The dim glow of the lantern cast flickering shadows against the walls of their cramped little shack, the air thick with the scent of aged wood and mountain air. The quiet hum of settlement life outside barely reached them, leaving only the occasional murmurs of voices and the distant sounds of water trickling through the cavern's stone veins.
Merrick sprawled across his bed, idly flipping through one of his worn spellbooks, though his focus seemed to drift elsewhere. His foot tapped against the floor in a restless rhythm.
"So," he said suddenly, snapping the silence. "If we do find an Ascension Stone… do you think we could each take one?"
Char, who had been sitting cross-legged on his mattress, deep in thought, finally blinked and looked up. "I'm not sure," he admitted. "It depends on how many there actually are. And whether we could even use them properly."
Merrick hummed. "If I got one, I wonder what my skill would be…" His fingers drummed against the book's cover. "Something flashy, I bet. Maybe an enhancement to my magic, or—"
"Maybe it'll make you less of a pain in the ass," Mira interjected, smirking from where she sat on the floor, leaning against Char's bedframe.
Merrick shot her an unimpressed look. "Doubtful."
Mira chuckled before turning her attention back to Selka, who was curled up against the mattress, nodding off with quiet little breaths. Mira's eyes practically sparkled.
"She's so cute," she whispered, barely containing herself. "She told me earlier that she wants to be a goat herder when she grows up, because they always listen to her problems."
Char glanced at her, arching a brow. "Goats listen to her problems?"
Mira nodded vigorously. "She said they 'always nod at the right moments.'"
Merrick snorted. "You're obsessed."
"I am," Mira admitted shamelessly. "I don't even care. She's adorable."
Char shook his head, exhaling softly. He wasn't surprised by Mira's attachment—after all, she had been raised by a whole town, never knowing her parents. Maybe something about Selka reminded her of herself.
Merrick, meanwhile, stretched his arms behind his head, staring up at the ceiling. "So. What's the plan?"
Char was silent for a moment before finally saying, "I'm going to search for a vein of Ascension Stones tomorrow."
Merrick looked intrigued. Mira stopped gushing over Selka long enough to turn her attention to him properly.
"Do you know where to look?" Mira asked.
Char hesitated, fingers idly toying with the blanket draped over his knee. "I have an idea. I just have to confirm it."
Mira narrowed her eyes slightly, studying his expression. "And what happens if Lucien or his people find out?"
Char exhaled through his nose. "Then we deal with it."
Merrick sighed, but he didn't argue. He simply flipped through his book again, his foot still tapping idly against the floor.
The room settled into a comfortable quiet, Mira gently brushing Selka's white hair, Merrick lost in his thoughts, and Char staring into the lantern's glow, mind focused on what lay ahead.
Tomorrow, he would find the stones.
He had to.
*
The heavy silence in the meeting chamber was thick as stone, disturbed only by the crackling of a lone lantern hanging overhead. Rhun Wolfsbane sat at the head of the table, his hands folded, his face a mask of quiet contemplation. Across from him, Lucien leaned forward with barely restrained frustration, his golden eyes burning like embers. Ferme stood off to the side, arms crossed, expression unreadable, while Flint, ever the shadow lurking at the edges, observed with his usual quiet cunning.
The weight of the conversation had dragged on long enough, and yet Rhun remained steadfast, his voice carrying the unwavering steadiness of a man who had seen too much war and had no desire to see more.
"The humans will not be harmed," he said, his tone firm. "They have done nothing to warrant such action."
Lucien scoffed. "Nothing? You let them in, gave them shelter, and now they search for something they won't even name. You trust them blindly, Father. That is your flaw."
Rhun's fingers tightened slightly. "Trust is not a flaw."
"It is when it leaves us vulnerable."
"You speak as if we are under siege." Rhun's voice darkened. "We are not. We are a people who sought refuge from war. A people who built a home, a new life, away from the bloodshed that ruined our past." His gaze bore into Lucien's. "Do not mistake my mercy for weakness."
Lucien's jaw tightened. Flint took a step closer to him, his voice a low murmur at his side, too soft for Rhun to hear clearly. Whatever he said made Lucien's shoulders tense.
"I do not mistake it for weakness," Lucien finally said, his voice laced with something sharper than anger. "I mistake it for cowardice."
A stillness fell over the room, like the slow tightening of a noose.
Rhun's eyes narrowed, his fingers curling into fists. "Careful, boy."
Lucien didn't flinch. "You were once the leader of warriors. A symbol of strength." His voice dripped with bitter venom. "But that man is long dead, isn't he? Now, you sit in this hollowed mountain, pretending you can carve out peace from the scraps of a broken past." He straightened. "You don't lead anymore. You cling to something that no longer exists."
Rhun's breath came heavy and slow, but his eyes blazed with something rarely seen in him anymore—rage.
"I do not cling to the past," he growled, rising to his feet. "I am the one who cut it away! I chose this path because I refused to let our people become what the world made us." His voice trembled with fury, with grief unspoken for decades. "Do you think the old me was something to admire? That the war we fought was noble? We lost everything! And you—" He jabbed a finger at Lucien's chest, trembling with emotion. "You would drag us back into the bloodshed we ran from? You fool! Have you learned nothing?"
Lucien was breathing hard, his teeth clenched. Flint's hand was still lightly resting at his back, his words still whispering poison into his ear.
Rhun shook his head, exhaling heavily. "Violence was never our way. It never should have been." He looked to Ferme, then back to Lucien. "And I will not let it become our way again."
Flint's lips barely moved as he leaned in to Lucien's ear. "Then remove him."
Lucien's hand twitched. His mind burned, his body filled with a sudden, sharp pulse of fury. Flint's voice curled around his thoughts like a serpent, his whispers feeding the fire in his chest.
His father was wrong.
His father was weak.
Lucien's breath hitched as his hands moved before he could stop them.
Rhun barely had time to react before Lucien shoved him.
It was not a strike meant to kill. Not at first.
But Rhun was old. His balance was not what it once was. And the force of the push sent him stumbling backward—
—back, back, into the wall—
A sickening crack echoed through the room.
Ferme inhaled sharply.
Lucien's heart stopped.
Rhun slumped to the ground, his head tilted at an unnatural angle, blood pooling beneath him. One of the old swords that had once hung upon the wall was now coated in a fresh line of crimson.
For the first time in years, silence ruled the chamber in the most terrible way.
Lucien's hands shook. He stared at his father's still body, at the blood pooling beneath him, at the sight of the great Rhun Wolfsbane—a legend, a leader, a father—reduced to a motionless corpse.
His mouth opened, but no words came.
Flint's hand found his shoulder, gripping it gently. His voice, warm and smooth, curled into Lucien's ear like a devil's embrace.
"Well done."
*
Lucien stood frozen, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. His hands trembled at his sides, his mind racing, trapped in the space between horror and disbelief. Rhun's lifeless eyes stared at nothing, his blood dark against the cavern floor.
"I—" Lucien's voice cracked, his throat dry. His whole body felt like it was caving in on itself, the weight of what he had done pressing down on his chest like a mountain. "What… what have I—"
Flint's hand was firm on his shoulder, grounding him. His voice was a steady whisper, the eye of the storm in Lucien's mind.
"You did what was necessary," Flint murmured, leaning in, his words wrapping around Lucien like a spell. "Your father was lost. A man out of time, clinging to a dream that no longer existed. You saw the truth. You had the strength to act."
Lucien swallowed, his breath shuddering. "I… I didn't mean—"
"Didn't you?" Flint's voice was soft, but there was something pointed beneath it, something carefully placed. "Tell me, Lucien. When you pushed him, was it truly an accident? Or was it the moment you had been waiting for?"
Lucien felt something deep within him twist—guilt, grief, relief, all tangled together. He clenched his jaw. "I—"
"It doesn't matter now." Flint straightened, his fingers pressing slightly against Lucien's shoulder. "What matters is what comes next. You are Chief now. The Valkari need a leader who is willing to act. Someone who sees the dangers before them and does what must be done." He tilted his head. "That is you, Lucien. You were always meant to lead."
Lucien's breathing slowed, his posture straightening.
"Yes," Flint murmured. "Breathe. Stand tall. This is not a time for weakness. The people will look to you now, and you must show them that Rhun's death—tragic as it was—does not leave them leaderless."
Ferme, who had been watching in silence, finally spoke. Her voice was cool, unreadable. "You expect them to believe he simply… fell?"
"They will believe what they need to," Flint answered smoothly, turning to her. "A tragic accident in the night. An elder past his prime, slipping where he once stood firm." He gave a small shrug. "And who better to guide the people forward than his own son? It is the natural order of things, is it not?"
Lucien swallowed thickly, but the hysteria in his chest had dulled. His father was gone. That was the truth now. But the Valkari remained. His people remained. And he would lead them.
"…We'll need to prepare a funeral," he said, his voice steadier than before. "We'll send word at dawn."
Flint smiled, stepping back. "Good."
Ferme studied Lucien for a long moment, then exhaled slowly. "Fine." She turned toward the door. "I will begin making the arrangements."
Lucien watched her go, his hands still trembling faintly.
Flint turned to him once more, his voice nothing but silk.
"A new era begins, Lucien." His smile was small, knowing. "You'll see—it was always meant to be this way."