...THE SANDSTONE MANSION...
~KIERA~
My eyes fluttered open, vision blurring in darkness. My head throbbed, my body ached, and I was in so much pain that I could barely move without feeling like my skin was being peeled off. Panic rose immediately, my pulse spiking, because I didn't recognize the room. Smooth, cream-colored sandstone walls glowed softly in the light of a fire I couldn't see, crackling somewhere in the room. My ears were ringing, getting louder and louder the more I concentrated on it. So, I didn't. I let it become white noise as I stared at a tall, vaulted ceiling, illuminated by strange floating orbs of light. They vanished as soon as I noticed them.
I didn't know how long I had been asleep. My mind struggled to place the time. The thought that I might have been unconscious for three days, or more, tightened the pit of panic in my stomach. To my right, the starry sky visible through the large glass sliding door told me it had been a while. I wanted to lose myself in the stars' brightness and quantity, to sink into their beauty for hours, and treat this all like a dream, but the pain was just too real to ignore. I wasn't dreaming. I was in a stranger's room, in a stranger's bed, and in so much pain that it hurt just to breathe.
My mind drifted, fragments of memory splintering across my thoughts: Running from Reds. Captured by that thing calling itself Cain. Forced into his yellow car. The cold leather pressing against my back… and the lake. The nightmare. I could still feel the cold, dark water against my skin. I could still feel that thing dragging me down. I knew more had happened, so much more, but the memories had already started to fade, fragments slipping through my mind like water through my fingers.
It was always like this. Even when I had been trapped in sleep for days, the nightmares never stayed in full. The fear remained, but the details dissolved, leaving gaps that my mind refused to fill. I felt my stomach twist, bile rising hot and sour, and clamped both hands over my mouth. The simple act of moving sent a wave of pain shooting through my body, sharp enough to make me flinch. It felt like my arms would fall off. I knew what was coming. I'd been through this before. But my body had nothing left to give. No food. No water. Just the dry heave of emptiness. Acid scorched my throat, burning as it clawed upward, but it never broke free. It lingered there, searing, choking, as if my own body refused to let me escape the misery.
I blinked hard, fighting to steady my blurring vision, desperate to ground myself to something familiar. The nightmare still clung to me like a second skin, sticky and suffocating. There was nothing here to hold on to. The bed was too soft, the duvet too heavy, the ceiling too strange.
'I'll feel better if its darker…'
The glass sliding door was open. Thin white curtains billowed faintly with the night air, carrying in the sharp breath of pine, or something subtler I couldn't quite place. My chest heaved, shallow and uneven.
'Yes, I always feel better in the dark…'
But the moonlight, silver and cold, spilled across the floorboards like a stain. My stomach twisted. I couldn't stand it. I never could. I shoved myself out from under the duvet. It stuck to my sweaty skin. I forced my legs to the ground and pulled myself free. Half of the blanket spilled onto the floor. I heaved, exhausted from the effort just to get out of bed.
I inhaled sharply, desperate to steady myself, but the breath betrayed me. My chest seized, and I broke into a harsh, racking cough. The air here was too heavy. It pressed against my throat as though it had weight of its own, clinging to me, sinking into me. Every gasp scraped raw, burning all the way down until my lungs felt scorched. A thin, rasping wheeze slipped out, brittle and dry, as if I were breathing dust instead of air.
The more I fought for breath, the worse it became. My skin prickled as though needles pushed up from beneath it, threading heat and pain through every nerve. It was unbearable, the way the sensation burrowed deeper, like something had wormed into me and was settling in, rooting itself where it didn't belong.
I clutched at my chest, certain that if I took one more breath of this foreign air, I would shatter. Every convulsion rattled through my chest and into my bones. My body felt nothing more than fragile glass sculpture slammed against a stone wall.
'What… happened to me?'
The curtains swayed lazily, taunting me with how little they tried to keep the light out. My hands trembled, but I pushed forward anyway, determined to drag them shut and smother the glow before it crawled any deeper under my skin.
Something on the bedside table snagged my attention. A picture frame. It was gold. My breath caught when the orange orbs reappeared, drifting like lazy embers until they settled against the frame, as though drawn to it. Their glow washed across the polished metal, proof that I wasn't imagining them.
And then, just as suddenly, they vanished.
I forced myself closer, every step clumsy, my body screaming at me to stop. The photograph inside the frame showed a child no older than five, perched in the lap of a faceless woman whose thick, milky-brown hair tumbled across her shoulders. The boy's black hair was neatly cropped, his cheeks round, his small hands clinging to her with stubborn devotion. But it was his eyes that rooted me in place. They were orange. The same shade as the orbs. The child smiled sweetly at the person who had snapped the photo.
"Adorable, was he not?" a person asked and chuckled softly.
My pulse shot into my throat as I spun toward the sliding door. I bolted, half-stumbling, desperate to escape, but a hand clamped around my arm and wrenched me back.
"No—!" The cry tore out of me as my foot caught on the duvet. We crashed onto the floor. Pain exploded through me, white and searing, but I squirmed to get free. The boy's weight bore down on me, pinning me against the polished boards. He reached for me, but I flailed my arms, weakly swatting his hands away.
"Stop," he hissed, though his voice lacked malice, it almost sounded pleading.
I didn't care. I wanted him off me. I wanted him gone.
Heat exploded in my palm as I slapped him, the crack sharp in the quiet room. His head jerked sideways, his grip faltering, and I tore free. I shoved him off, lungs burning, and scrambled upright.
The heavy duvet snarled around my legs, but I kicked it aside and lurched for the sliding door. Curtains slapped against my face as I shoved them away, the wood frame biting my hip as I stumbled through. Cold night air rushed against my skin, sharp with pine.
I managed three staggering steps onto the balcony before an arm cinched tight around my waist and wrenched me backward.
"Let go—!" My voice ripped ragged from my throat. I clawed at the arm holding me, nails biting skin. My heel struck hard against a shin, my elbow rammed into a rib. I threw my weight forward and the boy lost his balance. We went down together, stone biting into my knees as his weight pushed me flat.
"Cease this at once," he hissed, his tone taut with strain yet measured, as though every syllable had been carved to keep his composure intact. His arms closed around me, unyielding as iron against my frantic jerks, but there was no cruelty in his grip. Only control. "You must not exert yourself so recklessly. Your wound, though closed, does not mean you are mended."
I tried to spit out a retort, anything, but my lungs seized first. A violent cough tore through me, folding me inward. The fit wracked my ribs, harsh and unrelenting, until I could scarcely breathe at all.
In that moment of weakness, he shifted, guiding me down against the floor. He didn't shove me. His movements were precise, as though he feared breaking me with too much force. His hand pressed gently but firmly to my shoulder, holding me still until my body stopped shaking beneath the coughs.
"Be still," he murmured, the words low and delicate, as if they belonged to a place far more sacred than this. "You endanger yourself with every movement."
I forced myself to relax. Panicking wasn't going to save me. It was only going to get me killed. I didn't know where I was or who I was with.
'When you find yourself somewhere unfamiliar, what is the first thing you should do?' My dad's voice echoed in my head, steady as ever.
'I should stop my panic and still my mind,' I answered, just as I had years ago, when we'd gotten lost on the way back from a camping trip.
'Panic clouds your sense of rational thinking,' he'd told me then, crouched low so his eyes met mine. 'It leads you to reckless choices. Calm yourself, gauge your surroundings, and move slowly from there.'
The memory lingered like a hand at my back, nudging me toward steadiness. I pulled in a shuddering breath, forcing it out again until my ribs stopped rattling with fear.
My eyes bounced around, taking note of my location. I was on a balcony and could see the top of a tree to my left. We were high up. Maybe on the third floor. The night sky was bright enough to light my surroundings. When I looked up, my entire body tensed up, and my breath caught in my throat. Two moons hung in the sky. The first moon was large, greyish, and crescent.
The second moon was small and white, about the size of the moon back home. The similarities ended there because a thick line dragged across its full face, a crater of some sort, and transformed the object into an eye. Yellow and orange light bent around it, resembling an aurora of beams swimming in the night sky, which had not dimmed the countless blue-, white-, and orange-colored stars.
My body went limp. The boy's arms steadied me, but I barely felt them.
'Two moons? How is that possible?'
The world narrowed, tunneled, until all I saw were those silver orbs in the sky. My heart pounded so violently it hurt, panic folding in on itself until I was hollow. I needed my meds. My bottle. The click of the cap. Anything. But Raven… that boy in the forests… he'd taken them.
The moons blurred, doubled through the sting of tears. My body sagged in his hold, all fight gone, terror stealing the strength from my limbs.
"You lost a lot of blood," the stranger said behind me.
They placed something over my shoulders and sat down next to me. It was a soft black jacket. I was barely dressed, so I accepted it without much thought and slipped my arms into the sleeves. It was still warm. They must have been wearing it.
I turned my head. I recognized him, although vaguely, as he had been the boy in the white room with Cain...
'That… wasn't a dream? I was in a white room with him?'
He didn't sit too close. He had his legs straightened and crossed at his ankles. His hands clasped together in his lap while he was leaning back against the wall next to the sliding door. He could have reached for me if he wanted to, but he chose not to. Instead, he sat calmly and allowed me to take in his every detail.
He had milky brown hair and a wavy fringe that brushed over his thick pair of eyebrows. A thin scar was visible on his right brow. Pink and fresh. Something recent. He had milky brown eyes, which matched his hair and long lashes. A straight nose and smooth bottom-heavy lips. His skin was bright, and his face was smooth and showed no hint of a beard.
I stared at him for a long moment. I slowed my breathing and calmed down. He didn't look away. His gaze held mine. A tear rolled down my cheek and the silence between us thickened until it felt unbearable. My eyes drifted to his cheek. It was red and raw, the clear imprint of my hand burning across his skin. The sight made my stomach twist.
"Sorry…" The word slipped out, thin and awkward, guilt cutting through the leftover panic.
He didn't reply. Maybe he didn't hear me. But I was too embarrassed to apologize a second time.
"How long was I asleep?" I croaked, startled by the rasp of my own voice. It was raw, like sandpaper dragging against itself.
"Three hours," he replied without hesitation, his eyes flicking briefly toward my nape. "Your wound was grievous. Even with a healing spell, the flesh could not close without leaving its mark."
Three hours. My stomach tightened. I didn't believe him.
His words replayed in my head, strange in their rhythm. The vowels slipped smooth and soft from his tongue, the r's and t's clipped sharp yet never heavy. An accent I couldn't place, precise but unhurried, as if he had all the time in the world to speak. It wasn't like anything I'd heard before, familiar enough to follow but foreign enough to make me feel even more out of place.
"Who are you?"
"I apologize for the informal introduction," he said, inclining his head as though even this moment required ceremony. "I am Reed Drae Rhys Carter. Please, call me Reed. I am relieved to see you have recovered enough to move freely. In truth, I expected you to remain unconscious for two days. Your wound was… taxing to mend, and I believe what you feel now are the side effects of being overexposed to mana."
"I'm Kiera," I muttered, the words scraping out before I could decide if I should even give him my name.
Something flickered in his expression, and then he chuckled softly, unfolding his long frame as he shifted his weight. My name, so plain beside his grand string of titles, seemed to amuse him in a way I couldn't quite read.
Feeling a little calmer, I tried to move my legs too, but the best I managed was shifting enough weight off them to slump onto my butt. As much as I wanted to, standing was impossible. I was stuck on the cold floor beside a strange boy.
'Well, at least this one isn't licking my blood off his fingers… or stealing my pill bottle…'
"A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Kiera," Reed said. "Let us retire indoors. It is quite cold out here, and the last thing you need is to fall ill."
"I'd love to get up, Reed," I muttered, "but I can't right now. My legs won't move. Where are we, anyway? And where is Cain?"
"Then I shall remain with you until your strength returns. As I said, you are experiencing some side effects..." He pulled his knees up and looped his arms around them with a kind of poised neatness, like even the way he sat had been rehearsed. "I believe Cain had business to attend to. It is not unusual for him to vanish after speaking with Headmaster Wilka. He will return shortly. He asked me to see you here, to his chambers, since the infirmary was unsuitable, and the other guest rooms are presently occupied." He inclined his head slightly, as if to apologize for that last part. "As for where we are—"
"Do you always sound like a stiff old man when you talk?" The words slipped out before I could stop them.
'Crap. Why did I have to go and say that?'
His lips twitched, not quite a smile, not quite a frown. "I apologize. My English is… imperfect. We mostly speak Drengr'vere here. I assumed you would not know it." He tipped his chin toward the sky, letting his gaze linger on the stars. A softer note entered his voice, almost wistful. "We call this place Ri'elle. It means 'Eighty-Six.' And this island, specifically, is Lilah."
I followed his gaze, tracing the sprawl of stars above. The night felt impossibly wide, too deep, too sharp.
'Right. Lilah. I've spent so long trying to figure out who she was… and all this time, she's just been an island.'
"Where the fuck is that orange idiot?" a girl's voice barked as the bedroom door slammed open. Her volume was loud enough to wake the stars, and every stomp of her boots rattled the floorboards.
"Funny," Reed said, unfolding to his feet, voice clipped with annoyance. "I thought his stalker would know precisely where he is."
"Why are you out here in the—" She broke off, her eyes landing on me. Her accent was identical to Reed's.
She was tall, just as tall as him, but her frame curved where his was straight lines. Wide hips, long thighs, a chest she carried like a challenge. Her ash-blonde hair hung sleek over one shoulder, not a curl out of place. Her jeans were tight, black, paired with a black T-shirt marked with three green stripes on the left sleeve. Reed wore the same uniform, though his sleeve carried four stripes in orange.
"Hi…" I said awkwardly.
Her piercing blue eyes snapped to the jacket I was wearing. Her expression sharpened like a blade.
"Is that—" She looked to Reed, incredulous. "We already know how he's going to react to this girl, and you've gone and dressed her in his clothes. Should I kill you now, or let Rivian do it later?"
"Would you rather she remain indecently dressed?" Reed countered, calm but pointed. "Her garments were torn and bloodstained. This was the most practical option. Besides, Rivian no longer wears that jacket, as you have besmirched it with your lip-gloss."
Her jaw dropped a fraction. "Then let her wear some of Cain's clothes. He won't care if it gets dirtied."
'Is she insulting me?'
Reed sighed and glanced at me. With a small, deliberate motion, he gestured toward the girl. "Kiera, this is—"
"I can introduce myself, thank you." She slapped his hand away and turned on me with a bitter glare. "I'm Arena."
"Just your name?" Reed frowned at her.
"Of what use is my full name and title to a commoner of unknown origins?" she shot back, flipping her hair off her shoulder.
I tilted my head, smirking. "Forgive my rudeness, Your Highness. I am Kiera White. An absolute pleasure to be in your presence."
The sarcasm dripped heavy enough to sting.
Arena froze, lips parted. Then her lashes flickered. "White?" she repeated, voice dropping soft for the first time. Her shock cracked into sharp recognition. "Oh. My. Fucking. God." She let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "Of course. Of course you're Kade's daughter. No wonder Rivian left. Cain always steps in shit and brings it home."
"Is that why you're here?" I asked sweetly, smiling like a knife.
Her nostrils flared. "How dare you!" Flames erupted from her palms, curling hot and angry around her fingers.
'She can throw insults, but can't take them. Seriously?'
"Arena," Reed cut in, stepping squarely between us. His voice was cool steel.
"You're protecting her?" Arena hissed, fury spitting through her teeth. "When Rhys was—"
"I think it is best that you leave, Ari."
For a moment, her flames licked higher, rage written all over her body. Then, with visible effort, she forced the fire back into her skin. Her eyes were ice as she turned toward the door.
"She's lucky Rivian isn't here right now," Arena spat over her shoulder. "Or she'd already be dead."
"Ignore her, Kiera. Her threats are empty. Can you stand now?" Reed asked, extending his hand toward me.
I tested my legs first, shifting them beneath me. They trembled like they didn't belong to me. I refused his hand and pushed myself up on my own. The effort sent pain surging through me, like lightning moving through molasses. It crept along my spine and spilled down every nerve, carving new lines into my flesh with each pulse.
"What… did you do to me?" My voice cracked.
"I apologize," he said at once, his tone soft, as though explanation could ease the sting. "It is safer, more effective, to use one's own mana when healing. But you had none, and there was no time to wait for your crystals to accumulate any. I was forced to use mine. That is why you suffer now. Your crystals are not used to containing foreign mana, so they are rejecting it and causing you pain. It will fade with time as you gather your own."
Mana. The word should have been impossible, but it settled far too easily into my head. No stranger than the Reds. No stranger than nightmares that had torn through me for months. Easier, in fact, to accept than the memory of the lake. The flash of teeth, the water pulling me down, the thousand needle-thin scars still webbing my skin.
Reed stayed close, guiding me toward the bed without touching me. I sank down, breath shallow, eyes flicking to the corner of the room. No fireplace. Instead, a wolf carved from sandstone, tall as the door, sat with its head lifted in frozen vigilance. At its feet, a brazier of black metal held fire that burned without fuel.
My stomach turned as I watched it. The flames cracked and hissed like any other, but small orange orbs drifted lazily through the air, slipping in and out of the fire as though feeding it. For every flicker they sparked, another ember burst loose, and for a second, I wondered if the orbs were watching me.
When Reed turned back with folded clothes in hand, he followed my stare. He set the bundle on the bed, then stepped nearer. "Fire spirits. We call them Ferni," he explained. "Mischievous, at times, but harmless. They shield against Daemun. They are a lesser rank of fire spirits, but useful."
His hand lifted, pointing toward the statue. "We call them Valours. Earth spirits. They maintain the foundation of the house and reinforce its defenses. A Daemun would not approach carelessly with one present."
My throat worked. "What are Daemun? Those things with the masks?"
"Not all of them wear masks…" Reed glanced at my nape again, then back at my eyes. "You are safe here, Kiera. They will not harm you. Change into these. I will wait outside in the hall."
He set the clothes down on the mattress, then said something to the statue I couldn't hear. The thing got up and followed him out of the room. The ferni stayed behind and continued to play around the fire.
'It... moves?'
I removed the jacket and placed it on the bed next to me. On its left sleeve were four green stripes, and the academy's crest was embroidered in white on the left side of the chest.
I couldn't read the lettering at the bottom of the crest, but I assumed it was the academy's name. The crest was a tower shield with a diagonal split on its face. On the top left of the shield was a raven with its wings spread apart, and on the bottom right was the head of a fearsome wolf showing off its fangs.
I moved my hand over to my injury and felt the bump of a scar beneath my fingers. I traced it from my collarbone to my nape and all the way over to the back of my shoulder.
'How in the heck did I run with a wound this large? That Red ripped a chunk of flesh right out of my neck, and I just got up and ran like I was told to?'
I pulled off my frilly, light pink pajamas. They were covered in blood. Red and black stains practically dyed the fabric a different color altogether. I sighed. It had been my favorite pair, a birthday gift from Dad. I remembered how embarrassing it had been to receive it in front of Vincent… I didn't want him to see what I wore to bed.
I turned to the pile of clothes and pulled on a white T-shirt and a pair of oversized black shorts that hung just below my knees. I looked ridiculous, but it wasn't like I had anything better to wear. I slid the jacket back on and moved slowly toward the door.
"Finished?" Reed asked when I stepped outside. He stood at the end of the broad hallway, to my right, where he had guided the valour to another brazier burning beneath a giant window. His gaze flicked to my clothes, and his lips twitched awkwardly, as if he were trying not to laugh.
"Goodness, I will have someone purchase you proper clothes immediately. For now, this will have to suffice. Follow me. I will show you downstairs," he said, stepping forward.
I glanced to my left and saw the hallway stretch even further down to an identical window with a wolf and a brazier stationed at the end.
Reed was considerate enough to keep pace with me. We walked a short distance to a set of tall white doors on the left. The roof overhead was a four-faced glass pyramid, and to the right of the doors, the smooth sandstone bricks transitioned into a half wall, functioning as a railing of a balcony, overlooking a room below.
In the middle of the room was a small tree with its canopy barely reaching the height of the second floor. It was a small atrium adorned with plants of all sizes in pots. The glass roof, along with large paned windows, let in a lot of natural light to support their growth. However, it was already dark outside, and the stars peered inside the building along with silver moonlight.
"Will you be all right coming down? This is the third floor. There are a lot more stairs."
Reed opened the door for me. Now that we were at the doors, the hallway to the left and right was an equal length, and the balcony overlooking the room below was in the middle.
"I'll be fine," I lied. I just didn't want him to carry me. He was kind enough to show me around, but I didn't know where he was taking me or why we were leaving the bedroom.
"Very well. I shall explain as we descend. The third floor contains four identical chambers. Two in the east wing, and two in the west. Between each pair lies a shared bathroom. You shall be sharing yours with my brother, so I would advise you to exercise discretion when using it," he said, his tone precise and measured as we walked.
"Your brother?"
'That sounds like a disaster waiting to happen. Is there no other room available in a house with supposedly three floors?'
"Fret not, Kiera. He prefers to sleep elsewhere. You will scarcely cross paths with him. My chamber is located in the west wing. The first door on your left upon ascending the stairs. Feel free to knock should you require assistance," he said, turning a corner. We descended a second flight of stairs and approached a second set of tall, white doors.
"And your room connects to another?"
"Indeed. There is also a fourth floor, though it functions more as a greenhouse than a proper level. The stairway to it is accessible from the western balcony. Now, this is the library. Rivian practically dwells here. Should he not be out in the forest, you may safely assume he is engrossed in a spell tome within these walls," he said, opening the doors with a precise sweep of his hand.
The tree was in a large square pot in the center of the room. Against the left side of the pot was a long brown couch and a glass coffee table with a few books, journals, and piles of paper scattered over its surface.
To the left and right, there was an identical hallway as seen on the floor above, with two doors in either hallway.
'More bedrooms?' I wondered.
Two large bookshelves flanked the tree, leaving plenty of open space in the room. Furniture was sparse, limited to potted plants and flowers arranged neatly along the walls.
"I know it may appear empty, but there is a reason," Reed explained, his tone precise. "Though we call this the library, Rivian frequently uses it to test his magical theories and, on occasion, sets things ablaze. Cain had most of the furniture removed and arranged the bookshelves with generous spacing. I will show you more once you have fully recovered. For now, let us attend to your hunger; you must be famished."
'Yes. I'm starving. I've been asleep for five days, and I was running myself to death. I'm surprised I'm still alive...'
He walked to another set of identical doors and opened them. He gestured for me to go down. I slowly made my way over and down yet another flight of stairs.
Reed closed the door behind us and followed me down into a large room with three-story-high walls. Like in the library, the roof above was also a glass dome. Ferni were dancing up there and chasing each other in a playful game of tag.
Some were red, others were yellow, but most were orange. They looked like the petals of small flowers being blown away in the wind.
There were two more valours in the room, but they were much larger than the other ones I had seen upstairs. From head to toe, they were as tall as the three-story walls, and both sat tall and proud and overlooked the room below. They were placed on either side of a hallway that led to a gigantic wooden front door that had a detailed howling wolf carved into it.
'Lots of wolves. Guess Cain must be a dog person. Even that Red was wolfish in appearance. Even if it had three red eyes.'
"This is the living room. We call it the reception room. We receive and entertain guests here. To our left is a solid wall, as you can see, but the wall sinks down into the ground and opens to another room with a bar and a swimming pool outside. The same can be said for the wall on the right. It opens to a kitchen and creates a larger space for when we host many guests," he said and walked to the kitchen.
I had no idea why he mentioned it, but maybe they hosted parties often and didn't want me to be startled by walls sinking into the ground, enlarging an already spacious room.
On the left side of the room was a large white coffee table surrounded by two blue leather couches. On the right was another potted tree, only this tree was much larger than the one in the library. Its trunk was thick, and its foliage covered half of the glass dome above.
I followed Reed into the kitchen, noting how he held the door for me and offered a soft, reassuring smile. His friendliness toward a stranger was disarming, and I allowed myself to relax, just slightly, in his presence.
"Here we are. I prepared some Maki earlier. It will aid your recovery," he said, gesturing to the kitchen counter. "Do you prefer soup, stew, or pasta? For reference, Maki is similar to mushrooms, and I can blend it into any dish you like."
"Whatever is easiest for you to make. I'll eat anything."
"Soup then. It will be easier to digest. Have a seat. It will not take long to prepare."
I nodded and walked over to the large dining table, pulled a chair free, and sat down. Reed walked over to the stove and prepared a small pot.
I watched him work for a full minute before my eyes wandered around the kitchen. It was twice the size of my bedroom back in Sage. The dining table was large enough to host twelve guests and was made from thick, dark wooden logs. The tabletop was a thick sheet of glass polished to perfection.
The head of the table started at the door and stretched down to the right wall. I saw a large portrait of Cain and seven other boys hanging next to a separate door, which led outside.
Three of the boys had black hair, while the rest of the boys had brown hair. I spotted Reed standing next to one of the black-haired boys. I identified him quickly because he had the lightest shade of hair compared to everyone else.
It was painted a while ago. Reed looked the same age as the boy next to him. Around five or six years old. Cain was hugging them both and had a big smile on his face. His golden eyes were painted with pure gold. Bizarre but accurate.
In front of the two he was hugging, stood two smaller boys with dark brown hair and eyes. They were dressed in identical outfits and looked around the age of two or three. They were twins.
On either side of Cain stood a boy with black hair. On his left, one had orange eyes and short hair, and, on his right, stood a boy with blue eyes and a thick black braid. They looked around the age of twenty, while Cain didn't look a day older than he did this morning.
Next to Reed stood yet another boy, only he looked more like the twins than the other four boys. He had dark chocolate hair and eyes. All of them were wearing the same black clothing. Even Cain. The twins were the only two who wore adorable little suits.
'They are so cute!'
"My brothers," Reed said and placed a cup of coffee next to me. "Rhys was the eldest. He would have been twenty-six this year, but he… is no longer with us. Now, Ren is the oldest sibling. He is twenty-four. He is the boy with blue eyes."
"Sorry for your loss, Reed."
I stared into the cup. I could only imagine what he must have gone through. Losing a member of his family must have been painful. I could relate to him on some level. I didn't know if my parents were alive, but I allowed myself to hope. If I didn't, then I couldn't live with myself.
Cain had said that my mother had been killed. But I didn't believe him. I didn't want to accept it. I couldn't.
"He passed while defending my brother, Rivian," Reed said, voice measured, each word carrying quiet weight. "It has already been six years since your father…" He stopped himself, the rest of the thought left unsaid, as though even speaking it aloud would be too grievous. "Rivian is the boy next to me. The one with orange eyes and black hair like Rhys."
"Is Cain… your father?"
"Heavens! He is not. He is Rivian's Raegus. His bond. Cain is just one of many members of his family. There are thousands of them. Though, I suppose out of all of them, Cain has the most intimate relationship with the rest of us."
"Then what is he?" I was shocked at my own words. I didn't intend to ask it out loud, I was simply wondering what his relationship was with the Reds and why that boy in the woods referred to him as their master.
"Cain?" Reed returned to his pot and carried on cooking. "It is hard to define him in terms of race, gender, or species. To put it simply, he is whatever he wants to be. If you are curious, ask him the next time you see him. I am certain that he will tell you his origin story from start to finish. Even the way he plans to die."
"You're joking, right?"
"Perhaps?"
Something brushed against my back, and I jerked upright. The chair behind me toppled with a clatter, smacking against the floor. My heart leapt into my throat, and every instinct screamed at me to bolt.
'Calm down. It's just a little kid. Deep breaths.'
It was one of the twins. They startled me. I glanced between the boy and Reed and awkwardly picked up the chair. The kid looked the same age he was in the painting, and he was staring at me with wide eyes and a pale face.
'Three or so years old? Shouldn't he be older now? Gosh, he's cuter in person. Sorry for scaring you, big man...'
"Riki," Reed said, approaching, his tone formal yet gentle. He scooped the boy into his arms, hooking a hand under his bottom to hold him securely. "I neglected to mention the twins. This is Riki. He has a beauty mark beneath his left eye. He does not speak; he communicates through touch. I apologize if he startled you. He wanted to say hello."
"It's alright. I think I startled him more," I murmured, stepping closer. The small boy buried his face against Reed's neck, arms wrapping tightly around his brother.
'He's so small. Maybe... magic? Wait. Are these people even human?'
Reed stroked the boy's back and walked to the fridge with him. He pulled the door open and retrieved a yellow lunch box, which he handed to his little brother. When Reed placed him down, the mute boy zoomed out of the kitchen and disappeared.
"Hey, do not tell on me. It is our secret, okay? I gave him nothing," he said and brought a finger to his lips.
I pretended to zip my mouth closed and flicked my hand over my shoulder as if I threw away the key, which earned me a bright smile. Wow. Reed had killer looks. This time, I could see his teeth and noticed two stubby canine fangs in his mouth.
'Vampires then? I want to ask, but somehow, I feel like I shouldn't...'
Reed stirred the simmering pot gently, the earthy aroma of Maki wafting through the kitchen. "Very well. I shall continue preparing your meal. Maki is a mushroom native to Thaenia; it absorbs ambient mana and is often used to craft potions. Consumed directly, its effects are less potent than a refined potion, but far gentler on the body."
He glanced up at me briefly, then returned his attention to the pot, letting the spoon trace slow circles through the liquid. "Given that this is your first exposure to mana, a potion could overwhelm you and cause harm. This is why I am using the raw ingredient instead. It will aid your recovery without stressing your system. After you have eaten, please return to your bedroom and rest. I understand you have many questions, but for now, eat, rest, and collect your thoughts. We shall speak further in the morning."