Kael's breath hissed through gritted teeth as he dropped into a low stance, muscles burning from the relentless drills. The early light filtered through thick mist, casting long, pale shadows across the clearing. Dirt clung to his limbs, his cloak tossed to the side, forgotten. His movements—push-ups, rolls, dodges, footwork—had the mechanical rhythm of a soldier in training.
Before he ever touched the blade, Senn made him train the body, then the breath. "The sword comes last," he always said. "It's the easiest thing to lose."
Senn sat in his usual place, on a weatherworn stone beneath a gnarled pine. He didn't speak at first. Just watched. One arm draped across a knee, the other a phantom limb he still sometimes reached for in dreams.
Kael moved into stance, blade drawn, then struck forward with precision.
Senn blinked.
And the memory swallowed him whole.
---
Years Ago — The Wraithfront
The clang of steel. The crack of fire. The roar of distant Wraithborn.
Senn ran across the muddy field, boots splashing through blood and rain. Ahead of him—Riel. Shorter, younger, but somehow always faster. Her red hair streamed like a banner behind her, the flames of her Crest dancing along her arms, illuminating the fog.
"Try to keep up, old man!" she called over her shoulder, her voice a laugh that cut through the chaos.
Senn chuckled, even as his lungs burned. She had always been stronger. Always just one step ahead. She bore the Flame Crest, and it lit everything about her—her movements, her spirit, her smile.
They'd joined the army together—orphans with nothing but each other and the marks on their backs. He had the Crest of Wind; swift and clever. She had the Flame; wild and radiant. Together, they made the perfect strike team.
Until the siege at Aldraeth.
Until the seventh gate fell.
Until the Wraithborn came, and something broke inside her.
---
The Present
Kael stumbled mid-lunge. A split-second slip, corrected by instinct—but Senn's voice cut across the clearing like a whip.
"Balance, boy. Again."
Kael grunted, nodding. He returned to form, blade raised.
Senn leaned forward, shadows in his eyes.
---
Back Then
Senn found Riel in the inner courtyard, standing amid bodies and fire. Her eyes were wrong. Not hers anymore. The flames danced too violently, licking at her armor, her skin, but she didn't burn.
"Sister," he whispered.
She turned.
"I see it now, Senn," she said, tears mixing with soot on her cheeks. "The Tower didn't awaken us. It unleashed us."
He raised his blade. "You need to stop. You're losing control—"
She smiled. A soft, sad thing.
"No, brother. I already did."
The battle that followed was brief and brutal. The Wind tried to dance around the Flame—but the Flame had loved him once. It knew his steps, his rhythm, his heart.
Her final blow took his left arm at the shoulder. His took her heart.
She died smiling.
And Senn never forgave himself.
---
Now
Kael finished the sequence, sweat running down his back.
"Good," Senn muttered. "Better."
Kael looked up. "You okay?"
Senn hesitated. Then gave a tired smile. "Not really. But that's not your concern."
The boy nodded, sensing more but asking nothing. Senn appreciated that.
He closed his eyes, and in the darkness, he saw Riel's smile again. A beacon. A curse. A reminder.
"I lost more than an arm that night," he whispered under his breath. "I lost my light."