It's been two days since Veyr announced himself.
I still don't know what to think. I've gone over that moment in the training yard a hundred times—the smirk, the gaze, the way Calden stepped between us like he was trying to keep a wolf from sniffing blood. And Veyr? He didn't even blink. Just smiled and left like he already knew how the story would end.
I hate that I believe him.
I need to train. Harder. Smarter. Tighter.
If there's even a chance he suspects me, I need to be perfect. No leaks. No flickers. No glowing hands or whispering spells when I'm distracted. I can't afford that kind of mistake anymore. Not around someone like him.
Nareva said I'm already a Bound.
That's a magic tier. A title. A rank, I guess, depending on how deeply your mana and aura are connected. Back in my old life, I'd call it a level-up. The kind of thing you grind toward in a game.
But this? This isn't a game.
It's surviving. In secret. Every time I thread a spell now, it's not for practice. It's a test to see how much longer I can stay hidden.
"That's everything for today," Nareva said, pulling me out of my thoughts.
I blinked and looked up from the pattern I'd traced into the dirt with my foot. Mana Thread had left my fingertips tingling. Still imperfect, but smoother now. Less like I was forcing it. More like it wanted to listen.
"Thank you," I said quietly. "For today—or rather… tonight."
I chuckled.
It was small. Soft. Real.
I didn't remember the last time I laughed without guilt crawling up my throat. Nareva was changing that. Slowly. She wasn't just teaching me magic.
She was showing me that maybe I didn't have to be scared of all of it.
"Kaelen?"
She sat on the old greenhouse bench, brushing some dust off the seat beside her. Her expression was unreadable—but not cold.
She gestured for me to sit.
I did.
"What is it?" I asked.
She hesitated.
Then, "Why aren't you leaving the mansion?"
I blinked.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean…" She looked down for a second, then met my eyes. "The other children your age—noble or not—they go out. They explore. They climb trees and fall off fences and get scolded for muddy boots. But you… You stay. Always here. Always hidden."
I looked away.
She was right. I hadn't been beyond the estate walls in weeks. Maybe months. Not really.
I pulled my knees up slightly on the bench, arms resting on them.
"I guess…" I started, "I don't really feel like I belong out there."
Nareva didn't speak. Just listened.
"The other kids—they're loud. Careless. They don't worry about slipping up or showing too much. They don't carry secrets so heavy they forget what silence sounds like."
I paused.
"And if they find out? That I can use magic? That my aura isn't normal?"
I shook my head.
"They'd scream. Or worse—they'd smile like it was fine. And then run to their parents and tell them everything."
Silence fell again.
She looked sad. Not for herself. For me.
"You deserve to feel the sun, Kaelen," she said gently. "You deserve to run without looking over your shoulder."
I laughed. Bitter this time.
"Maybe one day. When I'm strong enough not to be afraid of who sees."
She placed a hand on my shoulder. Not heavy. Not guiding. Just there.
"Then we'll keep going. Step by step."
I nodded.
And for a brief second, the fear eased.
But it never disappeared.
Not fully.
I couldn't sleep that night.
Not because of magic. Not because of fear. But because of what Nareva said.
"You deserve to feel the sun."
It haunted me. In a good way. In a bad way. In a way that wrapped itself around my ribs and squeezed every time I looked out the window.
I kept thinking about the world outside the estate walls. Not the grand cities I'd read about in Father's books, not the sweeping capitals with marble towers and flying ships. Just here. Just Tharionne.
The small city nestled in the valley below. The city I was technically born into, but never allowed to live in.
I used to peek at it from the highest windows. See the market stalls. The smoke drifting from chimney stacks. Hear the occasional echo of laughter, or the chiming of bells when the temple rang its hour. People lived down there. Normal people. Kids who didn't know what aura was. Who weren't afraid of being seen.
I wanted to go.
And that scared me more than any spell ever had.
The next day, the thought wouldn't leave me alone.
During training with Calden, I kept glancing at the horizon instead of my footing.
"Eyes forward," he snapped, for the third time that morning.
"Sorry."
"'Sorry' won't keep your skull from cracking open if someone takes advantage of your distraction."
Fair point. Still didn't stop me from looking again.
Even during reading hours, I found myself staring out the library window more than reading. The streets looked closer now. The trees didn't seem so tall. The gate didn't seem so locked.
And late that night, after I was supposed to be asleep, I stood by my bedroom window, arms crossed, watching the mist curl above the rooftops.
Maybe just for a walk.
Maybe just for a little while.
Maybe I needed to know.
Not who I was born to be.
But what the world looked like without walls around it.
The Next Morning
I slipped out before dawn.
No spellbook. No sword. Just my cloak, a small coin pouch Nareva had given me weeks ago for emergencies, and a hood pulled low over my face.
The servant's stair creaked once under my foot. I froze. Waited.
Nothing.
No footsteps. No doors opening. No soft voice calling my name.
I moved again.
Through the east hall. Past the empty study. Out the laundry side-door where the garden path met the stables. I cut through the edge of the orchard, where the trees were so overgrown even the moonlight had trouble peeking through.
And then I reached it.
The outer gate.
The city waited beyond.
Tharionne.
A city I wasn't supposed to walk. A city that didn't know me. That didn't care who my father was or what color my aura shimmered in the dark.
I slipped through.
The road down was longer than I thought. The gravel was rough under my boots, but the morning fog softened everything. The city rose slowly out of the valley mist like something half-remembered in a dream.
And then I was there.
At the edge of it.
The stone wall wasn't tall. The guards barely looked at me—probably thought I was just another house-servant on an errand.
And just like that…
I was in.
The sounds hit me first.
Voices. Carts. Haggling. Metal clanging on metal. The sharp bark of a dog, and the laugh of a girl chasing a paper kite down the cobblestone.
Then the smells—bread, smoke, something sweet, something burned.
And light.
Real, unfiltered sunlight through old glass shop windows.
No guards at my back. No rules. No lectures. No Calden barking about foot placement or Nareva whispering warnings about aura control.
Just… the world.
Wide.
Alive.
Mine.
I pulled my hood a little tighter and stepped deeper into the city, unsure of where I was going.
But knowing that, for the first time since waking up in this world—
I wasn't running from anything.
I was walking toward something.
The cobblestone streets of Tharionne were rougher than I expected. A few shops had already opened their wooden shutters, and voices rang out through the early fog. The world smelled like burnt flour and old cloth, but it was alive in a way the estate never was. Even the noise had texture—footsteps, bells, laughter, all woven into something real.
I tried to blend in.
Just a small boy in a cloak, head down, walking like I belonged.
A baker's cart rattled past me, and the woman driving it gave a quick nod, barely noticing. My heart didn't slow down, even when she passed.
The first time someone spoke to me, I nearly flinched.
"Oi, lad!" a broad-shouldered man with a beard like a broom called out. He was stacking crates outside his storefront, his sleeves rolled to the elbow. "Help me lift this, would you? My idiot apprentice is still sleeping off yesterday's festival."
I froze. Did he know? Did he see through me?
Then I realized—he was just asking. Like I was any other kid walking by.
I stepped forward and helped him lift the smaller crate. It was heavier than I expected, but I managed.
"Strong little arms you got," he said, nodding once. "You from the city?"
I shook my head.
"Visiting?"
"…Something like that."
He didn't press. Just waved me off with a grunt and returned to his crates.
I walked on, heart hammering again—but not from fear. Not entirely. It felt… normal. Talking to someone like that. Being seen without being seen.
But then it shifted.
A few blocks later, a narrow alley cut between two shops, and I caught the eye of a boy around my age, barefoot and scrawny, crouched beside a basket of bruised apples. His eyes locked on me—sharp, hungry, suspicious.
He didn't speak. But he didn't look away either.
Then I turned a corner, and—
"Watch where you're going!" a voice bellowed.
I jolted backward, nearly stumbling into a cart of vegetables. An old man with a walking cane pointed a gnarled finger straight at me.
"Little brat, sneaking around like a thief—go back to whatever hole you crawled out of!"
"I—I wasn't—"
"Go on, then! Get!"
People looked now.
I backed away, pulse pounding.
The man's voice echoed in my ears like thunder, and suddenly all those childhood instincts came screaming back. The voice of a teacher from another life. The boot under a desk. The cold floor of a hallway.
I turned and ran.
Down the lane. Past carts. Past stalls. Past people who shouted at me to slow down.
I didn't.
I ran until the shouts faded behind me.
Until I reached the edge of the city, where the ground sloped downward into a quiet patch of grass and earth.
The hill dipped sharply—just enough to shield me from the street and the voices and the weight of being seen. I ducked beneath the roots of a crooked tree, heart racing, breath sharp in my throat. My hands shook as I pressed them into the cool grass, trying to slow everything down.
"Are you hiding," a voice asked, "or just having a dramatic moment?"
I nearly jumped out of my skin.
I turned so fast I scraped my elbow on the bark. Sitting not ten feet from me, perched lazily on a chunk of half-buried stone, was a girl.
My age, maybe younger by a month or two. Legs crossed. Fingers stained faint green from whatever wildflower she'd been plucking apart before I showed up. She wore a faded grey tunic and a set of boots far too big for her. Her left ear—what was left of it—stopped short, as if someone had sliced the tip clean off. No point. No curve. Just scarred skin and a quiet kind of defiance.
Her hair was maya blue, soft and airy like the sky before a storm. And her eyes—mauve purple, almost glowing in the shadow under the hill—watched me with the kind of calm curiosity that made my skin crawl.
Also? Freckles. Dozens of them, dancing across her nose like tiny constellations.
"Uh…" I tried, brain barely catching up.
"You are hiding," she said, not unkindly. "City got too loud?"
I blinked.
She raised one hand, wiggled her fingers in greeting. "Hi. I'm Selaithe. You're trembling."
I looked down. Damn it. I was.
"I'm not—"
"—scared?" she finished for me, tilting her head. "It's okay. I hate it up there, too. The yelling. The smells. The way people look at you like they're trying to sell you or save you or step over you."
I didn't say anything. I was still processing her being.
She didn't move. Didn't press.
Instead, she leaned back against the stone and sighed like an old woman. "I come here a lot when I don't want to be seen. People look at ears. Less so when you're down here. Funny, right? Same me. Less ear. But suddenly I'm invisible."
The words fell out of her so smoothly I almost missed the bitterness tucked underneath.
"…I'm Kaelen," I said finally.
"Kaelen," she repeated, like tasting it. "Sounds like a noble name."
I flinched.
She caught it.
"Are you a runaway?" she asked, voice hushed, a bit too eager. "Or did you sneak out? You've got that look."
"What look?"
"The 'I'm not supposed to be here, and someone's gonna notice soon' look."
"Thanks."
"Not an insult," she said, waving it off. "I think it's brave. Dumb. But brave."
She stood and dusted her tunic off. Then, without asking, plopped down beside me.
I scooted slightly away.
She scooted slightly closer.
This girl was a problem.
"I won't tell anyone," she said after a moment. "If that's what you're scared of."
"I'm not scared," I muttered.
She nodded like that was totally believable. "Sure."
The silence stretched for a moment. But it wasn't uncomfortable. Just… odd.
Then she asked, softly, "Why'd you run?"
I hesitated.
"Some old man yelled at me."
She made a face. "Ew. Yeah. That'll do it."
And then, suddenly—her voice dropped, eyes sparkling just a bit too much: "Do you want me to deal with him?"
"What?"
"I'm kidding." She paused. "Mostly."
I stared at her.
She smiled.
And somehow, for the first time in a while, I didn't feel like I had to flinch when someone looked at me too closely.
Not yet, anyway.