Dem helped stretch out the tent, driving temporary stakes into the corners before crawling between the folds to install the carved central pillar. The intricate symbols spiraled around the wood in flowing patterns of wind, rain, animals, and suns.
"Do these mean anything?" Dem asked, holding the pole steady while Gram and Yada tugged the floor taut and fixed the stakes firmly.
"It's a blessing," Yada answered, her voice warm. "For happiness. Protection from the elements."
She paused, rotating her shoulder experimentally. "I still can't believe how good this feels…"
Dem smiled. He didn't comment. A few weeks earlier, when Yada, Dern, Telo, and the Swiftwind shaman had involuntarily transformed under the influence of his bloodline, Yada's chronic pain had vanished. She'd never stopped marveling at it.
By the time they finished erecting the tent, Ai and Tam arrived. Ai's grin spread ear to ear as she threw her arms around Dem and patted his head like a loyal camp dog.
"I was so worried, dasai!"
Dem endured the affection. "Sorry to worry you, dosu. I was—"
He froze.
His words evaporated. His head turned north, body going still in a way that made all three women stiffen instinctively.
"Find Telo," Dem said quietly. "Alert the Sentry force. Everyone else stays in camp until I return."
He blurred into the treeline, vanishing with a speed that defied the human eye.
Because that presence —
That pressure in the air —
He knew it.
Bane had returned.
The Eagle Beastkin who once served as the Rat King's personal guard.
Dem ran hard and silent, the forest whipping past in streaks of green and shadow. Within minutes he reached a small clearing. He stopped, waiting.
The sky dimmed unnaturally.
The air thickened — heavy, oppressive — carrying a sour, metallic taste that made his tongue want to recoil.
Then the golden eagle stooped.
It fell from the sky like a meteor, winds exploding in its wake, grass bowing violently as the massive bird landed lightly on talons that punched deep into the soil.
"Your majesty."
Bane's golden eyes studied him — not with deference, but with open approval, the kind offered to a prince whose growth was plain to see.
"I see you are doing well."
Dem nodded. "I didn't expect you for a few years. At least not until after my Massat."
The eagle blurred — feathers shrinking, limbs shifting — until the old man stood before him again, dressed in simple travel-worn leathers.
"Plans must remain fluid," Bane said. "Or we find ourselves unprepared… and overmatched."
His voice lowered.
"I have located your birth mother and your twin."
Dem felt nothing at the mention of his mother — only a distant echo of a voice he'd heard during his bloodrite.
But at twin…
Something tugged inside him. A pull he'd felt ever since the rite.
A connection he didn't yet understand.
He kept his voice steady. "Are they well?"
Bane nodded. "A few close calls with Isadora, but Ember is fine. They are reunited for now, and doing well."
He reached inside his cloak and handed Dem two folded parchments.
"Read these now," Bane said gravely. "I must destroy them once you are finished."
Dem opened the first parchment.
My dearest son,
I can't tell you how joyful it was to know you are still alive.
The name I gave you at birth was Devon, though I understand you are now called Demetri… Dem.
When you were a baby, our home was set on fire by unknown enemies.
I was at the market, and I thought you had perished along with our dear friend Lora.
It destroyed me. For years, I carried a ragged hole in my heart where your smile should have been.
Somehow — by the will of the saints — you survived.
I know nothing of your childhood after those first few months.
I missed holding you, listening to your tiny heartbeat, watching your eyes follow mine.
Now that I know you live, I want nothing more than to see you.
But our enemies still believe you died.
It must stay that way until we are ready to repay them for what they did.
Do you remember me at all?
Do you ever think of me?
Not a night passes that I don't think of you.
I am sorry I wasn't there.
If you hate me, I understand.
Your sister is here with me. Together, we prepare for the day when we can be reunited.
If you can… write back.
Even if you have nothing to say.
– Your mother, Ember
Dem stared at the words.
His dark eyes glimmered — not with tears, but with something deeper, older, buried too long. His breath caught. Then pain tore through him like a blade. His features twisted, hands clutching at his skull as something inside his mind cracked open.
Old memories — blurred, scattered, impossible fragments he'd never been able to hold — surged upward.
The air thickened, darkened, and warped around his body as if reality itself was recoiling from the force of what was returning.
Then Dem vanished.
[Fourteen Years Earlier]
A face came into focus — light brown hair, warm eyes, lips always curved in a gentle smile.
Ember bathed her son patiently in what could only be called a large bucket. Sitting upright, Devon kicked and splashed—sometimes at her, sometimes simply because water existed and his personality demanded it.
Ember wiped droplets from her eyes with a thin forearm. "You must be part otter," she teased, her smile widening. She leaned in to kiss him—
—but he blew a raspberry at the exact moment her face neared his.
The vibration, the noise—Devon had made a game of it.
He waited until Ember or Lora leaned in for a kiss and then unleashed his assault.
"No!" Ember laughed as she snatched a bar of homemade soap from his hands, just as he decided it looked edible. He had already taken a bite. A frothy raspberry followed, producing suds.
"No eating soap…"
Devon giggled, tiny teeth just breaking through his gums, as Ember lifted him and wrapped him in warm linen.
"Do you know how much I love you?" she whispered, placing a half dozen baby kisses across his face. He answered with another raspberry, and her laughter made him feel warm.
The scene twisted.
Warm light vanished.
Smoke filled the room.
An older woman held him tight—Lora—her fear sharp and overwhelming as she scurried across the burning apartment. Flames licked up her skirt; she ignored them.
Devon's eyes widened, infant instincts screaming that something was terribly wrong as heat bit into his soft skin.
Lora knelt before the cold brick fireplace, eyes wild but determined. She placed him gently into the hearth, praying to the saints with trembling lips.
His vision blurred as the beastkin blood erupted, awakened by mortal danger.
His swaddling blanket vanished.
His body shrank, fur spreading across skin, bones twisting smoothly—instinctive, ancient, unstoppable.
A small black rat blinked up at her.
Hope flared in Lora's eyes.
Even while burning, she reached through the pain, grabbed him, and pressed him toward the chimney.
"Climb!" she gasped. "Climb as fast as you can! Don't stop, no matter what!"
He remembered her voice.
Her face.
The love.
The fear.
All of it lost to him for years—until now.
The memory tore through him.
In the present, Dem's jaw locked. His claws slashed outward involuntarily, granite splitting under his claws.
His consciousness faded into that maelstrom of grief and rage—
—until a voice dragged him back.
"Are you okay, Your Majesty?" Bane's deep voice carried an edge of concern.
Dem sat upright, breathing hard, clothes scattered around the clearing. "I'm fine."
He dressed slowly, still dazed, glancing at the shattered stone around him.
Deep gouges carved through granite. Boulders crushed. Trees bent or splintered.
"Did I do this?"
Bane nodded once. "Blood rage. As powerful as the Rat King himself." Awe threaded through his voice. "You remember?"
"Two small moments," Dem said quietly. "But enough to settle questions I've carried my entire life."
His voice sharpened.
"Find the one responsible, King's Blade. One day… there will be a reckoning."
Bane bowed deeply and accepted the letter back. "As you command, Majesty."
He hesitated, voice softer.
"Take a moment before reading the second letter."
Dem sat among the gouged stone and crushed rubble, forcing his mind toward the day's gains instead of the fury still simmering under his skin.
Ember — his birth mother.
Lora — the nanny who walked into fire so he might live.
"I'll count this as a win," Dem murmured. "But I won't forget."
He opened the second letter.
Dem,
We haven't met, but you're the piece of me that has been missing my entire life.
I learned of you during your blood rite. I saw your memories… and I felt your pain, little street rat.
I grew up in Duscanti, daughter of a Duke who needed a son more than he ever wanted a girl. Compared to you, my life has been easy — but I can't help thinking it would have been far brighter had we grown up together.
My beast form is a black panther, the same as our father's, though his is much larger and more powerful.
He sent me to look for you — but even as I did, our enemies struck. He's being hunted through the catacombs beneath his own castle, pursued by both friend and foe. Bane says we need him alive for what's coming. I wonder what you will think of that.
I've met our mother, Ember. I wish you were with me when I did. She is beautiful beyond words — you will see.
Soon, she will leave the little settlement we're building to help our father. We grow stronger in the shadows, in distant lands, even while our enemies celebrate what they believe is our downfall.
I will find you during your Massat.
We must continue to grow.
I love you, little rat.
Your twin sister,
Isadora
Dem smiled faintly as he folded the letter. There was steel in those words. And warmth. And something fiercely protective.
He handed it back to Bane. "May I respond?"
Bane inclined his head. "Take your time. I will return in a few weeks."
He whispered something old and sharp in an ancient tongue.
Both letters ignited in his hands, burning cleanly to ash.
Bane didn't release them until the last fleck drifted away on the wind.