The firelight in the den flickered and danced like it was breathing, casting shadows that swirled eerily across the stone walls. It felt as if something just beneath the surface of the flames was straining to rise and break free from its confines.
Kaelen sat on the cool, rough-hewn floor, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees, a damp sheen of sweat still glistening on her skin from a grueling training session. The deep ache in her shoulders had become a familiar companion, persistent and unyielding, like a shadow following her every move. It was an ache she had grown accustomed to, just like her own name.
Outside the den, laughter floated in through the cracks of the aged, weathered stone walls. It was a chorus of familiar voices—boisterous and warm—echoing with the kind of camaraderie that felt distant to her.
None of those voices belonged to her.
Home~ at the Beta's Table ~
Seated at the long, polished table, her father, Darek, was intent on his task, sharpening a knife with a focused intensity that bordered on obsessive—his stone-gray eyes devoid of expression, hands steady and deliberate. The rhythmic sliding of the blade against the whetstone filled the quiet space, the sound grating like the grinding of teeth in the stillness.
"You're still awake," Darek said, his voice low and even, devoid of reproach but heavy with the weight of unspoken understanding.
Kaelen shrugged, her gaze lingering on the flickering shadows. "Couldn't sleep."
Without looking up from his task, Darek continued his work, the knife glinting softly; the silence between them thickened.
"Too much on your mind," he stated, not phrasing it as a question but as a matter-of-fact observation.
"I guess," she muttered, knowing she wasn't going to offer any more than that.
She waited, hoping for something more—a curiosity, a connection—but he remained absorbed in the knife, his hands moving methodically.
"Do you remember my mother?" she blurted out suddenly, the question tumbling from her lips before she could stop it.
Darek halted, the sudden stillness stretching the moment into an eternity.
It took him a long breath before he spoke, finally revealing, "She was… quiet. Not like you."
Kaelen almost smiled at that. "That sounds like a warning."
He lifted his gaze to meet hers, his expression unyielding. "No. Just the truth. She didn't speak much, but when she did, people listened."
"And where was she from?" Kaelen pressed, her heart racing with an insatiable curiosity.
Another pause stretched out, longer this time, as if the air had thickened with unspoken memories.
"She came from somewhere burned," he said finally, his voice slipping into a distant melancholy. "I never asked more than she wanted to tell."
Somewhere burned? The phrase ignited a myriad of questions in Kaelen's mind, thoughts swirling, but she pushed them aside.
Kaelen's fingers clenched tightly under the table, the wood rough against her skin. "Do I look like her?"
"You look like someone who survived."
That wasn't an answer she desired.
But it was the closest she'd ever get.
Later that Evening 🌙
By the time Kaelen returned to the room she shared with her sister, the fire in the wall sconce had dwindled to a low flicker, casting soft, golden shadows around them.
Laeryn sat gracefully on her bed, her long legs crossed with effortless poise, brushing her silken silver-blonde hair with slow, deliberate strokes. Her skin glowed in the dim light, and her pristine tunic, untouched by the rigors of the day, stood in stark contrast to Kaelen's disheveled appearance.
"Training again?" Laeryn asked, her eyes trained on her reflection in a small, cracked mirror, as if oblivious to Kaelen's fatigue.
"Yeah," Kaelen muttered, slowly peeling off her boots, trying to shake off the weight of her training.
"You smell like copper and sweat," Laeryn observed, an amused smirk dancing on her lips.
Kaelen inhaled deeply, fighting back the irritation. "You smell like arrogance and perfume."
Laeryn chuckled softly, the sound light and airy. "Maybe that's why I don't spend my nights punching logs."
Kaelen chose not to rise to the bait. The silence that settled between them was thick and charged, crackling with unexpressed frustrations.
"You know," Laeryn said, tilting her head and narrowing her eyes with a challenging intensity, "there's a difference between strength and effort."
"Are you trying to insult me or inspire me?" Kaelen shot back coldly, her patience fraying.
Laeryn stood, her gaze sharp and piercing. "You've been chasing him since we were kids. It's pathetic."
Kaelen froze, the words striking a raw nerve. "Don't."
"He doesn't look at you, Kael. Not ever. You're not his type. You're not anyone's type. You don't move like a mate—you move like a threat."
Kaelen swallowed the lump that rose in her throat, her heart pounding loudly in her ears.
"I didn't ask for your opinion."
"You didn't have to," Laeryn replied, brushing past her with a mix of disdain and pity. "You live in it."
Kaelen lay in the darkness that night, the quiet of the room heavy with tension, staring at the ceiling as thoughts swirled relentlessly—wondering, aching to know what she looked like through the eyes of everyone else.