Dawn came gray and heavy, as if even the sun was reluctant to climb above the smoking ruins of the battlefield. The fortress stirred slowly, the clang of hammers echoing from the walls where men patched breaks in the stone. What had once been a citadel of power now looked like a wounded beast, bleeding mortar and ash.
Caden walked among them, shoulders hunched, trying to pretend he belonged. But wherever he went, silence followed. Soldiers averted their eyes, or else stared too long, as though trying to decide if the boy before them was human or some thing wrapped in human skin. He could feel their fear, thick in the air.
The warlord summoned him by midday. The great hall still bore scars from the night before. Banners scorched, tiles cracked, and the long table reduced to splinters where his fist had struck. The man sat on a throne of iron riveted together from broken weapons, his presence like a shadow that filled the chamber.
"Do you know what you are, boy?" the warlord asked, voice carrying across the hall.
Caden's mouth felt dry. He thought of the cult's whispers. Child of the Maw. He thought of the soldiers' eyes. Of Ravel's warning. He shook his head. "No."
The warlord leaned forward, the light catching the scars that carved his face. "You are a weapon. A weapon that destroys everything it touches. And weapons are wasted in chains."
Caden stiffened, uncertain.
"I could order you cut down where you stand," the warlord went on. "But that would serve no purpose. What I see in you could change the tide of this war. Entire armies swallowed whole. Rivals broken before they even raise a blade." His eyes burned with hunger. "With you at my side, there will be no enemy left to fear."
The words struck Caden like a blow. He wanted to shout that he wasn't a weapon, that he didn't want any part of the bloodshed. But the void inside him stirred at the warlord's vision, pulsing in rhythm with his heartbeat. A terrifying part of him wondered what it would be like to unleash it all, to let the hunger devour more than scraps.
The warlord rose, each step echoing against the cracked stone. He placed a heavy hand on Caden's shoulder, and though his grip was steady, his eyes gleamed with a predator's satisfaction.
"You will march with me when the time comes. Until then, you will be trained. Watched. Hardened. And when I unleash you, the world will know whose banner you serve."
Caden lowered his gaze, every muscle tense. He could feel the warlord's plan wrapping around him like iron chains. A future he didn't choose, tightening with every word.
When the hall emptied, Ravel approached quietly. "Do not let him own you," he murmured. "A weapon can be turned on its master as easily as its enemies."
Caden looked up, searching the man's eyes, but Ravel offered nothing more. He simply walked away, his cloak trailing like shadow behind him.
And in the silence that followed, Caden realized the truth: the warlord's fear had become greed. He was no longer a boy under suspicion. He was a weapon named and weapons were never free.