The moment Kael and Virelle stepped into the modest, dim-lit house, the door creaked shut behind them like a sigh from a weary soul. Dust hung in the air, golden in the shafts of late sunlight filtering through the shuttered windows. For a few seconds, neither of them spoke.
Kael muttered under his breath, almost as if speaking to the air itself.
"Didn't think the old man still had it in him… a heart."
Virelle turned toward him, and to Kael's surprise, she let out a soft, short laugh. Not mocking—more nostalgic than anything else. Her eyes, however, carried a pleading gentleness as she replied.
"He does, Kael. He just… doesn't know how to show it anymore."
Kael narrowed his eyes, uncertain whether he should scoff or stay silent. But curiosity tugged at him, and finally, he asked the question that had lingered in his mind for years.
"So what happened?"
He leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "He used to be kind. At least, that's what you always said. But I've only seen the cold, bitter version of him. What changed him?"
Virelle's eyes lifted slowly to the ceiling, and she stared at the wooden beams like she was searching for answers etched in the grain. Then came a long sigh—heavy and resigned. She moved toward the worn-out bench by the fire and sat down.
"Sit, Kael," she said softly.
Reluctantly, he joined her.
"It was my fault," she began, folding her hands tightly in her lap. "All of it."
Kael frowned. "Your fault? What are you talking about?"
Virelle glanced at him, her face a careful mixture of guilt and old pain. "Jorran found out—years ago—that I once served in the royal palace of Varethis. As a personal maid. To your birth mother."
Kael's eyes widened slightly, his breath catching. "Then…?"
"Then," she continued, her voice low, "I had to act quickly. If he had put the pieces together, if he knew who you truly were, he might have… he might have told someone. The wrong person. So I lied. I told him you were the son of Rufus Laparch."
Kael blinked in confusion. The name rang in his memory—one of the most hated mages in history, a name used in whispers to frighten children. "Why him?"
Virelle hesitated, then gave a trembling breath.
"Because I knew that if Jorran believed you were born from someone he despised, he would stay silent out of shame or disgust. I never imagined… how deep his hatred ran."
Kael leaned back slowly. "But why did he hate Rufus so much?"
The words that came next hit Kael like a blade of ice.
"Because Rufus's raiders killed his sister."
"And…" she paused. "…they raped her before they did."
Silence settled like fog in the room. Kael stared blankly at the floorboards.
It all made sense now.
The bitter glances. The suppressed growls. The way Jorran could never quite say his name without clenching his jaw.
He hated me… because he thought I was a legacy of the one who ruined his sister.
Kael's hand slowly curled into a fist on his knee. He didn't speak for a long time. When he finally did, his voice was hoarse and low.
"So to him, I was a ghost of her death."
Virelle nodded slowly. "He mourned her for years. And when he believed you carried that blood… he couldn't bear to look at you without remembering what was taken from him."
Kael leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring into the cold fireplace.
"Then I understand him."
His voice was quiet but steady. "Because I feel the same when I think of those who betrayed my real parents. The ones who called them rulers, allies… only to tear them down when they were weakest."
His gaze hardened, faraway and burning.
"I'll make them pay. Every one of them."
Virelle looked at him then—not with fear, but with deep sorrow. Not just for Kael's anger… but for the part of him that had been forged in silence, in misunderstanding, in carefully woven lies meant to protect but that had only ever isolated him.
And now that anger was sharpening.
Turning into purpose.
She didn't say anything. There was nothing left to say.
Only Kael's silent vow echoing louder than any scream:
They will suffer. The ones who took everything from me. They will kneel before they burn.
---
Virelle watched the fire flicker as Kael's face hardened with that same expression—the one she feared most. Quietly, she set her hands on her lap and braced herself.
"Kael…" she began softly, trying to mask the tremor in her voice. "If you don't want to stay in Thorman's Village anymore… I have friends in the outer villages. Good people. You could stay with them for a while. Just until things settle down."
Kael stood by the window, the fading twilight casting long shadows across his face. His jaw clenched as he slowly shook his head.
"No."
Virelle blinked, caught off guard. Before she could speak, he turned toward her with eyes that held no doubt.
"I'm going to Thornmere."
"For the magic academy recruitment."
Her breath caught. Thornmere? That wasn't just another village—that was a place crawling with scouts, nobles, and imperial agents.
"Kael…" she whispered, her voice strained, "do you even know what you're saying?"
Kael gave a small, tired sigh. He had seen that look on her face before—like she was watching a cliffside crumble right before her.
"I'm not doing this to spite you," he said. "I want to see what magic really is. What it can do. What I can become."
Virelle bit her lip. Of course he wanted that. Every youth did. Magic wasn't just power—it was liberation, identity, a place to belong in a world where most were chained by limits.
But Kael wasn't like most.
"Your situation isn't like theirs," she said carefully. "You carry a bloodline that people would kill to erase. Or capture. You're not some farm boy trying to play wizard, Kael."
That hit him harder than he expected. He turned to her fully now, frustration flashing in his eyes.
"So what? I'm supposed to just keep hiding? Let that legacy rot inside me until someone else decides what I'm worth?"
His voice rose, sharp and defiant.
"All my life, I've seen them—my birth parents—die again and again. Every dream. Every night. Their screams. Their betrayal. And you think I can live a normal life? I'm going to that academy, Virelle. I'm going to master magic. And when I do…"
His hands curled into fists.
"…I'll find the ones who killed them. And I'll make them wish they had never heard the name Kael Theron."
The silence that followed was suffocating. Virelle stared at him, heart breaking not from fear, but from inevitability.
She had hoped—hoped foolishly—that the world could be gentle with him.
But that was never an option. Not for a child born of a fallen throne.
Kael turned without another word and walked toward his room, the wood floor creaking beneath his feet. The door clicked shut with quiet finality.
Left alone, Virelle bowed her head, staring at her trembling hands.
"I promised," she whispered to no one. "I promised her I'd keep him safe. That he'd live free… and happy."
But Kael wasn't a child anymore. He was becoming a man—with the fire of a kingdom in his veins. She couldn't shield him from the storm if he was the storm.
And so… the only thing left to do was prepare him.
Virelle stood slowly, wiping her eyes with the edge of her sleeve. Her gaze lifted toward Kael's door.
If he was going to Thornmere… then he wouldn't be going unarmed.