The pyres burned through the night. Black smoke curled into the sky, thick and bitter, carrying with it the stench of blood and charred flesh. Soldiers stood in silence around the flames, their faces drawn and pale. None spoke of the dead, not of the men broken by shadow, not of those whose twisted bodies could barely be called human anymore. Some stared at Caden as though he belonged on the pyre himself.
He kept his head low. He could feel their eyes, heavy and sharp, cutting into him. The cult had come for him. They had said his name, not his true name, but the one that lived inside him, the one he was afraid to admit. Child of the Maw.
The warlord's fury shook the fortress. In the hall, his voice thundered like iron striking stone, shaking the banners on the walls. He raged at Ravel for bringing a curse into his stronghold. He raged at the soldiers for letting the cult breach the gates. But above all, his fury fell on Caden.
"You've stained my walls with their madness!" he snarled, pointing a scarred hand toward the boy. "I lost men for your sake. Men I cannot replace. Do you understand what that makes you, boy? A debt that can never be repaid."
Caden wanted to answer. He wanted to scream that he hadn't asked for this, hadn't chosen it, that the void had chosen him and he hated it every moment of every day. But the words died in his throat.
The warlord leaned close, eyes like burning coals. "Step out of line, and I will see you devoured by your own shadow. Do you understand?"
Caden nodded, though his chest was tight and his heart beat like a drum.
When the warlord turned away, his voice carried through the hall like a sentence passed: "He does not leave this fortress without my order. His every step will be watched. If the cult returns, I'll hand them their prize myself."
The soldiers murmured assent, but their eyes betrayed something harsher, fear.
---
That night, Caden lay awake on the straw bed in his narrow quarters. The silence pressed down on him, broken only by the creak of the wood beneath him. He stared at his hands, and for a moment, the darkness stirred. His fingertips burned faintly, and when he shifted, he saw it, the boards of the bed eaten away, splintered and warped where his palms had rested.
He pulled his hands back, chest heaving. No, no, no. He gripped his arms tight, as though holding himself together by force. But the void inside him whispered and pulled, its voice threading through his bones.
Hungry. They are right. You are ours.
He pressed his fists against his ears until it hurt. It didn't stop the voice.
A knock broke the silence. Ravel slipped in, setting a loaf of bread on the small table. He said nothing at first, simply studying Caden with eyes that seemed older than they should have been.
"The warlord doesn't trust you," Ravel said finally, his voice low. "If he decides you're more danger than weapon, he won't hesitate."
Caden swallowed hard. "And you? Do you trust me?"
Ravel hesitated, his jaw tightening. "I trust what I've seen. A boy who doesn't want this, but still fights to keep others alive. That matters."
The words steadied him, but only for a moment. Because when Ravel left, the room felt colder than before.
Caden moved to the window, drawn by something he didn't want to name. Beyond the walls, the forest stretched into shadow. And there, faint, flickering torches, moving between the trees. Watching. Waiting.
The whisper returned, as soft as breath against his ear. Child of the Maw…
He staggered back from the window, heart hammering. The cult hadn't left. They were still there, patient as wolves, circling the fortress.
And for the first time, Caden wasn't sure if he feared them more or himself.