7 Months Earlier
The sun hung low over the Tempest estate's private training grounds, casting long golden shadows across the stone courtyard. The air shimmered faintly with residual magic, the ground scorched in places from earlier duels.
Blake stood off to the side, barely able to catch his breath. Sweat clung to his skin as he gripped the wooden practice staff in trembling hands. Across from him, Draven—lean, fast, and confident—twirled his own staff with ease, a cocky grin tugging at his lips.
"Again," Draven said, voice sharp. "Stop shaking. You look like a frightened rabbit."
Blake's jaw clenched. He stepped forward, raising his staff.
Draven didn't even flinch. With one smooth motion, he swept Blake's legs out from under him. Blake hit the ground hard, the breath knocked from his lungs.
"Pathetic," Draven muttered, stepping over him. "No core. No talent. You shouldn't even wear the Tempest crest."
Blake bit back the tears threatening to rise—not from the pain, but from the shame. He turned his face away as footsteps approached.
"That's enough," came a quiet voice—Caelum.
Draven glanced at his older brother and rolled his eyes. "If Father won't say it, someone should. He's wasting all our time."
Caelum didn't respond to Draven. He knelt beside Blake instead, holding out a hand.
"You okay?" he asked gently.
Blake didn't take it at first. His pride wouldn't let him. But after a moment, he gave in and let Caelum pull him up.
"You can't keep trying to fight like us," Caelum said, brushing some dust off Blake's shoulder. "You're not a mage. Not yet. You've got to find your own way until then."
Blake looked up at him, eyes full of quiet desperation. "Do you think I'll ever awaken?"
Caelum hesitated.
It was the longest pause Blake had ever felt.
"…Maybe," Caelum finally said. "But even if you don't… that doesn't make you nothing."
Draven scoffed in the background. "Keep coddling him and see where it gets him."
Blake looked away. He didn't believe Caelum. Not really. But the words stayed with him long after the bruises faded.
Present Day
The night was deep and soundless, save for the soft crunch of boots against forest soil. Caelum moved like a shadow beneath the trees, his cloak drawn tight and his presence masked with a simple concealment spell. He had followed the rumors—the sudden disappearance of Felix, the increased security around one of Rollo's oldest hunting paths—and now, standing at the mouth of a cave swallowed by vines and time, he knew. This was where they'd buried Blake.
He whispered an unlocking incantation under his breath. The runes etched into the stone shimmered briefly, then fell dormant. The sealed entrance opened with a low, grinding groan, and a stale, cold air seeped out like breath from the grave.Caelum stepped inside.It took a moment for his eyes to adjust. The flicker of a conjured flame danced in his palm, casting faint light along the jagged stone walls.
Then he saw him.
Blake lay curled on the floor, barely more than a shadow of himself—thin, unmoving, chained by the ankle. His clothes were torn and damp with cave condensation. The blanket Felix had left him was half-slid off his body, forgotten. For a heartbeat, Caelum feared he was dead.
"Blake," he whispered.
Blake stirred faintly. His head shifted toward the light, eyes squinting as if the flame itself hurt.
"…Caelum?" The word came out cracked and hollow.
Caelum was already beside him, kneeling on the stone. He pulled a waterskin from beneath his cloak and helped Blake drink slowly, carefully. Then came a small satchel of food—soft bread, dried meat, a few slices of fruit. Blake's hands trembled as he reached for it.
"You're not supposed to be here," Blake rasped.
"I know," Caelum said. "But I couldn't… I couldn't leave you like this."
"Does Father know you came?"
"No. And he won't." Caelum's voice was firm. "He can't."
Blake didn't respond for a long time. He chewed slowly, his eyes glassy, unfocused.
"I didn't awaken," he finally said.
"I know," Caelum replied quietly.
Blake looked away. "Then why are you here?"
Caelum didn't answer right away. He stared at the chains around Blake's ankle, then at the raw red line of a scar still healing across his chest. His throat tightened.
"Because you're still my brother," he said. "And I won't let them forget that."
Blake blinked, as if the words confused him. Or maybe it had just been a long time since anyone had spoken them.
Caelum stood. He pulled the cloak from his shoulders and gently laid it over Blake's form. "I'll come again when I can. Just hold on."
He turned toward the exit but hesitated. "Don't give up," he said, softly. "Not yet."
Then he slipped out of the cave, sealing it once more behind him, the soft blue glow of the runes flickering back into place.
And Blake, alone in the dark, clutched the warmth Caelum had left behind—not in the food, or the cloak, but in the words. Not yet.
Blake didn't know how long it had been since Caelum left.
Time in the cave moved strangely—like everything was held underwater. His thoughts drifted between fractured dreams and hollow silence, the warmth of his brother's cloak the only thing grounding him in reality.
He lay curled against the far wall, back to the cold stone, his body wrapped tightly in Caelum's cloak as if it could shield him from more than just the cold. He hadn't touched the food again. Not yet. He wanted to make it last. It was the first time he'd eaten something that didn't taste like guilt.
Above him, the cave ceiling wept quietly, droplets falling at intervals from the roots that dangled like forgotten memories. His ankle still ached from the chain, the metal rubbed raw against his skin—but the pain didn't matter anymore.
He came back.
The thought repeated itself in Blake's mind like a lullaby. Not a scream. Not a command. Not a lie.
Just… Caelum.
He'd said "Don't give up." And for a while, Blake believed him. But now, in the thick silence that followed, doubt crept in again like fog.
Maybe Caelum couldn't come back. Maybe he wouldn't. Maybe he wasn't even supposed to visit at all. Maybe this brief breath of hope was just another illusion—one more hallucination conjured by Felix's cruel spell.
Blake stared at his hands. They didn't shake anymore. He wasn't sure if that meant he was healing—or that he'd gone numb.
Then he heard something—a voice, faint and muffled.
He sat up slowly, heart suddenly pounding. "Caelum…?"
Silence.
Just wind, moaning through cracks in the stone.
His chest ached.
Not from injury. Not from magic.
From absence.
At first, Caelum came often—always under cover of night.
Every few days, Blake would wake to the sound of the runes unlocking. A flicker of light. Footsteps. The quiet rustle of a satchel being placed beside him.
Water. Warm food. A blanket. Once, even a book.
They never spoke much. Caelum didn't dare stay long. But he always looked at Blake—really looked at him—as if trying to memorize the shape of his brother in the dark.
Sometimes, Blake would whisper a question. "Anything from the outside?" Caelum would answer in hints and riddles, small kindnesses smuggled in with bread and healing salves.
And for a while, Blake clung to those visits. They were the only thing that reminded him he still existed.
But then… they slowed.
First, a week passed. Then two.
No sound. No light. No Caelum.
Blake told himself there had to be a reason. Maybe patrols had increased. Maybe his brother was being watched.
Maybe he was protecting him.
But when a full month passed and the cave remained silent, the doubt began to eat at him.
Maybe he's done with me.Maybe he finally saw what I really am.Useless. Broken. A shame to carry.
Blake stared at the cave mouth, empty and still. He didn't cry. Not yet. He just pulled the now-worn cloak tighter around himself and sat in the dark.
Waiting.
Wishing.
Wondering if he'd already been forgotten.
Blake sat alone in the dark, knees pulled to his chest, Caelum's cloak clutched tightly around him. The warmth was gone now—faded like a memory too fragile to hold.
He hadn't spoken in days.
There was no one to speak to.
No footsteps. No torchlight. No voices. Just the sound of his own breath, ragged and shallow, echoing off stone walls like a whisper in a tomb.
His thoughts had turned in on themselves, looping over the same question:
Why didn't it work?
Why didn't I awaken?
He pressed a hand against the scar on his chest. Nothing. No pulse. No magic. No answer.
He imagined ripping it open and reaching in. Forcing it to spark. Forcing it to mean something.
But even his anger was hollow now. Even his hunger had dulled.All that was left… was silence.
And the quiet, creeping thought that maybe—just maybe—he deserved to be here.
Blake stirred.
A sound echoed from deep within the cave—subtle, almost gentle, like something brushing against stone. His head lifted slowly, eyes narrowed against the shadows.
No one else was supposed to be here.
Maybe it's a rat, he thought. Or maybe… I'm finally losing it.
He lowered his gaze again, back to the floor, back to the silence.
Then he heard it—a whisper.
"You were abandoned… just like me. But don't worry. I'll keep you safe."
The voice was soft—calm, almost kind—but unmistakably male. It drifted from the darkness like smoke.
Blake's lips parted. "Who's there?"
His voice barely rose above a breath.
"Who I am doesn't matter," the voice answered. "What matters is who you are."
Blake's heart thudded. He tried to rise, but the chain on his ankle clinked, pulling him back down.
"I don't understand," he said. "Show yourself."
The air shifted.
From the deeper shadows, a figure emerged—tall, wearing a black robe that moved like smoke across the ground. Thick dark hair framed a face mostly obscured by a mask, the kind worn by old-world mourners. It rose just above his nose, leaving only his eyes visible—sharp, silver-flecked, and unreadable.
Blake strained to focus. The figure was somehow real and unreal at once. He made no sound as he walked—his bare footsteps silent even on stone.
He stopped before Blake and lowered himself to one knee, eyes meeting his.
Then, slowly, he extended a gloved hand.
"I know how it feels," the stranger said, voice low and steady. "To be cast aside. To be forgotten. But there's still a way out of the dark."
His hand didn't tremble.
"Come with me… and I'll lead you to the light."