It started with the hum of a neon light.
I was sitting on a cracked step outside a bar that smelled of rain and rot, watching taxis smear yellow across puddles. My phone buzzed somewhere in my pocket — another message I wouldn't answer. I'd already sold half my books for rent, half my pride for another drink.
The city didn't care. It kept breathing, loud and bright, as if to remind me how small I'd become.
I remember thinking: Just one more chance, I'd do it right.
The thought hurt, like pressing on a bruise that never healed.
Then the world folded.
The sound of tires became hooves.The rain changed its scent — from oil and smoke to earth and cold iron — and the pain in my chest turned into fire.
The flash of neon gave way to a storm-dark sky. The cracked step became the sway of a horse. I gasped, reaching for something solid — and my hand met rough leather, rain, and the burning mark on my wrist.
The bond was alive, searing through me like molten wire. Lirael's fear pressed against my ribs — her heartbeat pounding against mine, her sorrow bleeding into every breath.
I tried to speak, but my throat only managed a broken gasp.
Ahead of me, Kael rode in silence, his cloak heavy with rain. The runes along his armor shimmered faintly, pulsing with that same dreadful rhythm.
"Where… are we?" I managed to rasp.
He didn't answer. Didn't turn. Didn't even slow his horse.
Just that same cold aura — steady, ancient, indifferent.
The pain worsened. It was more than I could stand. My vision blurred, the world swaying between thunder and memory. I reached out, grasping at air — and then I fell.
The mud hit me hard. The bond screamed through my chest, dragging a raw cry from my lungs before the storm swallowed it.
I lay there, shivering, the taste of earth and rain mixing with something older — grief that wasn't mine but might as well have been.
Kael stopped. The rain hissed off his armor as he turned his head slightly, his red eyes dim beneath the hood. For a long moment, he said nothing.Then, quietly — almost like a verdict:
"The bond teaches faster than words."
He turned away, and the world moved on without me.
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Valebryn Hall
It took two days for the storm to reach Valebryn Hall — and with it, the weight of disgrace.
The same rain that had fallen during the judgment now swept across the northern hills, carrying whispers of the king's decree.
The great manor that once shimmered with laughter and gold banners now sat draped in silence. Servants moved like ghosts, avoiding the eyes of their masters. Outside, rain traced the high windows, whispering of judgment carried on the wind.
In the west chamber, Lady Isolde sat at the long table, her emerald gown stiff with mourning creases. The firelight caught the sharp lines of her face — beauty carved by pride."Disgrace," she said finally, her voice low but cutting. "Our name, dragged through mud by the son of a ghost. I warned your lord — that woman's blood was cursed."
Across from her, Lady Selene, the younger wife, set down her goblet with a soft clink. Her tone was calm, but her eyes carried steel."You speak of the dead as if she chose his ruin, Isolde. The boy's mother is gone. Let the grave rest."
Isolde's lips curved. "The grave rests, perhaps. But her stain lingers. And now it burns us all."
Before Selene could reply, the chamber doors opened.Lord Valebryn entered, his presence dimmed by exhaustion rather than age. His cloak was soaked, his hair streaked with silver.He walked past them both without a word and stood before the hearth, watching the fire as though seeking an answer in its heart.
For a time, no one spoke.
Then Selene said softly, "It's been two days, my lord. Still no word from the capital?"
He shook his head. "No word will come. The judgment stands — and so does my oath. The decree was signed in the presence of three crowns. The boy's name is stricken. He is no son of mine, nor of this House."
Lady Isolde rose from her chair, satisfaction flashing in her eyes. "Then you'll let it end there? Good. Let his memory be buried beside his shame."
But Selene frowned. "And if the price of obedience is the loss of your blood? Will you call that justice?"
Lord Valebryn's voice cracked like thunder. "I call it loyalty! Would you have me defy the crowns and see Valebryn Hall burn for one reckless child?"
"Ruin is already here," Isolde shot back. "And it came wearing your son's face."
The door at the far end of the hall opened again, and Alric stepped in, broad-shouldered and grave, his cloak still wet from training. He glanced between the arguing voices before speaking."Enough. Father's right. The king spared him — that's more mercy than we deserved. He should have been executed."
From the staircase above, a sharp voice cut through the silence.Serenya.
She descended slowly, her gown dark as ink, eyes burning with disbelief."You call that mercy?" she said, voice trembling. "You saw what they did, Alric. You heard the decree. He's bound to her — her pain, her grief, her hate. That isn't mercy. It's torment."
Alric's jaw tightened. "Better torment than death."
Serenya stopped halfway down the stairs. "You think this ends with him? The realm won't forget our name. Every whisper, every banquet, every trade — they'll all see us through his sin."
"And yet," Selene murmured, "you weep for him still."
Serenya turned her face away, blinking hard. "He's my brother," she said quietly. "Even if the realm forgets him — I won't."
The silence that followed was broken only by the crackle of the fire.
Then came a soft voice from the shadows near the window. Caelia.
She stood barefoot, her nightrobe dragging along the floor, eyes red from sleeplessness. In her hands she clutched a small silver pendant — the twin of one Arlen still wore."Do you think he's cold out there?" she asked.
Serenya's composure broke. She knelt, gathered Caelia into her arms, and whispered something too soft to hear.
Alric turned away, guilt flickering in his eyes. "Cold or not, he made his choice."
"Did he?" Serenya's voice snapped. "Or was the choice made for him?"
Her words struck the room like a blade drawn too quickly. Even Lord Valebryn froze.
Lady Isolde's voice came, brittle as glass. "Enough. The dead cannot defend their mistakes."
The Lord's hand slammed down on the table. "Enough, all of you."
Silence. Only the storm answered.
He closed his eyes, his voice softer now — heavy with something between grief and finality."Whatever he was, he is no longer of this House. The name Valebryn does not speak him. Let the record show that I have no son by that name."
The rain beat harder against the glass, as though the heavens themselves objected.
In the solum garden, beneath the willow where his late wife once walked, the grandlord of house valebryn knelt among the lilies. The rain clung to his shoulders as he whispered,"History repeats itself, Valebryn. Pride devours its own."He traced a trembling hand over the stone marked only with a name long worn away."May the Maker guard him… even if his blood won't."
____________________________________________________________________________________________________
When I woke, the rain was gone — only its ghost lingered in the air.Each breath came with the scent of wet stone and smoke, the faint hiss of dying embers whispering through the cave.
A fire burned a few paces away, its light thin and steady, like it was too proud to die. For a while, I didn't move. I just listened — to the rain dripping from the lip of the cave, to the steady rasp of steel drawn across stone.
Kael sat before the fire, sharpening his blade.The flames etched him in dull bronze — his movements precise, patient, deliberate. The Eidbark's cloak hung nearby, heavy with rainwater. Without it, he looked less like the wraith that had dragged me from the mud and more like something half-remembered.
Elf. That much was clear. But not like the elves I knew — not court-smooth and sharp with pride.His hair was black — impossibly black — yet so bright it seemed to drink the firelight into itself. His skin bore faint black veins that stirred when the flame cracked, and his eyes, red and steady, caught every flicker of light and made it seem smaller somehow.Even sitting still, there was an oldness to him — the kind that made the air feel thicker just by being near.
His blade was unlike any I'd seen. The edge shimmered faintly, alive, and along its length ran old runes — not carved, but grown. I didn't know their meaning, but they tugged at my thoughts like a song I'd heard as a child and forgotten the words to.
The pain from the bond had dulled to a throb. Not gone, just quieter. Waiting.My chest burned faintly where the mark lay, hot as if the fire itself had branded me there.
"You could've warned me," I said hoarsely.
Kael didn't look up. "Of what?"
"The bond. The pain."
He drew the blade once more along the stone — a low, slow rasp. "You lived."
"Barely." I shifted upright, wincing as the ache flared through my ribs. " Are Eidbark always this generous with comfort?"
He didn't answer.
The silence dragged, broken only by the hiss of the fire and the rhythmic scrape of steel. I watched him — the way his eyes never blinked, how his jaw barely moved when he breathed. He might as well have been carved from the same stone we sheltered under.
The pain surged again, sudden and cruel. I gasped, pressing a hand to my chest as the mark burned hotter, the bond gnawing its way through me.It was like fire behind my ribs — not the clean fire of the hearth, but the wild kind that devours what it touches.
Kael sighed through his nose, annoyance cutting through his calm. He set the blade aside, stood, and faced me."We'll never reach the others if you keep writhing like this," he said flatly. "You'll burn out before we see the wall."
"Not my fault your king thought linking two people was a clever punishment," I muttered.
Kael's eyes glinted faintly red in the firelight. "It wasn't his choice. And it isn't yours to question."
"Easy for you to say," I bit back, though the effort cost me a groan. "You're not the one bleeding from the inside."
He stared at me — long, cold, unblinking. Then, finally, he said, "You can cheat it."
That got my attention. "Cheat it?"
He knelt beside the fire again, reaching for the blade but not yet touching it. "The bond feeds on what you offer it — fear, guilt, pain. Learn to cut it off, and it will have nothing to take."
"Cut it off?" I repeated, still clutching my chest. "You're talking nonsense."
"Then die slower," he said simply.
I glared at him, but the burn behind my ribs made arguing pointless. "Fine," I spat. "Show me."
Kael didn't move for a moment. Then he exhaled, low and deep, like someone finally surrendering to a fool's request."Sit straight," he said. "Close your eyes."
"I can barely breathe."
"Do it."
I obeyed — partly out of pride, partly out of spite. The stone was cold against my back, the air colder still.
"Now listen," Kael said quietly. "Not to me. To yourself. Find where the pain ends and you begin."
The words sounded like riddles, but I tried. The pain wasn't just pain — it had layers. Beneath it, a pulse of something familiar. Her sorrow. Lirael's. Still echoing, still alive inside me like a ghost that refused to leave.
"Good," Kael murmured. "Now… build the wall."
"How?"
"Imagine what cannot break you."
The bond flared suddenly, testing me — its fire clawing at every memory, every failure. I saw her eyes, the court's judgment, the shame. The fire wanted it all.But I pushed back. I built the wall — stone by stone, thought by thought — cold, heavy, unfeeling.
And for a heartbeat, the pain vanished.The world dimmed, quiet. Empty.
Then I opened my eyes. The fire flickered. The cave looked… distant. Even Kael seemed to move through water. I couldn't feel the pain — or much of anything else.
"What—" I swallowed. "What did you do?"
Kael looked up briefly, testing the blade's edge. "Isolation," he said. "It will dull the pain. But it will take other things too."
"What things?"
He met my eyes, and for a moment, I thought I saw something — regret, or maybe memory. "You'll learn."
He turned back to the blade. The whetstone rasped again.
After a while, I pushed myself up, resting against the cold wall. "Tell me something," I said, staring into the fire. "Do you… resent me? For what they said I did?"
The scraping stopped. The cave went still.
When Kael spoke, it was with no malice — only quiet fatigue."Resentment is for those who still serve."
I frowned. "And you don't?"
Kael looked into the fire, his reflection burning faintly red."The ones I served are gone," he said finally. "All that remains is duty — and the wall."
He went back to the blade.
The fire hissed softly as a drop of rain fell into the coals, and I thought — for just a moment — that the sounstaring at the ceiling where shadows tangled like roots above us. The wall inside me held. The pain stayed silent.
But so did everything else.
It should've felt like victory — to master the bond, to steal back a measure of control.Instead, the quiet pressed too close.The bond's mark pulsed faintly against my chest, like a heartbeat that wasn't mine, and I wondered if, somewhere far beyond the storm, she could feel this same hollow peace.
Kael said nothing more, and neither did I.
The fire burned lower, and in its fading light, I realized the silence between us wasn't empty — it was waiting.d it made was almost like a sigh.I leaned back,