Tharionne burned like a secret finally spoken.
Not a war blaze. Not a holy fire.
No. This was a local fire. A broken-lantern, careless-footsteps, 'what were they hiding' sort of blaze. And yet, it spread like guilt—fast, thick, uncontrollable.
Calden stood beneath the watchtower's broken arch, ash falling around him like snow. His coat was soaked with sweat and smoke. His hands, still callused from decades with the blade, clenched at his sides as he watched a merchant quarter collapse in on itself.
He didn't flinch. Didn't speak.
But his jaw worked, slow and bitter.
Behind him, boots crunched charcoal.
"Poetic, isn't it?" came Veyr Hal'Rhen's voice. Smooth. Too smooth. Like oil poured over glass.
Calden didn't turn.
"The city burns," Veyr continued, stepping into view, his coat pristine despite the chaos. "And all because a boy with nothing to his name was allowed to run."
"Allowed," Calden muttered. "Is that what you think happened?"
Veyr smiled without teeth. "I think you're slipping, Thornec."
There it was. The knife without the blade.
Calden looked at him now—really looked. At the manicured red hair. The perfect gloves. The untouched boots. Veyr wasn't here to help. He was here to win.
"You lost him," Veyr said. "You had him. You trained him. And you let him vanish beneath your nose."
"I trained a soldier," Calden said flatly. "Not a prisoner."
"And yet he ran like one."
The silence thickened between them.
In the distance, screams echoed. The fire had jumped to the granary district. Flame-touched smoke spiraled high into the air, red as dried blood.
Veyr folded his hands behind his back. "We both know what Kaelen is."
Calden didn't answer.
"We both saw the signs. The flickers around him. The aura. The boy radiates potential like a broken seal."
"He's not ready."
Veyr arched a brow. "And yet he fled from you."
"No." Calden's voice turned flint-sharp. "He fled from you."
That made Veyr smile again. This time with teeth.
"Then perhaps you should've kept him on a shorter leash."
Calden stepped forward, until they stood almost eye to eye. The air between them crackled—not with magic, but something older. Something earned. They had fought together once. Stood back-to-back in the southern rebellions, because Veyr isn't who people think he is.
Now?
Now they were both wearing masks—and only one of them liked it.
Veyr adjusted his cuffs. "And the girl?"
Calden didn't speak.
"Selaithe," Veyr said, slowly, like the name was something exotic. "You know who she is, don't you?"
Calden said nothing.
"She's not just any elf street rat. Her father was a royal scout. Blade-licensed under elven law. Trailmarks found beyond the Sylrienn. You know what that means."
"She's dangerous," Calden admitted.
"She's leverage," Veyr corrected. "We don't need her dead. Just… noticed."
Calden's lip curled. "You mean taken."
"I mean used, Thornec. If the boy won't come quietly, we offer him something he can't ignore. Something he'll chase. Something he'll bleed for."
"Like bait."
"Like truth."
A gust of wind blew ash across their faces. Calden barely blinked.
"You're going to use her to break him."
Veyr shrugged. "He broke himself the moment he left. I'm just finishing the puzzle."
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Calden reached into his coat. Pulled out the rolled parchment he hadn't shown anyone yet. It was a simple field report—one line written in ink that smelled faintly of blood:
Thornec's sword was not found.
He handed it to Veyr.
Veyr read it once. Then again. His eyes narrowed.
"Where is it?"
Calden turned and walked toward the stairs, descending into flame-lit streets below.
"I lost it," he called over his shoulder. "Guess you'll have to replace me too."
⟡
Later that night, as Tharionne smoked beneath the moonlight, Veyr stood atop the blackened keep and stared northward—toward the forests beyond the reach of the law. He ran a gloved thumb along the edge of the parchment.
"Kaelen Selkareth," he whispered to the wind. "You're going to come back to me."
Behind him, shadows shifted. A scout bowed.
"Tracking party is ready," the scout reported. "No signs yet, but there are elven whispers near the old ruins. A forest veil may be hiding them."
Veyr smiled thinly.
"Then we find the veil," he said. "And we rip it open."
He turned.
"Bring me the girl." He smirked. "And the boy will run after her."
⟡
The forest was quiet again. But not the same quiet.
This silence was heavy. Full.
Like the trees were still processing what they'd just witnessed.
I sat on a low stone ridge at the edge of Sylrienn, my legs dangling above a ravine choked with roots. Below, mist curled in lazy spirals—leftovers from the elven fog-weavers who'd resealed the village veil.
We were safe. For now.
But something in me wouldn't stop twitching. Like my bones remembered how close we'd come to dying.
Selaithe hadn't said much since the fight.
Not after the fire. Not after her blade found that Hollowpine Stalker's throat. Not after the village elders had gathered around her, murmuring things in Elvaric I couldn't quite follow. I'd caught a few words though.
Thal'Zurein.
The Wild Fang.
A title. A warning. Maybe both.
She earned it when she fought like a cornered god, blood on her boots and magic in her voice. She didn't hesitate. She didn't ask for help. She just moved, like her blade had been waiting years for permission.
And now… people were looking at her differently.
Even the elves.
Even me.
She'd gone off with one of the elders an hour ago. Some kind of ritespeak, she said. Something ceremonial. I didn't ask more.
I just sat here, swinging my legs over nothing, trying not to let the silence swallow me whole.
I still had Calden's sword. Still wrapped. Still waiting.
And my mana?
It hadn't flared. Not during the fight. Not once.
But it had watched. It had trembled behind my ribs like a caged thing smelling blood.
It wanted out.
It knew something was coming.
Footsteps crunched behind me. I didn't turn.
"Nice perch," Selaithe said. "Brooding comes with a view now?"
"Just waiting for the next thing to try and kill us," I muttered.
She flopped down beside me, legs swinging too.
"You should've seen your face when that second Stalker showed up. Like someone insulted your aura color."
"I thought it was going for you."
"It was," she said, brushing hair from her face. "I stabbed it. So I win."
She didn't say it with pride.
Just… fact.
I looked at her sideways. "You were incredible."
She grinned. But it didn't reach her eyes.
"Tell that to my bruised ribs."
"They gave you a title, Selaithe."
Her smirk returned. "Yeah. Sounds impressive, doesn't it? Thal'Zurein. Even got it embroidered on a sash. Makes me look like a walking prophecy."
"It fits you."
"You saying I look dangerous?"
I nodded. "Terrifying."
She leaned her head on my shoulder. "Good."
We sat like that for a minute. Two. The mist below curled tighter, and a bird cried overhead—long and low, like it had lost something it hadn't realized it needed.
"I don't think we can stay here much longer," I whispered.
Selaithe didn't answer at first.
Then: "No. We can't."
"The veil broke once. What if it breaks again?"
"It will."
"And the next time, maybe it's not just Hollowpines."
"Maybe it's worse."
We didn't speak after that for a while.
I felt her fingers graze mine, briefly. Not a hold. Just a touch.
Then she said, "The elders want to send us north. To the Eirenhald."
I blinked. "Why?"
"Because they think I'm valuable now. And they think you're…" She hesitated. "Something not supposed to exist."
I swallowed. "They can see it?"
"Your aura's not normal, Kaelen. They said it feels like—" she paused, then smirked faintly, "—a broken halo bleeding light. Second of all, Kaelen, you are Ghostborn, it's not like you shouldn't have magic." She looked at me, dead serious. "You're not supposed to even exist by the laws of this world. Their words, not mine."
"Great."
"They're not afraid of you. But they're not comfortable either."
I leaned forward, elbows on my knees. "They want us gone."
"They want us somewhere else. Safer. Further. On the edge of the Great Forest."
"And you trust them?"
She shrugged. "I trust that they don't want their home attacked again."
I sighed. "How far is the Eirenhald?"
"Couple weeks on foot. If we're lucky."
"We're never lucky."
"Then it'll be a month."
She stood, brushing off her cloak. "Come on. They said we can stay one more night, and I plan to use it. There's a hot spring behind the second ridge. And I smell like blood and victory."
I looked up at her. "You going to let me rest tomorrow?"
She gave me a wolfish grin. "Not a chance. You still owe me a proper duel."
"Why?"
"Because the next time something comes for us, I don't want to be the only one glowing."
I stood too, stretching. "Fine. But if I beat you, I get to rename your title."
"Try it," she said, flicking a pebble at my head. "I dare you."
We walked back toward the village lights, fading and soft now. The trees loomed like watchful old gods. The path crunched beneath our steps.
Somewhere far behind us, Tharionne was rebuilding in silence.
Somewhere ahead, the Eirenhald waited.
And above it all, in the night that hadn't truly ended, I swore I felt eyes watching—
The kind of eyes that belonged to men with gloves and orders.
The kind that didn't blink.