Ivor climbed down from the roof before the light reached the streets.
He hid the lifeless crystal beneath his pile of cloth in the corner of the attic and sat there for a long time.
He did not consider asking his father to get another.
Below him, the house was still. His parents were still asleep. He stayed there until the quiet broke on its own.
Footsteps. Soft. Familiar.
Rhea moved first. A cupboard opened. Water was poured. The scrape of a chair followed. Kael rose a little later, his steps heavier, slower. The day began the same way it always did.
Once they were finished with their routine, Ivor climbed down and joined them at the table.
Breakfast was simple. Few vegetables. Thin broth. Steam that faded too quickly in the cold air. For a few moments, they ate without speaking.
Rhea was the first to look at him properly.
Her eyes paused on his face, then on his hands.
"You didn't sleep," she said.
Ivor shook his head.
Her lips curved, soft this time. "I thought so." She reached into her pocket and took out a strip of dark cloth, newer than the one he usually used. "Here."
She leaned closer and tied his hair back for him, fingers practiced, gentle. When she finished, she stepped back and nodded once, satisfied.
"The crystal," she said, quieter now. "You are excited I guess."
Kael glanced up at that and smiled faintly, the lines around his eyes easing for the first time that morning.
"Just don't take it with you," Rhea added. "Leave it at home. And don't talk about it. Not with anyone."
"Yes," Ivor said.
They finished the food fast.
Kael stood and pulled on his coat. Ivor followed.
At the door, Rhea rested a hand on Ivor's shoulder, brief and firm. "Be careful," she said.
Then she stepped back.
Kael and Ivor left together, the door closing softly behind them.
*****
The Shrouded Labor Pen was already awake. Beasts were herded into order with shouted instructions and practiced indifference. Ivor took up his tasks without being told, moving through the lanes with the familiarity of habit.
By now, he knew every beast kept there. When one disappeared, another took its place. No one lasted.
Garron arrived late, as usual.
Ivor felt it before he saw him.
The pressure behind his eyes churned, faint at first, then sharpening as Garron's voice carried across the pen. Guards straightened. Conversations dulled. Garron walked in laughing with one of them, clapping the man on the shoulder before pushing past him toward the inner hall.
Ivor kept his head down and his hands busy until the lanes thinned.
Then he slipped into Grunty's section.
She lay on her side, breathing slow. The wound along her back had opened again, darkened fur clotted with dried blood. Ivor cleaned it carefully, tearing the cloth into smaller strips when the first soaked through. Grunty shifted once, then stilled, trusting the pressure of his hands.
When he finished, he rested his palm against her shoulder.
Her eye opened.
She turned her head slightly and pressed her muzzle against his forearm, a low sound rumbling in her chest.
Ivor stayed like that for a moment.
"If I awaken," he said quietly, eyes lowered, "I won't be allowed to stay here."
Grunty's breath changed slightly.
Ivor swallowed once. "Take care of yourself after that."
Grunty pressed her forehead briefly against his chest, then huffed and settled back down. Her eye didn't close.
Outside the section, Garron's voice carried again.
The pressure behind Ivor's eyes tightened.
Near midday, Ivor found Kael by the storage racks.
"I want to head back early," he said, keeping his voice low. "To practice with the crystal."
Kael looked at him, then smiled softly.
"Don't rush it," he said. "Go on."
Ivor gave a small nod and stepped away.
The house was empty when he returned.
Rhea had gone for her day job as well.
Ivor went straight to the kitchen and knelt by the bin beneath the worktable. Inside lay discarded fragments from forging. Bent metal. Cracked tools. He chose a short piece of broken metal, the end sharp and uneven from where it had snapped. Small enough to hide. Heavy enough to hurt. He took it and went to the attic.
In the attic, he sat cross-legged and returned to his practice, drawing in raw mana until his breathing steadied and the pressure behind his eyes dulled to a thin edge.
Later, they ate together as they had the night before. Few words were exchanged. When the meal ended, Ivor climbed back into the attic and watched through the narrow window as his father left for the second shift.
He waited.
And when enough time had passed that Kael should have been returning home, Ivor slipped out through the roof and made his way toward the Labor Pen. The labor pen lay quieter now. Most guards had rotated out. A few lingered near the gate. Garron remained inside with two other.
Ivor slipped through the perimeter and into the lanes.
He slipped into Grunty's section and pressed himself close to her flank. Her bulk hid him completely from the lanes. Warmth bled through her fur into his side. He slowed his breathing and listened.
Footsteps passed. Voices faded. One guard laughed somewhere near the gate. Another answered, bored.
Time stretched.
Grunty did not move. Only her breathing shifted slightly, matching his without being told.
Ivor waited.
The pressure behind his eyes stirred.
It did not push yet. It rolled. Rising and falling in slow waves, as if testing the space around him. Each time it swelled, his focus sharpened. Each time it ebbed, his muscles loosened, ready to move again.
The pen emptied in stages.
First the outer lanes. Then the work sections. Boots retreated. Keys rattled once, twice. A door closed deeper inside the structure.
Only one set of footsteps remained.
Garron.
The pressure behind Ivor's eyes climbed, then eased back slightly, coiling instead of bursting, almost playful in its anticipation. The pale crescent on his iris returned, faint but steadier now, clinging to the edge of his vision whenever he shifted his focus.
Ivor slid away from Grunty's side and moved low along the shadows, keeping the iron partitions between himself and the hall. He stopped beside a stack of crates just outside the doorway and crouched behind them, fitting himself into the narrow space.
From there, he could see the hall.
The desk. The door. Garron's silhouette moving inside.
With each step Garron took toward the exit, the pressure tightened again. The crescent in Ivor's eye thickened slightly, uneven, incomplete, and vanished only when he forced himself to breathe.
Ivor curled his fingers around the jagged metal and waited.