[EVE]
The skies above Aethon had long forgotten how to shine.
I remember standing there, boots crunching over soot-covered stone, as a dull orange haze bled across the horizon. Twilight always lingered longer in this city—as if the sun itself mourned what had become of it. Burned rooftops stretched like broken ribs into the sky, jagged and hollow. The air stank of smoke, metal, and something worse.
I used to hear stories about Aethon.
Back when it was a city of light. Of invention and wonder. Glass domes that filtered rain into music, mechanical gardens that bloomed with Arcana-fed vines, and humming lines of energy tracing the roads like starlight beneath your feet.
But the Empire brought war.
No… we brought war.
They called it liberation. We called it victory. But the people here? They tasted ash and called it defeat.
Aethon fell during the fifth raid. Rebels had dug in deep—smart, angry, desperate men. They set fire to their own homes just to deny us shelter. I led my unit through alley after alley, carving a path through them. My armor steamed with blood by the time the sun dipped low. I remember the weight of it all—twelve dead by my hand alone. Maybe more.
And then… I found her.
A girl.
She couldn't have been more than four. Barefoot, soot staining her cheeks, tucked beneath a shattered archway like a ghost the city had forgotten. Her clothes were rags. Her eyes—gods, her eyes—wide and unblinking, full of something between terror and defiance.
She didn't cry.
Didn't speak.
She just… looked at me.
And then she stood up, small fists trembling, and reached for my cloak. Not to pull me down. Not to strike. Just to hold on. Just to stay close. Her hand barely wrapped around the hem, and she didn't let go.
Not even when the flames crackled behind us. Not even when my unit called for us to move. Not even when I knelt down and asked her name.
She didn't answer.
She didn't need to.
That moment has stayed with me longer than any battlefield. Longer than the promotions, the medals, the whispers of the "Iron Flame." I remember the men I killed, yes. Their faces blur, their screams fade.
But not her.
Never her.
She clung to my cloak, and I let her.
Because for the first time in years… someone had reached for me not out of fear, or duty, or desperation.
Just trust.
And I couldn't—no, I wouldn't—let her fall.
She never did.
__
My house has never looked like the city I was sworn to protect.
Out here, nestled in the western outskirts of Aethon, everything feels... quieter. The trees stand tall like sentinels, dark-pine giants that hush the wind. The earth is untouched, soft, like it never heard the war.
It's more cabin than estate. Wood, not stone. The beams are scorched at the edges, but not from violence—just time. Ivy wraps along one side of the house, like it's trying to hold it together.
Inside, it's mine.
Warm, worn, and real. The Arcana-fire flickers in the hearth, casting soft shadows on the wooden walls. My armor rests neatly in its usual place, but I've stripped it off for now. Loose tunic, hair tied back, hands still raw from training grips. I let myself breathe here.
I had just ladled a bowl of vegetable stew when the knock came.
My brow furrowed. I hadn't been expecting—
The door creaked open before I could call out.
And there she was.
The girl I raised. The same girl who used to cling to my leg in silence now stood tall and proud in the doorway. Her short hair was tousled from the journey, and her uniform still carried the faint dust of the trial grounds. Her eyes—bright brown, the color of warm clay—gleamed with something I rarely saw in them:
Pride.
[LISA]
The scent hit me first—smoke, pine, and something warm beneath it. My fingers trembled as I pushed the door open wider. I hadn't knocked loud. I didn't need to. She always heard me.
Eve stood by the counter, spoon half-raised, her tunic hanging loose over sharp shoulders. Her eyes met mine, and for a second, she didn't speak.
She had my eyes—but her skin was darker, and so was her hair.
Then she breathed my name.
"...Lisa."
I stepped inside, heart thudding like it wanted to escape. "I passed," I said, voice thinner than I meant. "I actually passed."
She didn't speak right away. Her hands dropped to her sides. She looked... stunned.
Then she crossed the room and pulled me into her arms, tight and sudden.
I stiffened, just for a second—reflex, habit—but then I melted into her.
"You idiot," she whispered into my hair. "You didn't write. I thought something happened."
"I wanted to tell you in person," I murmured. "Didn't want to jinx it."
She pulled back, holding me by the shoulders like she thought I might vanish. "You're not hurt? They didn't push you too hard?"
I gave a half-laugh, wiping my face. "It was brutal. But I made it. I even reached the final round in the duel."
She let out a short breath—half a laugh, half a curse. "Of course you did. You're my daughter."
That word still does something to me.
[EVE]
"Daughter."
I've said it a thousand times by now. Every time, I mean it. Every time, she flinches just slightly. She still doesn't believe she belongs here. Not fully.
But I've never been more certain of anything.
She looked around the cabin then, quietly. "Nothing's changed."
"I added another shelf for your books," I said, nodding toward the cluttered corner. "You're always leaving them everywhere."
She chuckled. "You love it."
"I tolerate it. Barely."
We sat at the table, and I slid my bowl toward her without thinking. She needed it more than I did.
"Eat," I said. "You'll need the strength."
She raised an eyebrow. "For what?"
I leaned in, voice lower. "Passing the entrance exam is one thing. Surviving under the Empire's eye is another. That's where the real war begins."
[LISA]
Something in her tone made my stomach twist. But I nodded.
"I'm ready."
She gave me a small, skeptical smile. "No. You're not. But you will be. Because you're stubborn, reckless, and too brave for your own good."
I blinked. "Are those... compliments?"
"They're survival traits."
We sat quietly for a while, just the fire crackling beside us, filling the spaces we didn't need to speak through.
But I couldn't hold the question in any longer.
"Hey... Eve?"
"Hm?"
"Back then. That day. When you found me… Why didn't you leave me there?"
[EVE]
Her voice caught me off-guard. I hadn't expected her to ask. Not tonight.
My hands curled slightly on the table. The image came back instantly—clear, painful.
"You were sitting in the ruins," I said softly. "Ash in your hair. Blood on your cheek. You didn't cry. You just… looked at me. Like the world had broken, and you were already done with it."
Lisa didn't interrupt. She just listened.
"But you were holding something. A wooden doll. Burned. Half of it gone. And you wouldn't let it go. Not even then. You still had something left. Something worth holding onto."
I met her eyes across the table.
"And I realized… so did I."
She didn't speak. Her lips trembled slightly, but she didn't speak.
"I didn't save you," I said. "You saved me."
[LISA]
I blinked hard. My chest ached in that slow, aching way it does when someone says something that rearranges your bones.
"I'm glad I came home," I whispered.
Eve smiled. Small. Real.
"You always had one."
__
[KAEL]
Back in the Empire capital, life had settled into a kind of rhythm. Brutal. Relentless. Predictable.
Every day bled into the next: sweat, bruises, weighted steps, morning runs, afternoon sword drills, and evening meditation so intense my legs would go numb. Two full weeks of that endless loop, and still my mother—Lira—never once eased up. She watched every move like a hawk. Not a word of praise, barely even a nod.
I think part of me resented that. The other part? It just wanted to earn it.
But on the fifteenth day, something shifted.
I stepped into the training room, expecting the usual—maybe a sparring match or a fresh set of boulders to carry uphill. Instead, I stopped short.
My mother was already there, barefoot at the center of the chamber. She wore a sleeveless dark tunic, her long hair tied back, and there was something about the way she stood—loose, yet alert. Like something was humming under her skin.
"Today," she said, voice flat and unceremonious, "you'll be learning how to use the elements."
My brain short-circuited for a second. "Wait—seriously? Like… wind? Fire?"
Lyra didn't answer. She just gestured to the floor.
"Sit."
I dropped to the ground without argument, crossing my legs on the smooth stone. My heart was already racing.
She stood in front of me like a soldier about to brief her unit. Hands behind her back, eyes unreadable.
"Channeling is the foundation of elemental control," she began. "To control, you must first feel. Not just the air or the trees, but the earth itself. The current that runs through it—like veins beneath skin. Arcana connects all things."
I nodded, though I wasn't sure I really understood.
"There are two primary approaches," she continued. "Attunement and Rune Application. Attunement is natural—feeling, resonating with all elements. Rune Application is more structured. Symbols. Sigils. It's powerful but requires precision. We'll start with Attunement."
I hesitated, raising my hand halfway. "So… does that mean I can only use one element? Or…?"
Instead of answering, she lifted her right hand.
Lightning crackled across her fingertips—bright, jagged threads of blue-white energy that danced with a life of their own.
Then she raised her left.
Flames bloomed between her fingers, warm and golden, flickering like they were glad to be seen.
I stared, slack-jawed.
She extinguished both with a flick of her wrists.
"What about earth?" I asked, breathless.
That made her smirk. The dangerous kind—the one that always meant trouble.
"Wait."
And then I felt it. The room shifted. Not physically, not yet—but the energy coiled around her like a drawn bowstring, waiting to snap.
She moved—slow, deliberate. A single stomp of her foot.
CRACK!
The sound split the air like thunder. A jagged rupture exploded outward from where she stood, tearing across the floor straight toward me. I yelped and scrambled back as the stone split—only a few inches wide, but deep and violent. It reached all the way to the far wall and didn't stop until the stone cracked clean through.
I blinked, heart pounding. "Dad's going to kill you."
She sighed like a woman who'd already accepted her fate. "Probably."
Then she walked over to the damage like it was nothing, fingers glowing with soft blue light.
"Hold on."
She pressed her palms together, eyes closing. The air around her vibrated with subtle tension. And then—slowly—the stone began to knit itself back together. The crack groaned, the floor trembled, and the jagged line pulled inward like it had just... changed its mind.
It didn't disappear entirely. A faint scar still remained.
"Subtle," I muttered under my breath.
Lyra dusted her hands off and gave me a look. "That," she said plainly, "is why we need a safer place."
She turned back toward me, eyes sharp.
"You've outgrown this room."
__
[KAEL]
Emberwatch Mountain was cruel.
Its wind cut like sharpened blades, and the clouds hung so low, I could've sworn they whispered threats. I hauled two heavy satchels up the narrow trail, every step a negotiation with gravity. Behind me, the capital lay hidden in the mist. Ahead—only pain.
And my mother?
She floated.
Okay, not literally—but her supplies did, spinning beside her in a neat spiral of wind, while she walked like the climb was a stroll through the garden.
"Show off," I muttered through clenched teeth.
She didn't even glance back. "Train harder."
[LIRA]
I heard the complaint. I just didn't dignify it.
He was stronger than he knew, and these climbs—brutal as they were—were shaping him.Emberwatch would test him in ways I couldn't replicate at home.
And we didn't have time for slow progress.
[KAEL]
We reached a plateau near the summit—a flat clearing, wide enough to train, one side shielded by rock, the other dropping off into mist and sky. I dropped the satchels with a groan. The air was thinner up here. Colder. But alive.
Something in the wind pulsed against my skin. Like it knew me.
"This is where we begin," Mom said, kneeling. "Sit."
I flopped down cross-legged, rubbing my sore shoulders. My hair whipped around in the wind, and I half-wished I'd tied it back.
"Breathe," she said. "Don't resist the wind—feel it. Let it push into you, not just your body. Into your thoughts. And then… push back. Not with strength. With presence."
Presence. Right.
Still, I shut my eyes. Listened. Slowed my breath.
The noise faded. The cold stopped biting. I heard the rhythm of the wind—not chaotic, but... curious. It brushed past like it was watching me.
And then—like it had decided—I felt it move.
A swirl of air curled around me. Tentative at first. Then faster. Tighter. My skin tingled. My chest hummed.
"I can feel it," I whispered. "It's everywhere."
[KAEL]
I froze.
Already? The boy had always picked things up quickly, but this? He was syncing. Naturally. On the first attempt.
I murmured to myself, barely audible over the wind, "He's already syncing? It's barely been an hour…"
Then the clouds above began to churn.
[KAEL]
I don't know what possessed me.
Maybe it was how high we were. Maybe the wind carried the thought into my head. But as I sat there, energy swirling around me, I thought: I wonder if I could reach the lightning…
Just one spark.
I reached out—not physically, just… mentally.
That's when the sky split open.
[LIRA]
A bolt tore through the clouds, a spear of divine fury aimed straight for my son.
I ran. My body moved before my mind. Mid-sprint, I summoned a barrier glyph, golden sigils blooming in the air as I shoved my energy into them.
The lightning struck. The impact cracked the earth, sent light searing across my vision. I held my ground, teeth clenched.
But then—
CRACK.
Another bolt. Then another. And another.
"No—!" I raised my arms, runes spinning faster, but I couldn't keep up.
Then something impossible happened.
The lightning curved.
[KAEL]
It didn't hit me.
The moment it touched the whirlwind around me, it didn't explode—it swirled around me like a vortex.
I lifted from the ground, maybe a few inches. I don't even remember deciding to. The wind roared, swirling tighter around me. Lightning crackled across my arms and chest. I couldn't move. Couldn't breathe.
It was like… the storm had chosen me.
[LIRA]
The burst knocked me off my feet.
I hit the ground, rolled, and came up coughing dust and sparks. My eyes stung. My arms ached.
"KAAEL!"
I forced myself upright—and froze.
He was suspended midair. Surrounded by a perfect spiral of wind. Arcs of lightning danced across his skin. His hair floated, clothes whipping violently, but his face…
Calm, scared.
Then his eyes opened.
"...Mom?"
His voice trembled.
"What's happening to me?"
"COME DOWN!" I shouted, pushing against the wind wall. "Kael, the energy—you have to suppress it! NOW!"
"I don't know how! It's not stopping!"
[KAEL]
Everything hurt. And yet, I didn't want it to end. I could feel everything—the sky, the mountain, the pull of distant storms. Like my blood had turned to thunder.
But I could also feel her panic.
[LIRA]
No more time.
I ripped a talisman from my belt—etched with old runes. Pressed my palm to it. Ignited it with energy.
"Kael—hold on!"
The storm screamed.
The sky imploded into a single silver point—
—and we were gone.
__
[KAEL]
We hit the floor hard.
The basement chamber welcomed me back with cold stone and silence. I collapsed, chest heaving. Steam rose from my arms. Sparks flickered off my fingertips before fading.
I blinked up at her. "Was that… me?"
"Yes," She said quietly. "That was you."
I stared at my hands. They were shaking.
"I didn't mean to. I just… wondered if I could."
She kneeled in front of me, gripping my shoulders.
[LIRA]
"Listen to me. You're not normal—not even by Deviant standards. You're something else. The Arcana Core… it's changing you. Faster than I anticipated."
His eyes dropped.
"Am I… dangerous?"
I hesitated.
Then told him the truth. "Yes. But so is every Arcane Knight. The difference is how you control it."
[KAEL]
We sat there a while. My body ached. My mind spun.
The storm was still inside me, like an echo.
She looked up at the ceiling, frowning.
"There's a chance the Empire felt that," she said. "A surge like that… someone will notice."
I swallowed. "What now?"
She stood.
"Now, we stay quiet. No more mountaintop elemental training. Not until I can mask you."
I groaned, still lying flat. "So... no more hiking?"
She gave me a look. Then—surprise—a smirk. "No more peaks. You'll train here. Silently. And no experimenting without me."
I lifted a hand. "Deal."
I turned away, opening the wall compartment and taking out another talisman—fresh, untouched.
But my thoughts weren't calm.
If the Empire had felt what I just saw—what he just did…
We're not ready. And they will come.