The hearth fire crackled softly, its golden light flickering across the worn wooden beams of the Thorn family cottage. Liora Thorn moved with practiced ease between the kitchen and the dining table, her hands steady as she laid out plates of roasted venison, crusty bread still warm from the oven, and a steaming pot of spiced stew. The scent of thyme and garlic curled through the air, a familiar comfort that did little to ease the tension coiling in the room.
Kael sat at the head of the table, his fingers drumming a silent, restless rhythm against the wood. Across from him, the Council's enforcers—three figures cloaked in silver-trimmed black, their faces obscured by hoods—sat in stiff silence. Their presence was a blight on the warmth of the home, their very stillness a reminder of the cold, unyielding grip of the Grand Magnus Academy.
Liora smiled as she set a goblet of wine before the tallest of the visitors.
"You must be hungry after your journey," she said, her voice warm despite the unease tightening her shoulders. "The roads from Veldros are never kind this time of year."
The lead enforcer inclined his head slightly, the shadow of his hood obscuring any expression. "Your hospitality is appreciated, Lady Thorn."
Kael's jaw tightened at the title. Lady. As if they hadn't spent the last decade exiled to the fringes of Chishiro, as if the Thorn name still carried the weight it once had.
Liora didn't seem to notice. She wiped her hands on her apron and turned to Kael, her dark eyes searching his face.
"You didn't tell me the Council would be joining us."
Kael forced himself to meet her gaze. "It was a last-minute decision, sweetheart. I'm sorry..."
Liora hummed, unconvinced, but she said nothing more. Instead, she took her seat beside him, her fingers brushing his wrist beneath the table—a silent question. What aren't you telling me?
Kael couldn't answer.
The lead enforcer, Magister Dain, though he hadn't introduced himself, so he leaned forward with his voice so low.
"We've come regarding the Spellbreaker."
Liora's brows lifted.
"The Spellbreaker? I've heard the rumors, of course. The taverns are full of nothing else." She shook her head, ladling stew into a bowl. "A mage who drains magic? It sounds like something out of a fireside tale."
Kael's stomach twisted.
She doesn't know.
She can't know.
Dain's fingers curled around his goblet. "The threat is very real, I assure you. The creature has already left a trail of drained mages in its wake."
"Creature?" Liora's spoon stilled. "You speak as if it's not human."
"Is it?" Dain countered, his voice smooth as poisoned honey. "To strip a mage of their core is to strip them of their soul. What kind of being does such a thing?"
Kael's fingers clenched into a fist beneath the table. Careful.
Liora set her spoon down with deliberate slowness. "And you believe this… Spellbreaker is nearby?"
Dain's hood shifted slightly, as if he were glancing at Kael.
"We have reason to believe it's fled east. Toward the Whispering Wastes."
"Then why come here?" Liora asked, her voice light, but her knuckles had gone white around her napkin.
"Because," Dain said, "we require Kael's assistance in tracking it down."
Liora turned to Kael, her eyes sharp. "You're really going with them?!"
Kael exhaled slowly. "I have to."
"Why?" The word was a blade.
Because it's our son.
Because if I don't, they'll burn him alive.
Kael reached for her hand, squeezing it. "The threat is greater than we realized. If the Spellbreaker isn't stopped, it could destabilize the entire kingdom."
Liora's gaze searched his face, and for a heartbeat, Kael feared she could see right through him, through every lie, every omission. But then she pulled her hand away and stood.
"I'll pack your things."
~○~
The moment Liora disappeared into the bedroom, Dain's mask of civility slipped.
"She doesn't know," he murmured.
Kael's voice was a growl. "And she won't."
Dain leaned back in his chair. "You can't hide it forever, Thorn. Sooner or later, she'll realize what her son has become."
"You will not tell her!" Kael snarled, low enough that his voice wouldn't carry. "If she finds out from anyone but me, I will peel the flesh from your bones with my bare hands."
Dain chuckled. "Empty threats from a man with no fire."
Kael's vision darkened at the edges. The absence of his magic was a wound that never stopped bleeding, but he had other weapons. Older ones.
Before he could retort, Liora returned, clutching a worn leather pack. She set it beside Kael, then hesitated before reaching beneath the hearthstone. With a grunt, she pried it loose, revealing a hidden compartment.
Kael's breath caught.
Nestled in the shadows was a long, slender sword. Its blade etched with runes that shimmered faintly in the firelight. The Mythblade. A relic of the Thorn lineage, forged in an age when magic and steel were one.
Liora lifted it with reverence, offering it to Kael. "You'll need this."
Kael stared at the blade. "I haven't wielded it since—"
"Since Eryk was born," Liora finished softly. "I know."
The unspoken words hung between them. The night the stars went dark.
Kael took the sword, its weight familiar and foreign all at once. The runes pulsed faintly beneath his fingers, as if recognizing its master after years of slumber.
Dain's eyes gleamed with greed.
"A Mythblade. I thought they were all lost."
Kael ignored him, sliding the blade into the sheath at his hip. "Thank you, sweetheart!"
Liora's smile was brittle. "Come home alive."
~○~
The night swallowed them whole as they stepped outside, its grip suffocating and absolute. The stars had long since fled behind a shroud of clouds, leaving only the moon's pallid eye to watch their progress. It was the kind of darkness that didn't just obscure. It pressed against the skin, thick and alive, as if the world itself were holding its breath.
The wind howled through the skeletal trees, a mournful dirge that carried the scent of distant rain and something metallic, like old blood on the wind. It slithered down Kael's spine, raising the hairs on his arms, setting his teeth on edge. Instinct screamed at him to turn back, but he couldn't.Not when Eryk was still out there, slipping further from his grasp with every passing second.
The Council's enforcers moved like shadows given form, their footsteps silent on the damp earth. They were wraiths in black leather and steel, their faces obscured by hoods, their loyalty as unshakable as it was merciless. Kael didn't trust them. He didn't trust anyone who served the Council without question.
Dain fell into step beside him, his presence as grating as the gravel underfoot.
"You know where he's headed."
Kael didn't answer. He didn't owe Dain or the Council. Not after what they'd done.
"The Whispering Wastes are vast," Dain pressed, his voice low but insistent. "If you want to reach him before the Black Tongues do, you'll need to—"
"I know where he's going," Kael snapped, the words sharp enough to draw blood.
East. Always east. Toward the ruins of the old Spellbreaker stronghold. Toward the one person who might understand what Eryk had become.
Riven.
The name was a ghost in Kael's mind, lingering like the aftertaste of a curse. A legend. A monster. The last of the original Spellbreakers, the one who had slipped through the Council's fingers centuries ago, leaving only whispers and corpses in his wake.
If Eryk found him…
No.
Kael quickened his pace, the Mythblade a familiar, comforting weight at his side. The leather-wrapped hilt fit perfectly in his grip, as if it had been forged for his hand alone. He would find his son first. He had to.
And then?
He didn't know.
The thought was a splinter in his heart, festering with every step. Would Eryk even listen to him now? Or had the boy already crossed a line Kael couldn't follow him across?
The forest grew thicker around them, the trees twisting into grotesque shapes, their gnarled branches clawing at the sky like the fingers of the damned. The air was alive with whispers, not just the wind, but something else. Something watching.
Kael's hand drifted to the hilt of his sword, his fingers brushing cold steel.
Dain noticed. Of course he did. "Nervous, Thorn?"
Kael ignored him, but the taunt slithered under his skin anyway.
A branch snapped somewhere to their left.
The enforcers froze as one, their hands flying to their weapons, their breaths shallow and controlled.
Kael's pulse pounded in his ears, a drumbeat of dread.
Then, a figure stepped into the moonlight.
Tall, gaunt, his eyes like hollow pits, staring from a face that seemed carved from bone and shadow.
Kael's breath caught in his throat.
Not Eryk.
The man smiled, his teeth gleaming like tombstones in the pale light.
"Hello, Firebrand."
Kael's fingers tightened around the Mythblade, the blade humming faintly in response to his tension.
The figure tilted its head, the motion was too smooth.
"You're looking for the boy."
Dain stepped forward, his hand resting on the dagger at his belt.
"Who are you?"
The man's grin widened, stretching impossibly far. "A friend."
Then the world erupted in shadows.