The first rays of Petonia's pale sun slipped through a cracked wooden shutter, brushing softly against the face of a boy already awake.
Kael Roy Lancaster sat on the edge of the small straw mattress, tying the last knot on his worn boots. The room smelled of dry bread, old wood, and childhood that had ended too soon. In the bed behind him, his younger brother Damon, and his sister Lina, were still asleep—curled against each other like pups huddled for warmth.
He turned to them and smiled faintly. Damon's arm twitched in sleep. Lina muttered something about stars and pancakes.
Kael stood, crossed the room quietly, and pulled the old patched blanket higher over their shoulders. He paused, his hand lingering on Damon's forehead. A part of him wanted to lie back down and forget the weight on his chest. But children didn't get such choices anymore—not in Hearthshade.
Not after losing everything.
He pushed open the crooked door and stepped into the cold.
---
The loading yard near the eastern gates stank of sweat, dust, and wet iron. Kael ducked between shouting men and carts full of crates, his hands already raw from yesterday's shift.
"Oi! Kid!" barked a bearded foreman with one eye. "You late again and I'll toss you into the crystal pits!"
Kael nodded silently and got to work.
For two hours, he hauled, lifted, stacked. His bones ached, his breath fogged in the morning air, and his stomach protested with every movement. But he didn't stop. Couldn't stop.
He thought of Lina, her cheeks flushed with fever last week. He thought of Damon's wide eyes whenever Kael brought home even a scrap of dried fruit.
That was worth any pain.
---
"You're gonna kill yourself at this rate."
Kael looked up. Russell stood nearby, arms crossed, holding a sack of fresh bread under one arm and a worn leather satchel under the other. The man's grey beard twitched with disapproval.
"I'm fine," Kael said, dusting off his shirt.
"You're ten."
Kael shrugged. "I'm also the oldest. That makes me in charge."
Russell handed him the bread. "And I'm in charge of reminding you you're still a kid. Don't carry the whole world, Kael."
Kael looked at the bread, then back at Russell.
"Someone has to."
---
By the time he returned home, the sun had risen high. Damon was trying to fix a broken wooden sword, and Lina was humming to herself, her small hands twirling imaginary magic into the air.
Kael divided the bread into three pieces—equal, always. Lina clapped. Damon bit his silently, watching Kael like he was measuring something in his eyes.
"I wanna be a Raider," Damon said suddenly.
Kael paused. "They don't take eight-year-olds."
"Not yet. But soon. Like Father."
Kael didn't respond right away. Instead, he sat beside his brother, pulled out the old Raider badge their father had once worn, and handed it to him.
"Being a Raider isn't about glory," Kael said. "It's about sacrifice. Pain. And sometimes…" He trailed off.
"Sometimes?"
Kael shook his head. "Sometimes, it's about surviving for others."
---
That night, as the city lights of Petonia dimmed and the wind shifted with a whisper of something ancient, Kael sat by the window, looking up at the stars.
He remembered his mother's voice. A lullaby about light that never faded.
He hummed it softly, just enough for himself.
Far beyond the gates, beyond the misty ridges, something moved in the forgotten lands.
But here, in this small home of orphans and bread crumbs, there was still a boy watching the stars.
Still dreaming.
Still standing.
Even if peace was only temporary.
---
"Kael didn't know it then, but peace never lasts in a land guarded by brokenlegends."
—