Age 5: Stories in the Storm
Rain lashed against the cottage roof like a thousand tiny fists. Thunder growled in the distance, shaking the wooden beams. Under his quilt, Kael clenched his tiny hands, counting the seconds between lightning flashes.
A soft knock.
"Kael?" His father's voice, rough but warm, cut through the storm's roar. The door creaked open, revealing Garrik's broad silhouette, backlit by the dying hearth. "Can't sleep?"
Kael shook his head, the quilt slipping to reveal wide, silver-flecked eyes, his mother's eyes.
Garrik sighed, the sound almost lost beneath another roll of thunder. "Storms got you spooked, huh?" He crossed the room in two strides, kneeling beside the bed. "When I was your age, my old man told me something about thunder."
Kael peeked up. "What?"
"It's just the gods bowling." A grin split Garrik's scarred face as Kael giggled. "But if you'd rather, I've got a better story."
He settled onto the floor, back against the bedframe. Outside, the wind howled. Inside, his voice was a steady drumbeat:
"Long ago, when the world was younger and stupider, there was a knight named Valric."
Kael wriggled closer. "Was he strong?"
"Strong? Ha!" Garrik flexed his arms. "He made me look like a twig. But strength wasn't why they feared him." He leaned in. "It was his mind. See, when the Demon Lord's army cornered him at Blackridge Pass, outnumbered a hundred to one, Valric didn't swing his sword. He looked."
Lightning flashed. For a second, Garrik's shadow loomed monstrous on the wall.
"He saw the rotten bridge behind them. Saw the weight of their armor. And when they charged?" Garrik clapped his hands, "CRACK!" making Kael jump. "Down they went, swallowed by the ravine."
Kael's breath hitched. "That's… mean."
"War's mean, kid." Garrik ruffled his hair. "But Valric lived. And that's what matters."
The door creaked again. Lyria stood there, her elven ears twitching at the fading thunder. "You're corrupting our son with your nonsense," she murmured, but her smile was soft.
Garrik winked. "Nah. Just teaching him to listen to storms. Right, Kael?"
Kael nodded, his fear forgotten. "Can you tell another?"
Outside, the rain gentled to a hush.
Age 7: The Weight of Wood
Morning sunlight streamed through the cottage window as Kael dragged his practice sword across the floor. Garrik watched from the table, sipping bitterroot tea.
"Again," he said.
Kael groaned. "But my arms hurt,"
"And the bandits who come for hybrid children won't care." Garrik set down his cup. "Grip it like you mean to kill with it."
Kael adjusted his sweaty palms. He lunged.
Garrik sidestepped, tapping Kael's ribs with his own stick. "Dead."
"Not fair!"
"Fair?" Garrik barked a laugh. He knelt, eye level with his son. "When you're smaller and weaker, you cheat. Aim for the knee first, then the throat." He demonstrated the motion, slow and precise.
Behind them, Lyria's knife thunked rhythmically against chopped carrots. She said nothing, but her ears flattened slightly.
Age 10: The Unwelcome
Edrin's Crossing market buzzed, until Kael and his parents approached. A human merchant spat into the dirt as they passed. An elven woman herded her children away.
Kael's fists clenched. "Why do they,"
"Breathe," Lyria murmured, her hand on his shoulder. "Anger is a knife without a hilt." That night, she taught him to dice onions without crying, guiding his small hands. "Control the blade, or it controls you."
Garrik watched from the doorway. "Your mother's being poetic. What she means is, don't stab the idiots." Pause. "Yet."
Lyria threw a pebble at him. It pinged off his forehead.
Kael laughed, but later, in bed, he traced the scar on his palm (a "training accident" that should have severed fingers) and wondered why it had healed too fast.
The Shadow in Dreams
Seira's voice slithered into his sleep:"Tick-tock, little hybrid. Three years left."
Kael woke to hushed arguing downstairs:
"They're getting closer!" Lyria's whisper was frantic.
Garrik's response was steel wrapped in velvet. "Then we move again."
A fist hit wood. "For how long?"
Silence. Then:
"However long it takes."
Kael curled tighter under his blankets, his chest burning with something that wasn't fear.
Soon, he thought.
Outside, thunder rumbled, but this time, he didn't flinch