Twelve years had carved away the softness.
The boy who had once cried beneath unfamiliar stars, clutching a trembling creature to his chest, was gone. In his place stood someone harder. Colder. Someone the world had shaped with violence and loss until all the gentle edges had been ground away.
Elya stood atop the shattered bell tower of Greyfall Village, the wind tugging at his white hair like restless fingers trying to pull him back from the edge he'd been walking for years.
He was no longer small. No longer fragile.
His body was lean now, muscle shaped by hunger and survival rather than comfort. His golden eyes swept over the town below with quiet precision, counting exits, memorizing guard routes, measuring distances.
Those eyes no longer held innocence.
Only calculation.
Greyfall lay beneath him like a wounded animal.
Merchants packed away their stalls as dusk crept across the streets, shadows stretching long between broken buildings. Entire blocks stood abandoned, their walls still scarred by claw marks from Tenebris attacks that had happened years ago and were never repaired. Weeds grew freely through cracked stone. Silence filled places where laughter once lived.
This was the world now.
A world that blamed witches instead of monsters.
A world that burned the innocent and called it justice.
Elya had stopped expecting better.
Beside him, Puma crouched in perfect stillness.
The creature had grown into something sleek and dangerous. Midnight fur swallowed the surrounding shadows, making it nearly invisible in the fading light. Though still small enough to leap onto Elya's shoulder—a habit it never outgrew—there was nothing harmless about it anymore. Muscle rippled beneath its coat. Claws extended and retracted silently. Its molten-gold eyes, identical to Elya's, watched everything.
They had survived together. Learned together. Grown deadly together.
Elya rested one hand on Puma's head, fingers threading through warm fur.
"Stay alert," he murmured.
Puma's ears twitched in response.
With a final glance at the horizon, Elya stepped off the tower.
He dropped three stories and landed in a narrow alley without a sound, knees absorbing the impact effortlessly. Puma followed a heartbeat later.
They moved immediately.
Information was more valuable than weapons. That was something Elya learned early. A blade could kill one person.
Knowledge could destroy kingdoms.
He flowed through Greyfall like smoke, keeping to blind spots and shadows. His movements were economical—no wasted steps, no unnecessary risks. He knew how to read a town's rhythm, how to become invisible by matching it.
Just another traveler.
Just another nobody.
He paused near the marketplace, flattening himself against sun-warmed stone as a group of guards passed close enough that he could smell their sweat and cheap ale. He didn't breathe until they were gone.
Then he slipped into the crowd.
Voices washed over him.
Grain prices. Complaints about Tenebris raids. Two old men arguing about whether the world had truly gotten worse or people had simply gotten softer.
Nothing useful.
He was about to move on when—
"…the wedding's confirmed."
Elya slowed.
Two merchants stood beside a lantern-lit stall, speaking in hushed tones. He drifted closer, pretending to examine dried herbs while Puma pressed against his leg.
"Tomorrow at dawn," the older man said. "Princess Nana's being married off to Lord Vaelcrest. Orders came straight from the capital. King Ashveil wants stronger military ties before winter."
Ashveil.
The name hit Elya like a punch to the chest.
His fingers curled slowly into fists.
"Princess Nana Ashveil," the younger merchant muttered. "She's what—sixteen?"
"Sixteen," the older man confirmed. "Barely grown."
"They say she begged him not to go through with it."
The older merchant shrugged. "Royal blood doesn't get choices. Never has. She'll do her duty. That's what princesses are for."
Elya turned away before they could notice how still he'd gone.
He moved without thinking, retreating to the outskirts of town, his feet carrying him toward a dead oak tree overlooking Greyfall—a place he'd scouted days ago. Puma followed, silent and attentive.
Beneath the skeletal branches, Elya closed his eyes and forced his breathing to steady.
A forced marriage.
A political alliance sealed with a girl's future.
And Ashveil—still king. Still sitting on his throne. Still moving lives around like pieces on a board.
His hand rose unconsciously to the chain around his neck—the same silver chain his mother had placed there with shaking fingers before pushing him off a cliff to save his life.
Don't hate them… they are ignorant.
Her voice echoed faintly in his memory.
He had tried.For a while.
But forgiveness didn't survive cold nights in ditches. It didn't survive hunger or soldiers or watching innocent people disappear.
Eventually, all that remained was truth.
They deserved to suffer.
And Ashveil most of all.
"So that's how you live now," Elya whispered to the darkening sky. "Selling your daughter. Playing king while everything rots."
He exhaled slowly.
Think. Analyze. Plan.
The first thought came sharp and clean:
She's leverage.
Ashveil's daughter. His only child, according to rumors. A bargaining chip worth more than gold. A way to draw the king out of his fortress.
And if necessary…
Elya's jaw tightened.A way to make him feel loss.
"Just another Ashveil," Elya murmured.
Puma looked up at him.
For one dangerous moment, an image flashed through Elya's mind—his baby sister's face, innocent and trusting.
He crushed the thought instantly.
Sympathy was weakness.
Princess Nana Ashveil was not his sister. She was raised in silk while children like him starved. She was part of the system that destroyed everything he loved.
She meant nothing.
From the ridge, he could see the palace in the distance—white stone and silver spires glowing beneath lantern light. Beautiful. Untouchable.
Tomorrow, inside those walls, a girl would be dressed in wedding silks and paraded before nobles who didn't care about her tears.
And Elya would be there.
Not as a guest.As a ghost.
He crouched beside Puma, running his fingers through its fur while his mind worked through routes and contingencies.
"We move at dawn," he said quietly.
Puma's low growl was eager.
"They'll call it an abduction," Elya continued, his voice flat. "They'll call me a monster."
The wind whispered through dead branches.
"But tomorrow," he said softly, something dark stirring beneath his calm, "a king loses his daughter."
He stood, pale hair catching the moonlight.
"And I gain a path to his throat."
He turned away from the palace.
The world believed the witch-born boy had died twelve years ago at the bottom of a cliff.
Tomorrow, they would learn otherwise.
Elya didn't sleep that night.
He sat beneath the dead oak, Puma curled beside him, staring at a sky that offered no answers.
His mother had asked him not to hate.
But she'd been dying when she said it.
Forgiveness was for people who were safe.
Elya was not.
His revenge had a face now.
And for the first time in twelve years…
Elya wasn't sure whether that made things easier—or infinitely harder.