PRESENT
Kael stirred from sleep to the faint crackle of firewood and the soft clatter of pots in the next room. Morning sunlight crept through the wooden slats of the window, dust dancing in the quiet beams. The scent of eggs and herbs reached him before his mother's voice did.
"Breakfast's almost ready," she called, her tone gentle but worn thin by time.
He dressed in silence, slipping into his boots and stepping into the small kitchen where his mother moved with habitual efficiency, her apron slightly frayed, her hair hastily tied. She offered him a faint smile, and he nodded before grabbing a cloth bag from the wall and heading out.
The village market was already buzzing with life. Merchants shouted their prices over one another, children darted between stalls, and the smell of fresh bread hung thick in the air. Kael moved through the crowd with practiced ease, picking out essentials—grain, salt, a few bruised apples—until a low voice behind him sliced through the morning noise.
"Hey… isn't that the traitor's son?"
Kael paused; eyes locked on the stall in front of him.
"Yeah," another voice replied. "Grown up a bit now, hasn't he?"
"Bet he'll end up just like his father did."
He didn't turn. He didn't speak. But his fists curled at his sides, knuckles whitening as heat rose in his chest. Still, he said nothing, the weight of their words pressing like stones into his spine.
Later, at home, the front door creaked open and Kael stepped inside, face unreadable. His mother looked up from her seat, knitting paused in her lap.
"There was this guy," Kael began, dropping the bag on the table. "Said I'm the traitor's son. Said I'm gonna turn out like him."
She exhaled slowly, the kind of sigh that carries years of unspoken hurt. "They've always been like that," she said. "You'll have to learn to ignore them."
"Ignore them?" he snapped, voice sharp. "Are we just supposed to keep hearing this until we die?"
Her eyes dropped to her hands. "We have no other choice. You can't go around fighting everyone who whispers behind your back."
"No, Mom. I have to respond. I have to prove them wrong."
________________________________________
FLASHBACK
The sky had been overcast that day—Kael remembered that much. He was just a boy, standing behind the crooked frame of their front door as soldiers arrived, boots heavy on gravel. They shoved a scroll into his father's hands, speaking in clipped, cold voices. Kael didn't understand the words, only the tension in the air, the sharp edge in his mother's breathing.
Then they took him.
Dragged his father toward the gate where villagers had already begun to gather like vultures. One of them pointed, voice shrill.
"Traitor! He's a traitor!"
Kael's father turned, catching his wife's eyes, then Kael's. His face was steady—too steady.
"Stay strong," he whispered. "I haven't done anything wrong."
His mother's knees buckled. She collapsed to the floor in a storm of tears.
Kael screamed.
________________________________________
BACK TO PRESENT
The room was quiet again. Kael's gaze drifted to the corner, where a rusted set of armor rested beneath a thin layer of dust. His father's armor.
Without a word, he stepped outside, thoughts a tangled storm. His feet carried him to the riverbank, the air cooler there, the murmur of water dulling the echo of the past.
Voices gathered nearby. A man from the Kingdom's Defense Academy stood on a platform, parchment in hand.
"This is an announcement," the man called out, "for the Defense Academy entrance test, ten days from now!"
Kael's heart pounded.
Ten days.
He took a step closer, eyes fixed on the speaker. A slow certainty settled over him.
"I will join the Defense Academy," he whispered. "Serve the country… and prove everyone wrong."
The announcer continued, "All who are interested may submit their names for the entrance test."
Kael didn't hesitate.
Kael lingered near the edge of the courtyard, watching the line form under the Defense Academy's banner. A scribe sat behind a long wooden table, taking names, checking scrolls, and recording details with practiced precision.
One by one, boys and girls from noble families stepped forward—cloaks pressed, boots polished, voices confident. They laughed as they wrote their names, surrounded by tutors and guards. Some carried the faint shimmer of awakened powers—the telltale glow of elemental energy flickering around their fingers like fireflies.
Kael's hand tightened around the strap of his bag. His tunic was faded, his boots scuffed. He took one hesitant step forward.
Then came a voice, sharp and mocking, from behind him.
"Well, look who it is."
He turned slowly.
A boy his age, draped in fine robes with a sigil of nobility on his shoulder, stood smirking. Another, a step behind, joined in.
"You're not actually planning to join the Defense Academy, are you?" the first boy sneered.
Kael looked down, jaw clenched. Silence was his only answer.
The second boy leaned in, voice low and cruel. "Isn't he the traitor's son? You think you can become a soldier in the king's army?"
Without warning, a gust of wind burst from the first boy's palm—sharp and sudden. The force hit Kael square in the chest and knocked him off his feet. He fell hard onto the cobbled stone.
The noble boy stepped closer, elemental energy still dancing in his hand like a tame flame. "The kingdom needs loyal, brave soldiers. Not traitors' blood. You'll betray us too. It's in your veins."
Kael's breath caught in his throat. His palms stung. The stone had scraped open his knuckles. For a long moment, he didn't move.
Then, trembling slightly, he pushed himself up.
His voice came low, steady.
"I'll prove you wrong."
He turned from them—ignoring their scoffs—and walked up to the scribe.
The announcer glanced up, expression neutral. "Name and family name?"
Kael hesitated for only a heartbeat.
"Kael Valtheron."
The scribe raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. "Very well. Write your name here. Report to the Great Hall on the thirteenth."
Kael signed the parchment with slow, deliberate strokes. The ink bled slightly—uneven, but permanent.
________________________________________
When he returned home, the midday sun was already casting golden streaks through the kitchen window. His mother looked up from her seat, her eyes widening when she saw the red marks on his hands.
"What happened?" she asked, rushing toward him. "Did someone do this to you?"
Kael looked at the scratches, shrugged.
"They won't stop... until I do something. I've decided to join the Defense Academy."
She froze, eyes hardening with worry. "Why do you care what they think? And why would you join the very army that took your father away from us?"
Kael didn't flinch. "Because... I think if I walk the same path he did, maybe I'll finally understand. Maybe I'll find the truth behind this traitor's name."
________________________________________
Morning. The kingdom streets bustled beyond the trees, but Kael was nowhere near the markets now.
Instead, he stood shirtless in a grove outside the village, knuckles bleeding as he drove punches into the bark of a thick tree. Again. And again.
Pushups. Pullups from a low-hanging branch. Breath sharp. Muscles aching.
"I need to get better," he panted. "I have to. I don't have any elemental power awakened... not like the others."
In the distance, unseen, his mother watched through a cracked window. Her eyes followed every movement—fierce and silent.
"He's working so hard," she whispered. "It's like he's taken an oath. A vow he won't break."
Kael struck the tree again, pain flashing through his wrist, but he didn't stop.
"I can do this," he said.
His eyes burned—not with tears, but with purpose.