Drip… drip… drip…
Time crept back slowly. Consciousness flickered in and out like a candle guttering in the wind. Each time his eyes opened, the world was fractured—dim firelight, the scent of moss and damp stone, the feel of coarse bandages tightening against broken ribs. Each time he slipped away again, the dark pulling him under.
He lay on a nest of animal pelts in a cavern carved by time. Moss and glowing fungi clung to the walls, casting their pale light across rough stone. A small fire popped and hissed, its glow fighting the shadows.
Shadows blurred into form. A figure sat near the fire, steady hands grinding herbs into a bowl, then pressing the mixture into his wounds. His voice came low, meant only for the dying boy to hear.
"Stay with me, Shadow. You're not meant to die here."
The words dragged him back from the void. His silver eyes cracked open, hazy and unfocused. The man's dark outline bent over him again and again—feeding bitter liquid between his lips, binding his ribs, whispering to hold on.
Days blurred. Firelight. Pain. Sleep. Then, slowly, strength began to return. When his fever finally broke, he managed to sit upright for the first time, breath ragged but steady.
"You're awake."
The voice belonged to the man seated by the fire. He was tall and broad-shouldered, marked by scars and the weight of discipline. A dragon tattoo curled down his forearm, his eyes glowing faintly orange in the light like embers refusing to die. Though stern in countenance, his movements carried a quiet gentleness. A seasoned warrior shaped by hardship, Neto radiated a strength that came from discipline and suffering alike.
Shadow coughed, his voice weak. "Where…?"
"Safe. For now."
"I… I fell. I was thrown…"
"You were dying," the man said bluntly. "I pulled you from the river's grip before it finished you."
Silence pressed in with the crack of the fire and the drip of water from the cavern roof.
"Don't move too much. Your body's broken. But you'll live."
Relief washed through him, though pain dulled the edges of every thought. He let his head sink back into the pelts, grateful for the reprieve.
When the fifth day came and he could finally form questions, he asked the one that burned in his chest. "Who are you?"
The man stirred the pot over the fire. "My name is Neto."
"Why did you save me?"
"Because your life was never meant to end like that."
Blue blinked, confusion and disbelief mingling. "What do you mean?"
Neto met his gaze, steady and unwavering. "Before I tell you what I know, answer me this—what kind of life have you lived under Archibald? What has been done to you?" He listened in silence, letting the boy's broken words spill out, every punishment and humiliation laid bare in the dim firelight. Only when Shadow's voice faltered did Neto speak again, his tone grave. "You are no servant. Your true name is Shadow Pierce."
The words struck like thunder.
"Shadow Pierce…" The name left Blue's lips in a whisper, the first time he had spoken it aloud. For an instant, the flicker of firelight became something else—a memory of a woman's gentle smile as she cradled him, her voice naming him with love before the vision shattered and the cave returned.
He struggled to take in the name, breath catching in his chest. Silence lingered before questions poured from him in a rush, raw and trembling. "Where am I really from? Who were my parents? Why did they abandon me? Why… why was I left with him?"
Neto hesitated, his gaze dropping to the fire. For a long moment he was silent, as though weighing whether the truth would heal or only deepen the wound. At last, his eyes returned to Shadow's, heavy with sorrow.
"Gracey and Marvin Pierce," he said quietly. "They are your parents."
Shadow's eyes widened. "Where are they? Where do I come from?"
"The Pierce family resides in the east, within the Naper Empire," Neto answered. "They are a top-tier force, steeped in tradition."
Shadow's voice cracked as the questions tumbled out. "Why did they abandon me? Was I not good enough? Why… why give me to him?"
"They did not abandon you," Neto said, his tone steady though his eyes reflected sorrow. "One of the Pierce traditions is to send the younger members of the family out into the world at the age of eight or ten, depending on their potential, so they can learn to stand on their own. But you were different—even before your first year you showed promise beyond measure. Your parents made a bold choice and entrusted you to Archibald, believing he would guide and teach you."
Shadow's hands trembled. "And instead?"
Neto's jaw tightened. "Instead, he betrayed that trust—for reasons still hidden. The tradition was meant to forge warriors who would never lead the family to ruin through arrogance without strength. That was meant to be your path, Shadow. But Archibald twisted it. He used you, broke you, lied to you."
Memories rose unbidden—the labor, the punishments, the humiliation. His breath came shallow, ragged. Rage tangled with sorrow until both twisted into a storm inside him. His chest shook, his vision blurred, and the cave itself seemed to tilt under the weight of it. He clenched the furs beneath him, desperate to anchor himself as questions still echoed—why, who, how. The revelation pressed down until it was almost unbearable, threatening to break him as much as the wounds in his body.
Neto placed a hand on his shoulder, firm but not crushing. His expression darkened with regret. "Archibald slipped past me," he admitted softly. "I searched for years to find you, and when I finally did, it was only to see you beaten, broken, cast into a river to die. That is a weight I will carry." His grip steadied, his eyes burning with resolve. "But you lived for a reason, Shadow. And now your journey begins."