"Did you... hear that?"
Tenny frowned, looking around. "Hear what?"
Kaelen's gaze lingered on the horizon, but nothing moved. The whisper was gone, as if it had never been there. He shook his head lightly. "Nothing. Must've been the wind."
Tenny shrugged and bent back to his task. "You're hearing ghosts now?" he joked, his voice light.
Kaelen forced a chuckle, though his thoughts lingered on the sound. Ghosts, maybe. Or maybe just the sun playing tricks.
But it didn't stop.
Later, as they loaded another crate, it happened again—a low murmur, almost like his name, though uncertain and faint. Kaelen straightened, his skin prickling, eyes darting to the edge of the field.
"What is it this time?" Tenny asked, glancing at him.
Kaelen swallowed, his lips parting. "You... didn't hear that?"
Tenny shook his head. "Nope. Just you and the silence."
Kaelen pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth, uncertain. He tried to laugh it off. "Maybe I need water. The heat's messing with me."
Tenny grinned. "Told you not to stay up too late thinking about work. Messes with your head."q
Kaelen gave a small nod and turned back to the crates. But his thoughts spun deeper. The whispers weren't loud, but they were clear. Like something tugging at the edge of his mind, something trying to be heard.
By midday, it happened again. A soft murmur, closer this time, almost brushing against his ear. Kaelen froze, his hands gripping the edge of the crate.
"What now?" Tenny asked, his tone playful, though his gaze flickered with curiosity.
Kaelen hesitated, then shook his head. "Just... nothing." He forced a smile. "Maybe I am hearing ghosts."
Tenny chuckled, already turning back to work. "As long as they're helping carry these crates, I don't care."
But Kaelen wasn't laughing. He couldn't shake the feeling, the strange certainty that something—someone—was whispering to him. Yet every time he turned, there was nothing. Just the dry wind and the endless stretch of cracked soil.
By evening, Kaelen said nothing more of it. He buried the thoughts deeply, convincing himself it was the exhaustion, the heat, the strain of another hard day. Yet a small thread of unease lingered, winding tight in his chest.
---
It was evening , as long shadows cast across the small dining room. The air was heavy with the aroma of spiced broth and roasted grains. Kaelen sat at the wooden table, his fingers lightly brushing the rim of his plate. His mother and father sat across from him, their faces lined with the weariness of the day's labor but softened by the comfort of a shared meal.
The scrape of a spoon against a bowl sent a sharp jolt through Kaelen's skull. His jaw clenched. Another sound—his father's slow, rhythmic chewing—thudded in his ears like hammer strikes. Even the faint clink of the cup as his mother set it down echoed harshly in his mind.
His mother, Jara, chuckled lightly at something his father said, but the sound was sharp, splitting, unbearable. Kaelen winced. He dropped his spoon, and the clatter of metal against wood rang loud in the confined space, louder than it should have been.
Jara paused, her brow creasing. "Kaelen? Is something wrong?"
Kaelen's eyes darted, his hand resting stiffly on the table. "It's... nothing. Just tired." He forced a smile, but his fingers trembled.
His father, Orin, chuckled, his voice warm and gruff. "Tired already? You're young. "You should have energy for two days' work." He reached for the bread, the scraping of the plate dragging against Kaelen's nerves like shards of glass.
Kaelen flinched. The sound was too much. Too loud. Too sharp.
Jara watched him closely, her smile fading. "You've been quiet today. Is it work? Something bothering you?"
Kaelen shook his head, his voice low. "No. Just… it's nothing, really."
But his mother wasn't convinced. She exchanged a glance with Orin.
"You're sure?" she asked gently. "If something is troubling you, you can say it. It's only us."
Kaelen hesitated, his eyes dropping to his untouched plate. How could he explain it? The way every sound dug into his skin, the way his own breath roared in his ears?
"It's nothing," he said again, firmer this time. "I think I just need rest."
Jara nodded slowly, though worry lingered in her eyes. Orin, oblivious to the tension, chuckled and leaned back in his chair. "Rest is good. We could all use more of that."
They fell back into idle chatter—talk of neighbors, of the rising cost of grain, of the weather—but Kaelen barely heard them. Every sound still felt sharp, painful. He focused on his breathing, counting each inhale, each exhale, hoping it would drown out the noise.
But the clatter of dishes, the scrape of spoons, the crunch of food—it all pulsed through him, relentless.
He pushed his plate away, his appetite lost.
"May I be excused?" he asked, his voice quiet.
Jara hesitated, then nodded. "Go rest, Kaelen. Maybe tomorrow will be better."
He stood quickly, stepping away from the table, though the sound of his chair dragging across the floor still echoed in his skull. He offered a faint, forced smile before slipping into the shadows of his room, hoping the silence there would be kinder.
But even in the quiet, the echoes followed him.
---
Later that night, when the world had fallen into uneasy sleep, Kaelen sat alone in the dark. His thoughts churned like storm clouds. Something had changed inside him, and he didn't know how or why.
He strained his ears, testing himself. The silence stretched long and empty, but beneath it, a hum—a murmur that didn't belong. He pressed his hands to his ears, but it wasn't coming from outside. It was inside him.
"We know you."
The whisper was closer this time, threading through his thoughts like smoke. His heart thudded painfully in his chest, his breath quickening.
He shot to his feet, his gaze scanning the darkness. But there was nothing. Only shadow and silence...
----
The heavy wooden doors creaked as Kato stepped into the grand hall.The air was thick with the scent of old leather and dust, and the cold walls echoed with silence. His footsteps were light but certain, though inside, uncertainty gnawed at him. He knew why he'd been summoned.
There, his father, Barasa, Son of mighty Kamau, Heir apparent of all the Kamaus sat by the fireplace, his posture composed, legs crossed, hands resting against the arms of the chair like a king seated upon a throne. The dim fire cast shadows across his face, making him seem older, sharper, more dangerous.
Nyasha his sister, tall, dark and beautiful, stood nearby, her figure leaning against the heavy oak doorframe. Arms folded, eyes watchful, her expression unreadable. She had heard the whispers, felt the tension rippling through the estate since Kato's latest disappearance.
Kato stopped a few feet away, his head held high, but his pulse quickened beneath his skin.
His father didn't look at him immediately. Instead, he stared into the flames, the firelight dancing in his eyes. When he finally spoke, his voice was calm but laced with warning.
"So." His gaze shifted slowly to meet Kato's. "You thought it wise to disgrace this family once again."
Kato swallowed but kept his voice steady. "I didn't disgrace anyone."
That earned a bitter chuckle. "Didn't you? Walking through the slums like you belong there? Speaking to the lowborn as if they were equals? You know what that looks like? Weakness. And weakness, Kato, is a stain on this family's name."
The fire cracked, filling the heavy silence.
Kato's jaw tightened, but he stood his ground. "Maybe if we stopped acting like they were beneath us, they wouldn't look at us like we're monsters."
His father's eyes narrowed slightly, a glint of warning in his gaze. "They are beneath us. That is not arrogance. It is fact. Their place is to serve. Ours is to lead. That is how it has always been. How it must be."
"And if it's wrong?" Kato pressed, his voice lower but edged with defiance. "What then?"
His father stood slowly, his towering form casting shadows across the room. The air grew heavier, the fire dimmer.
"Do you think you know better than the generations before you?" His voice didn't rise, but each word struck like steel. "Better than your grandfather, who built this empire from nothing but ash and blood? You speak of wrong as though you understand the weight of that word."
Kato's fists clenched at his sides, nails digging into his skin. "Maybe someone needs to question it. Maybe someone needs to look beyond power and pride and see what's happening to the people outside these walls."
Nyasha shifted, her arms still crossed, but her brow creased slightly. She spoke softly, her voice cutting through the heat of the argument.
"Kato," she said, "you don't understand what you're doing. What you're risking. If grandfather hears about this, it won't end with a lecture. You know how he deals with rebellion."
Kato's gaze flicked towards her, softer, almost pleading. "And what? We keep living behind these walls, pretending we're better? Pretending that their suffering has nothing to do with us?"
Nyasha sighed, her eyes heavy with conflict. "It's not about pretending. It's about survival. It's about keeping the balance that's kept this family alive for generations."
"And what if the balance is wrong?" Kato shot back, his voice rising. "What if the balance is cruelty and fear?"
Their father's hand shot up, silencing the room.
"I will not have my son speak like a fool," he said coldly. "You may think you're noble, that you're doing something righteous by visiting those slums. But you're not. You're weak. And weakness will destroy you."
Kato stepped forward, anger burning in his chest. "If wanting to help is weakness, then maybe I don't want to be strong like you."
For a moment, the room froze. The flames stilled.
Their father's eyes darkened. "You forget yourself."
"I remember exactly who I am," Kato said sharply. "And I know I don't want to be like you."
The silence that followed was louder than any shout.
Nyasha's gaze darted between them, her breath shallow. She could feel the shift in the air, the thin edge of danger. "Father…" she began, her voice soft but urgent.
But her father's voice was like stone. "You'll learn respect. You'll learn discipline." He turned sharply, moving toward the far wall where a thick rod lay beneath a heavy cloth. He pulled it free, the metal gleaming under the firelight.
Nyasha's breath hitched. "Father, no. Please."
But he shook his head. "He must learn the weight of his actions."
Kato didn't move. His heart pounded, but he didn't step back. He didn't flinch.
"If this is what it takes to make you obedient," his father said, "then so be it."
The first strike wasn't on Kato's back, but his pride. The weight of punishment wasn't just in the pain, but in knowing it came from his own blood. Yet Kato didn't cry out. Not once. Not even when his skin burned beneath the blow.
Nyasha stood frozen, her hands trembling by her sides, helpless.
When it was over, their father tossed the rod aside, as though it were nothing. His voice was calm, cold. "You'll stay in isolation for a week. No visitors. No food unless given. You'll eat humility with every breath."
Kato stood silent, trembling not with fear, but with fury. He didn't speak as his father left the room. Didn't speak as Nyasha stepped toward him, her eyes brimming with tears she wouldn't let fall.
"Kato," she whispered. "Why do you always have to fight?"
He looked at her, and in his eyes wasn't defeat, but quiet defiance. "Because someone has to."
And then he walked away, leaving the weight of legacy behind him—if only for a moment.
---
The afternoon air was heavy, thick with dust and the scent of labor. Kaelen sat on a low, crumbling stone wall, his eyes distant, following the path of a lone bird cutting across the sky. His hands rested loosely on his knees, but his shoulders were tense, as though carrying more than just the weight of the day.
Tenny stood nearby, arms crossed, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He watched Kaelen for a long moment before breaking the silence.
"You look like you're waiting for the world to end," Tenny said, voice light but probing.
Kaelen didn't look up. "Maybe I am."
Tenny huffed a small laugh, stepping closer. "Well, while you're waiting, I thought maybe you'd want to come with me."
Kaelen's gaze didn't waver. "Where?"
Tenny hesitated, then dropped his voice like they were exchanging secrets. "The storage grounds. Girls are working there today."
Kaelen's brow furrowed. "And?"
Tenny crouched next to him, lowering his voice even more. "And I thought we could go... see them. "And you know, pick a wife?" And with this he laughed louder.
Kaelen finally looked at him, "A wife? You are bearly surviving and you need a wife? Kaelen laughed out loud.
With his face expressing seriousness just as quickly as he had just expressed his laughter. "you are not serious." He muttered.
" Actually," Tenny said, tapping kaelen's shoulder. "You know what the elders said?" "Get a wife and get a life." And who knows it may be the end of my struggles," Tenny said, spreading his hands.
"Whatever," kaelen said, eyes flat. "You know the rule."
Tenny waved a hand dismissively. "Rules, rules. Always rules. It's not like we're going to touch anyone. Just looking."
Kaelen's frown deepened. "Looking is enough to get us punished if we're caught."
Tenny's grin was boyish, mischief dancing in his eyes. "If we're caught. That's a big if. We'll stay low. Just a glance, then we're gone. No one will even know."
Kaelen glanced away, jaw tight. "And why would I want to risk that?"
Tenny sighed dramatically. "Because you're bored, Kael. We both are. Day after day, it's the same. Work, eat, sleep. Work, eat, sleep. It's like we don't even exist. Just once... don't you want to do something that feels real? Something that isn't dictated by them?"
Kaelen didn't respond, but his hands curled slightly, fingers pressing into his palms.
Tenny leaned in. "It's just a moment, Kael. One small moment to feel like we have some control over our lives. We'll be careful. I swear."
Kaelen hesitated, torn. He knew better. Knew the risk. But the monotony of life, the endless routine, gnawed at him.
"And if we're caught?" Kaelen asked, voice quiet.
Tenny smirked. "Then we lie. Say we were lost. No one will question it."
Kaelen met his gaze, uncertain. "You always think lying fixes things."
Tenny shrugged, standing up. "It fixes enough." He took a few steps away, glancing over his shoulder. " Are you coming, or do you want to sit there and wait for the sky to fall?"
Kaelen knew this was going to cause them trouble. He sighed heavily, pushing himself up. "If this goes wrong, I will blame you."
Tenny's grin widened. "It won't. Trust me."
Kaelen gave him a wary look but gave in, gesturing towards Tenny, "Let's go."