Hosan had known the moment his wife died that his world would collapse in on itself. There was no warning, no chance to brace for it, only the sound of her breathing stopping, and with it, the silence that hollowed out everything he was.
Tyron had been only a small child then, barely old enough to understand loss. He lost his mother first, and years later, his father too, though Hosan still lived. The man who remained was only a husk wearing his face.
In those years, Tyron grew fascinated by mana, the heat he said he could see flowing through everything... plants, animals, people, beasts. He spoke of it as though it made no distinction, as though the world itself breathed in the same rhythm. But Hosan knew better. Or at least, that's what he told himself.
There was a difference.
