Night fell like a shroud over Ebonreach.
The torches lining the palace halls burned low, casting flickering shadows that danced like ghosts. In his room, Quinn sat alone at the edge of his bed, arms resting on his knees, eyes blank.
The door creaked open.
He didn't look up.
Soft footsteps. The scent of lavender and steel—familiar, comforting. Queen Elira crossed the room without a word and knelt beside him. Her silver-and-black gown pooled around her like moonlight over ink.
"She's strong," Elira said quietly. "Too much like her father."
Quinn clenched his fists. "She shouldn't have gone alone."
"No. But sometimes we can't stop the ones we love from walking into danger."
He shook his head, bitterness on his tongue. "I'll never catch up. I don't have a Gift. I'm just... normal."
Elira gently took his chin and turned his face toward hers. Her eyes glowed faintly with Soulfire, the same light he used to chase through the halls as a toddler. Now it only reminded him of what he lacked.
"You think that means you're weak?"
"I think it means I'll always be left behind."
A pause. Then her voice, low and fierce:
"Your father has a talent. So does Sofia. And yes, they are powerful—but strength is not only in what we are born with. Power gifted can fade. Skill earned does not."
Quinn looked down. "But I train every day. And still…"
"You train like a soldier. But you must fight like someone with nothing left to lose." She placed a hand over his heart. "This? This is stronger than any magic. You don't need flame to be fire."
He blinked, tears threatening.
"You were born without a Gift, Quinn. But that only means every ounce of strength you gain will be your own. When the world breaks, you'll be the one who still stands—because you never had anything handed to you."
His lip trembled. "What if I fail?"
"Then fail. Get up. And try again. You don't have to be like Sofia," she whispered, pulling him gently into her arms. "You just have to be you."
His small body curled against her, tension finally releasing. Her warmth, her heartbeat, the steady rhythm of someone who never doubted him—wrapped around him like a promise.
And that night, he fell asleep in her arms.
Determined to rise stronger.