I sat on the old bench in the courtyard, legs swinging just short of the stone path. The early sun warmed my ankles. The book I'd gotten for my birthday rested in my lap—The Song of Hollowfire, aged leather and gold trim, way too heavy for a five-year-old.
But I wasn't really five, was I?
Not on the inside.
I skimmed the page again, pretending I understood all the flowery language. Something about twin blades, blood debts, and a lover who turned into smoke. Honestly, it was half poetry and half headache, but it smelled like old pages and ink and something ancient, so I liked it anyway.
Also, it was mine. That part mattered most.
I glanced at the sun. Morning had barely begun, but I already felt older. Not in the "my back hurts" way Calden complained about, but in that strange, quiet way where the air around you feels different. Like the shadows know.
"Master Kaelen," came Nareva's voice, soft and measured, "I have a gift for you too."
I flinched. Almost dropped the book. Don't let it hit the ground, you'll cry in front of her again, you tiny failure of a man-child.
Too late. She'd seen the startle. Her lips twitched—not quite a smile. Not quite not.
"You're early," I said, covering it with a cough. "I thought you were—uh—doing something servant-y."
"Cleaning," she said dryly. "Very important. Lots of dangerous dust bunnies."
She was teasing. Nareva was teasing me. Mark the calendar.
I closed the book and looked up. She wasn't in uniform this time—just a plain dark cloak over a pale tunic. Simple, quiet, like she didn't want to draw attention.
"You didn't have to get me anything," I said quickly. "I mean, the notebook already—uh…"
She stepped forward and sat beside me.
"It's not a thing," she said. "It's… more like a tradition."
That got my attention.
"A tradition?"
Nareva nodded, then reached into the folds of her cloak and pulled out… a piece of paper?
No—wait. Not paper. It shimmered. Pale and thin, like pressed light. Mana-forged vellum, I realized. I'd only seen it once before, in the library, sealed behind glass. You needed aura to even touch it.
I blinked. "Is that—"
"It's a spell," she said. "A small one. Basic light conjuration. Takes barely a spark."
My mouth went dry. "For… me?"
"Only if you want it," she said, setting it gently in my lap. "It's a child's incantation. No harm in knowing it."
My fingers hovered above the page. The letters glowed faintly, drawn in soft strokes like a lullaby.
"I—I don't know if I should—"
"Try," she said. "No pressure."
I looked at the spell. Then at her.
Then back at the spell.
And, because my brain was on autopilot, I muttered, "This better not explode or summon a demon."
Nareva's expression didn't change, but she made a sound like a snort she was trying very hard to hide.
Success. Made the scary assassin lady laugh. Achievement unlocked.
I took a breath.
Focused.
The incantation was short. Five words. I whispered them slowly, careful not to twist the pronunciation. The last time I'd fumbled a word, a shadow tried to eat my shoelaces.
"Serelth en lumari…"
The vellum pulsed. Just once.
And then—
A flicker of light appeared above my palm. No bigger than a firefly. Just a single glowing mote, soft and golden like candlelight. It hovered there, swaying with my breath.
I didn't move.
Neither did Nareva.
"…Did I do it?" I asked.
"You did," she said quietly.
I stared at the light.
Then let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding.
"I did it."
It wavered. I panicked. "Wait, stay—don't die—"
The mote shrank, flickered—
And held.
I grinned. Actually grinned.
And for a second, the world felt okay.
No shadows creeping at the edge of my vision. No blood, no screaming, no questions about mana and who I was supposed to be.
Just a warm mote of light.
And someone who saw me.
--Nareva--
He looked at the light like it was a miracle. Like he wasn't the one who had summoned it. Like he didn't believe he deserved the warmth.
He did.
Kaelen deserved a hundred brighter days than I could give him.
I watched him smile—not the practiced, polite smile he wore when nobles hovered over him like vultures, but a real one. A fragile little curve of the mouth that trembled as if it had forgotten how to exist.
And it broke me a little.
There were rules. Codes. Orders. Even my compassion was supposed to be calculated.
But every time I looked at him, all of that felt smaller than it used to. Like my heart had found something it wasn't supposed to protect—but did anyway.
I didn't say anything.
Just watched the candlelight of his spell hover between his fingers, golden and flickering and absurdly small.
And in that moment, it felt bigger than anything I'd ever done.
--Kaelen--
I didn't move right away after she left.
The warmth on my palm where the spell had touched still lingered—like a second heartbeat, quieter than mine, but steadier. Realer.
I closed my fingers around it and sat still for a moment, staring out past the hedges and half-dead rose vines curling along the garden wall.
Was this what a real birthday felt like?
Not the kind with cake and parades and awkward nobles with too much perfume pretending I wasn't a freak. Not the staged family dinners or Calden's stilted half-smiles, the ones that felt like he'd practiced them in a mirror and still got it wrong.
No. This was… something else.
Something small. Quiet. Personal.
Something mine.
I glanced down at the book—Flamewright's Folly, some ancient text Calden gave me that probably hadn't been read since the last human war. I'd made it halfway through chapter three, where the titular mage tried to duel a goose because it looked at him funny. Honestly, I respected it.
Still, I wasn't really reading anymore. The words blurred.
Instead, my thoughts drifted.
To the greenhouse.
To Beast Style.
To the void between each Veilstep, and how it welcomed me like a door left open in a house I wasn't supposed to enter.
I shivered. Not from cold.
From remembering how good it felt.
I shouldn't be able to do any of that. Ghostborn don't have mana. No flow, no casting, no right to even speak the incantations, let alone weave them into swordplay.
But I had done it.
And Nareva had seen it—and hadn't told anyone.
Why?
What did she see in me that no one else did?
I bit my lip, brow furrowed, heartbeat climbing slowly again like it always did when I spiraled like this. But this time… it didn't go as far.
This time, I had a memory of her voice anchoring me.
"That doesn't make you a monster, Kaelen."
I swallowed the lump rising in my throat and looked down at my palm again.
Then I whispered the word under my breath, not even forming the spell—just saying it.
"Nithras."
Light didn't spark. Nothing moved.
But the warmth remained.
And for once, that was enough.
The halls felt colder than the garden. Quieter too, like even the walls were holding their breath.
I walked slowly, tracing a path I'd memorized since the day I learned how to walk—not because it was efficient, but because it let me avoid most people. My books were tucked under one arm, Nareva's ribbon-marked page pressed shut like a secret I hadn't earned yet.
I turned the corner near the west wing—
And stopped.
Calden was already standing there.
Tall. Straight-backed. Black overcoat that looked like it belonged in a war council, not a home. His hair was neatly tied back, not a strand out of place. His eyes—steel gray—met mine like he'd been waiting.
He probably had.
"Kaelen."
Just my name. Flat. Measured. Like he was testing how it sounded, as if I were some hypothesis he hadn't confirmed yet.
"…Instructor," I replied, automatically.
His gaze flicked to the book in my arms. Then to my face. Then back again.
"You've been outside."
I nodded. "The garden. Just reading."
He said nothing for a moment, like that sentence was a math problem he was calculating in real time.
Then, finally—
"Good."
I blinked.
That… was not what I expected.
"You've avoided combat drills all week," he added. "I assumed you were sulking."
I tensed, but kept my voice level. "I wasn't."
"Hmm."
He stepped past me. Not away—around. Slow, deliberate, like a panther circling something too small to be worth eating… but still curious.
"You'll return to the ring tomorrow," he said, voice like cold metal. "Eight o'clock sharp."
My stomach twisted.
Beast Style still left aches in my bones, like it had stretched something inside me too fast. I hadn't practiced since the greenhouse. I didn't even know how to move like that again.
"Yes, Instructor," I muttered.
He didn't answer right away. Just stood behind me for a long moment.
Then:
"Kaelen."
"…Yes?"
He didn't raise his voice. He never had to.
"You're not weak."
My breath caught.
I turned slightly. Just enough to glance at him.
His expression hadn't changed. Still sharp. Still unreadable. But there was something in the way his jaw tensed. Like he hated having to say it.
Or maybe like he didn't believe it, but said it anyway.
"I expect better from you than this."
He left without another word.
And still, even after his footsteps vanished down the corridor, I stood frozen.
Because for just a second, that almost sounded like… hope?
Or maybe that was just me, trying too hard to hear things I needed.