Time passed—but slowly, gently, like the way wind rolls over still water.
I could not speak. I could not walk. But I could feel. The warmth of arms that held me with care. The steady heartbeat beneath layers of cloth and steel. The voices that spoke not in baby talk—but in pride, hope, and something I never once knew in my previous life.
Love.
I spent most of my days wrapped in soft cloth, placed by the window of the nursery where the sun painted the stone walls gold. Through the glass, I could see the distant sea and the towering ramparts of the southern frontier. This was House Valefen. A stronghold of warriors. A noble family born to guard the borders between land and sea.
And I was now its firstborn son.
The keep was massive—built of cold gray stone, carved with ancient runes and the sigils of countless generations. Servants moved like whispers, armor-clad knights trained from dawn to dusk, and great warships lined the harbor like sleeping beasts with sails for wings. It was not a place built for comfort, but I was never once made to feel unwelcome.
"The young master has your eyes, my lady," Mila would say as she adjusted my blankets. The head maid was a woman of iron—her back straight as a spear, her movements precise as clockwork. She never cooed or fussed over me like the younger maids, but her touch was gentle, respectful. "But that watchfulness—that's all Lord Thalric."
I observed everything. The way the servants carried themselves differently when my father was present. The hushed conversations that would freeze when certain names were mentioned. The subtle hierarchy that governed every interaction within these walls.
My father, Lord Thalric Valefen, was a man carved from mountains. Tall, broad-shouldered, black-haired with eyes like the sea under a storm. When he held me, it was as if the world itself dared not move. He didn't speak often, but his silence was never cold.
He would often look down at me and simply watch—calm, thoughtful.
"He doesn't cry often," I heard him say once to an advisor as he cradled me in one massive arm while reviewing coastal defense maps with the other. "There's steel in him already."
The advisor—a thin man with eyes that calculated everything—offered a practiced smile. "The firstborn of Valefen, showing strength already. A good omen, my lord."
My father's eyes narrowed slightly. "Not an omen. His nature."
Later that same day, I witnessed my first war council. Not because anyone thought an infant should be present, but because my father refused to part with me. He simply carried me into the stone chamber where grim-faced knights and weathered captains gathered around a massive table spread with maps and reports.
"The coastal raids grow bolder," growled a scarred captain, his finger tracing a line along the southern shores. "Three villages in the past month."
"And the Crown's response?" My father's voice was even, controlled, but I felt the tension in his arms as he held me.
"The usual pretty words," spat another knight. "Promises of increased patrols that never materialize."
"Then we respond our way," my father said. The room fell silent. "Double the watches. Arm the coastal villages. Train their men."
"The Crown will view that as overreach," cautioned an elderly advisor.
My father's eyes flashed. "I did not swear an oath to the Crown. I swore to protect these lands and its people."
I felt the weight of those words. The absolute certainty in them. The unspoken truth that hung in the air—House Valefen served something deeper than politics, something more ancient than royal decrees.
My mother, Lady Ysolde, was something else entirely. Graceful, golden-haired, with eyes like violet flame. She walked through the fortress with the elegance of a queen and the gaze of a general. Yet when she looked at me—she smiled.
"He has your hair," she said to Thalric one evening as they sat together in the library, my small form cradled against her chest. "But those eyes... they're mine."
She sang to me when I couldn't sleep. Old songs, battle hymns softened into lullabies, tales of wolves and warriors and the sea. She kissed my forehead when the wind howled too loud at night. She held me not as a noblewoman, but as a mother who had waited too long to meet me.
"You watch everything, don't you, little wolf?" she whispered one night as she carried me along the battlements. The moon hung low and full, casting silver light across the waves. Knights saluted as we passed, their armor gleaming like stars. "You see more than they think."
I did not know how to smile. Not at first. Even with their warmth, their kindness... the memories of my past life clung to me like frost. The cold hospital room. The beeping monitor. The silence as I died. There were nights I would wake up in a panic—no voice to scream, no breath to cry.
And every time, without fail, she would come. My mother. She would wrap me in her arms, whispering softly into my ear.
"You are safe now." "You are loved." "You are mine."
Mistress Fenya became my constant companion as I grew. An older woman with hands strong from decades of service, she carried me through the fortress with quiet dignity.
"Best that you get to know the house," she murmured one crisp morning, her voice like old parchment wrapped in velvet. "You were born here, but this place has been waiting for you much longer."
She never rushed. She never cooed. She simply walked—slowly—through corridor after corridor, letting me see everything from her arms.
The servants' wing, where laughter was louder than footsteps. The kitchens, where steam curled into the rafters and warm bread scented the air. The training yards, where steel met steel with a rhythm older than any lullaby.
"See there? That's Sir Kerran," she whispered once, pausing by a side window that overlooked the eastern training yard. "He's been training here since before your father was named heir. He doesn't miss a step, even when the snow's deep."
I watched as the gray-haired knight moved through a series of forms, his sword cutting the air with impossible precision. Even in practice, there was no wasted motion, no hesitation. Each movement flowed into the next like water.
"The knights of Valefen are not like others," Fenya explained as we continued our walk. "They do not fight for glory or titles. They fight because it is who they are, what they have always been."
In time, I recognized all the people who filled this place.
Mila, the head maid, with eyes like flint and hands that could be gentle with a child and firm with a careless servant in the same breath.
Bran, the butler who moved like a shadow and seemed to appear wherever silence was strongest. He rarely spoke, but his eyes missed nothing.
"Young master," he acknowledged one afternoon, appearing beside my window seat with silent steps. He placed a small wooden wolf figurine beside me—exquisitely carved, its tiny eyes seeming to watch just as I did. He offered no explanation, just a slight bow before vanishing again.
I was given my name formally shortly after I turned one. The ceremony was not lavish, not by noble standards. But it carried weight, a solemnity that even I could sense.
The wind was calm. The waves quiet. I was wrapped in a navy-blue cloth embroidered with silver thread—the colors of House Valefen. My father stood tall before the family crest, the great wolf upon the wall flanked by twin warships.
He held me high as the old words were spoken.
"This child shall be known as—Asher Valefen." "Firstborn of the Wall. Heir to Stone and Storm."
Knights lined the hall, swords drawn and tips touching the stone floor. My mother stood beside my father, her hand on the hilt of her own blade—a tradition, I would later learn, that dated back centuries. The naming of an heir was not just a family matter, but a covenant with the land, the people, the very stones of the fortress.
They named me with pride. Not a label. Not an obligation. A name. Mine.
Years passed slowly. By the time I turned two, I could walk. I didn't speak much—I didn't need to. The maids called me quiet. The guards said I watched too much. But I was learning.
The courtyard. The training grounds. The sea gates. Even at a young age, I observed everything with quiet eyes.
I learned to recognize the rhythms of the fortress. The changing of the guards at dawn, their boots striking stone in perfect unison. The patrol ships that returned at dusk, sailors calling to each other as sails were furled. The council meetings that left my father silent and thoughtful, standing for hours at the window overlooking the Wall.
"Come, Asher," he called to me one evening, noticing me watching from the doorway. I approached cautiously, still unsteady on my small legs. He lifted me effortlessly, setting me on the wide stone sill of the window. "Look there."
I followed his gaze to the Great Southern Wall—the guardian's edge of the kingdom. Massive, ancient, built of black stone that seemed to absorb the light rather than reflect it. And atop that wall, carved from the same stone, stood the wolf. Head raised. Back straight. Watching the borders it had sworn to protect.
"Do you see it?" he asked.
I nodded.
"That wolf has watched for over a thousand years," he said, his voice low, meant only for me. "Through wars, through peace, through the rise and fall of kings. It does not falter. It does not question. It guards."
I looked up at him, trying to understand the weight behind his words.
"That is Valefen," he continued. "Not just a name. Not just a house. A purpose."
At night, when the fortress grew quiet and the only sounds were the distant crash of waves and the call of night guards, I would sneak to the window of my chamber. From there, I could see the Wall, its silhouette black against the star-strewn sky. And atop it, the wolf, eternal in its vigil.
I would stare at it for hours. And every time, something stirred inside me. Something I couldn't name yet. Not magic. Not power. Just a feeling—
That this life... this world... was waiting for me to rise.
One winter morning, when frost covered the training yard in a thin white blanket, I witnessed my first full military drill. Knights in formation, moving as one body, their swords
and shields creating a rhythm like heartbeats. Archers on the walls, drawing and releasing in perfect unison. Ships in the harbor, executing complex maneuvers that spoke of years of discipline and practice.
"Impressive, isn't it?"
I turned to find Master Helwyn, the keep's scholar and my father's advisor, standing beside me. A tall, thin man with piercing eyes and ink-stained fingers, he rarely interacted with the children of the house. Yet here he was, watching me with unmistakable curiosity.
"They train every day," he continued when I didn't respond. "Rain or snow. Peace or war. That is the way of Valefen."
I nodded, my eyes still fixed on the drill below.
"You're not like other children," he observed. "You don't laugh at shiny things or cry for sweets. You watch. You learn."
He crouched down, meeting my eyes directly. "Your father says you don't speak much, but I think you understand more than most adults in this keep."
I met his gaze steadily.
A smile touched his thin lips. "Perhaps when you're older, you'll visit my library. There are things beyond steel and stone that an heir should know."
That night, during dinner in the great hall, I listened as my parents discussed matters of the realm. Their voices were low, meant to be private despite the servants moving quietly around them.
"The Crown grows more demanding," my mother said, her fork poised above her plate. "Three more letters this week alone."
My father's expression darkened. "They demand our strength at the borders but question our methods at every turn."
"We cannot ignore them forever, Thalric."
"I don't intend to ignore them. I intend to remind them why House Valefen has guarded these shores since before their family claimed the throne."
I watched them, absorbing every word, every nuance of their conversation. Even then, I understood that our house existed in a delicate balance—sworn to the kingdom but governed by older, deeper oaths.
Later, as my mother carried me to my chambers, I felt her tension in the way she held me.
"You will face difficult choices one day, Asher," she said softly, her violet eyes searching mine. "Between duty and honor. Between loyalty and what is right."
She kissed my forehead, a gesture filled with both love and something like sorrow.
"But know this—whatever path you choose, you will never walk it alone. The blood of Valefen flows in your veins. And we protect our own."
I fell asleep that night with her words echoing in my mind, the distant sound of waves crashing against the Wall like a promise—constant, eternal, unyielding. And somewhere in that sound, I found comfort. Not because it was gentle, but because it was true.
Like the wolf that watched. Like the walls that endured. Like the oath that bound us all.