Some names open doors. Mine closed them.
Every morning, as I crossed the central square of the Bastion, I felt the eyes on me. The whispers would stop when I passed, conversations would cut off mid-sentence, and some people would turn away, unable to meet my gaze. They weren't seeing me. They were seeing the Founder's son. And that title was enough to turn every ordinary gesture into a mistake.
The Bastion was waking slowly. The first rays of sunlight lit the immense walls and the cobblestones still damp with dew. The forges were already alive, hammering metal and filling the air with a warm, acrid scent that lingered like a promise of survival. Patrols changed towers, children ran despite the rules, and merchants set up their stalls. From a distance, it almost looked like a normal town. Almost.
I passed a bakery where two women whispered in low tones:
— The Founder's son… do you think he'll be up to it?— Honestly, I don't know…
Their eyes lifted toward me before quickly dropping. I pretended not to hear. Over time, you learn to ignore whispers. To pretend not to hear, not to see, not to be judged. But it's never easy.
The training grounds awaited me. The recruits were already practicing, striking wood and metal with a precision and force I had never achieved. Lina was there, watching me with her mocking smile. She was only sixteen years younger than me, but in that moment, she seemed capable of moving mountains.
— Late, Kael.
— Only two minutes, I replied, trying to mask my nervousness.
She sighed and lifted her spear, assuming perfect stance. I knew what awaited me. Every encounter with her ended the same way: me on the ground, her standing, slightly winded but victorious.
— You think too much, she told me once more. If it were outside…
I didn't even need to finish her sentence. You would be dead.
I picked up my spear, gritting my teeth. Once, twice, three times. Each attempt left me more exhausted, more frustrated. Each time I fell, I felt the weight of the name I carried. Each failure was a cruel reminder that I was not my father.
Then a shadow fell over us. Immobile, imposing. The recruits went silent. Even Lina froze. I knew before I looked up.
My father.
He walked calmly, each step precise and weighted with meaning. He was immense, scarred, salt-and-pepper hair tied behind his neck. Even standing still, he exuded a power that could not be questioned.
— Kael, he said.
Just my name. No reproach, no praise. Just the weight of everything I was not.
— Yes, I replied, out of breath.
— Come with me.
Without another word, he turned and walked toward the ramparts. Every step I took behind him felt like climbing an invisible mountain. We reached the east tower, the tallest of the Bastion. The wind struck hard, lifting dust and debris. Beyond the walls, the world stretched wild, dead, irreversibly changed by the creatures, by the fusion of worlds, by war.
My father placed a spyglass on the parapet.
— Look, he said simply.
I scanned the horizon. Ruins stretched as far as the eye could see, carcasses of cities, blackened forests, and in the distance, a column of smoke signaling the presence of another group of survivors… or something else.
— Can't we help them? I asked.
He remained silent. Then:
— If I open the gates for them, a thousand people here will die.
I clenched my fists. Every decision seemed impossible. And yet, he looked at me seriously:
— One day, Kael… all of this will be yours.
My heart tightened.
— Me?— Yes.
The silence of the wind between the towers was deafening. He added:
— You'll have to learn faster than I ever did.
And without another word, he vanished, leaving behind an immense void and a burden I wasn't sure I could bear.
That night, the Bastion's bell rang. Three strikes. The alert signal. Grey silhouettes gathered at the foot of the southern wall, shifting, fast, deadly. My father was not here to protect us. Everything rested on me.
For the first time in my life, I understood the true weight of my name. And I was not ready.