapped a towel around myself and stormed out. I dressed in loose pants and a shirt, drying my hair with rough strokes.
But when I looked over, there he was, sprawled on the bed, hair dripping everywhere. Every time he turned, droplets splashed my way.
I clenched my teeth. "Dry your hair, you dog."
He raised an eyebrow. "Dog again? You're really not creative, are you?"
"Shut up."
He yanked the blanket off me with a smirk.
"Who gave you the right to act this way towards me?" I snapped.
He laughed softly. "You could call me Eli, Lisha, white-hair, or charming eyes. That last one's nice."
"Dog."
I scooted away, shutting my eyes as if sleep had already taken me.
Eventually, he drifted off for real. His blanket had slipped, leaving his chest bare. I cursed under my breath and, against my better judgment, pulled the blanket over him.
"You'll catch cold, idiot."
The words slipped out like a betrayal. I immediately regretted it. Why should I care? I was here for the Heart, nothing else.
But before I could think more, a thunderous banging echoed through the halls.
BANG. BANG. BANG.
"Ardenfel guards! Open up!"
The voice was sharp and commanding.
I jolted upright. Elisha sat up too, eyes wide with the same confusion I felt.
I opened the door. Guards stormed in, their boots heavy against the wood. Before I could even ask what was happening, they grabbed Elisha, pinning him brutally to the floor.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?!" I barked. "Do you know who we are?"
The head guard snarled, "We have permission to arrest this boy."
"For what?!"
"For theft."
The word echoed in my head. Theft.
My eyes darted to Elisha. His expression twisted with anger, not guilt. But… a small part of me wavered.
He roared, "When did you ever see me stealing?! What the hell did I steal, you rotten bastards?!"
The guard slammed his hand on the table. "A spear. A double-edged spear."
"What?!" we both shouted at once.
"I did not steal anything!" Elisha spat, struggling against their grip.
"You were seen at the weapon store. You wanted to buy a spear but couldn't. No money. No shame."
For a flicker of a second, Elisha's face betrayed embarrassment. And for that flicker, I wondered—did he?
Then Xavier's voice rang down the hall. "He didn't steal anything! I was with him. We left together and went to the clothing store, then to eat, then straight here. This is just an accusation!"
Darcelle's cool voice followed, "We all know Elisha. He's reckless, but a thief? No."
The guard sneered, dragging Elisha to his feet roughly. "If you want him back, you'll come to the magistrate's office. But know this—" He leaned in close, his voice low. "The punishment for theft in Ardenfel… is death."
They dragged him away, his white hair catching the lantern light as he disappeared into the street.
I stood frozen, my fists clenched. Xavier grabbed my shoulder, whispering desperately, "Believe me, Nathaniel. He didn't do it."
Paige blocked my path, her voice steady. "We'll act tomorrow. Not tonight."
But anger was clawing at my throat.
I shouted, "What the hell do you expect me to do?! Turn into a wizard? Save him with magic? This isn't a fairy tale!" My voice cracked with frustration.
I stormed upstairs and slammed the door behind me so hard the latch rattled. For a long beat I just stood there, forehead pressed to the cool wood, listening to the hollow echo of the guard's boots fade into the night. My chest felt too tight and my hands too small to hold the anger that burned under my ribs.
It wasn't at Xavier. It wasn't at Paige. It wasn't even at the guards or the store owner. My rage folded inward until it pointed at the only place that felt weak enough to take it: me.
I wanted to tear the world apart and throw it at the magistrate's door. I wanted to run down the stairs, snatch Elisha from their hands, cut throats until Ardenfel learned not to touch what belonged to us. But one look at their faces downstairs—stern, official, the way the law leans like a blade—and I knew the truth I hated: if I moved without their permission, if I lunged and made a scene, the law here would not hesitate. They would make an example. They would hang a body to prove a point. It could kill him.
That realization hit harder than any insult. Not because I feared the guards, but because I couldn't risk his life for a show of strength. I thought of pulling him free and of the magistrate's rope. The only choice the law left me was impotence. I felt it like a physical thing — a knot of metal around my throat that tightened when I imagined Elisha dragged through court and condemned because I couldn't play the hero without becoming the villain in their story.
So I did the only thing left that didn't get him killed: I retreated into silence. I paced the room until my legs ached and finally sank to the floor by the door, back against the wood, staring at the empty bed. Anger twisted into something lonelier and duller—shame, then a cold, hollow worry. I kept asking myself the same impossible question, over and over in the low dark
I had the power and means to command armies, influence men, spend coin on empires—but not here, not without risking his life. Being powerful meant nothing if that power made him a target. The thought poisoned me. I curled my hands into the hem of my cloak and held on as if clinging could change anything. For the first time in a long time, the title and the weight it carried felt useless.
I sat there long after the lanterns in the hall had guttered and the house had quieted. Outside, Ardenfel went on. Inside, the room tasted like metal and regret. I stayed where I was until the first shallow breaths from down the corridor told me that someone else—someone stubborn, impossible—was not giving up either.
"... But why? do I... Feel so damn .. lonely all of a sudden...?"
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