The morning after, Cablan woke to an empty home—his parents were already gone to the border. Their departure was earlier than the norm, a silent indication of the unrest eating at the fringes of the village. His father, the village's warrior leader, and his mother, a battle-hardened fighter, had responsibilities that surpassed familial comforts. It was a life he had grown up with, but it never stopped hurting.
He sat up slowly, rubbing sleep from his eyes. The faint scent of steel and dried herbs lingered in the air—his mother's nightly salve for sore muscles. The home felt cold, not from the weather, but from absence. They hadn't even left a note. That silence, more than anything, drove the tightness in his chest.
Cablan's fingers knotted into fists. He needed to report to them—his growing mana pool, the glimmer of control over fire magic, the urgency to acquire a grimoire before the academy exam. But time, as it always did, escaped his grasp, mocking him with its slippery hands.
A creak echoed from the hall.
His sister Riba leaned against the doorway, arms crossed and eyebrow arched. "What's this urgency, brother? Is it about Koysia? Hoping she'll attend the academy with you?" Her voice dripped with teasing, but her eyes were sharp—probing, always probing.
Cablan scoffed, but there was little amusement in it. "Don't be absurd. Even affording my tuition is a miracle. Their sacrifices won't stretch to fantasies."
Riba's smirk faded into something quieter. "Then what?"
"None of your concern." The words were clipped, cold, final. His walls were built high today.
A beat of silence passed between them, heavy with things unspoken. Then—
"Koysia's waiting for you outside," Riba said, turning away with a shrug. "She's been there a while."
He moved as suddenly as the wind, barely pausing to throw on his cloak before tearing through the door. And there she was. Koysia, her silver hair reflecting the soft morning light, stood with arms folded and gaze firm. The villagers nearby paused to glance their way, furtive stares and low whispers threading the air like snakes through grass.
"You look like hell, Cab," Koysia said, voice a song laced with steel.
"Flattery won't get you out of this, Kouuu," he retorted, a grin breaking across his face as she bristled visibly.
She swatted his arm with a glare. "I warned you not to mangle my name."
"My apologies," he replied, mock-formal with a theatrical bow.
Koysia rolled her eyes, but her expression sobered. "Stop pretending. Listen—do you hear what they're saying?"
Cablan turned his gaze toward the village. There was tension in the air, thick and unshakable. Whispers of elves near the border passed from lip to ear, shadowed words carried by wind.
His blood turned icy.
"Why are they here?" he grumbled. "Scouts? Invasion?"
Koysia's grip on her sleeve tightened until her knuckles paled. "Your parents are on the border. You tell me."
A shadow passed over Cablan's face, brows furrowed. "If they're mobilizing, it's not for a social call. The elves have always coveted these territories."
Koysia let out a sharp breath. "The warriors will take care of it. We have more important things." Her chin tilted toward the training field. "Your magic won't teach itself."
The two trained without rest, weaving elements through the air with patient focus. Earth rumbled under Cablan's feet as water spiraled in ribbons around his hands. Each spell was a tentative step toward mastery, toward survival. Sweat dripped. Muscles screamed. But still, they continued.
The sun dipped behind the mountains, casting the village in twilight. Shadows lengthened, and the chill of night crept in.
Koysia lingered before she left. Her eyes held something unreadable.
"Tomorrow," she said, voice low but resolute, "we discover the truth."
Cablan nodded silently, watching as she vanished into the dark.
The village slumbered, but the frontier never did.
Neither would he.