Steel clashed against steel, ringing across the Ashthorn training grounds like a war drum. Kaelric pivoted on his heel, blade slicing in a tight arc. His opponent barely ducked. Sparks spat as their swords met again.
"Too slow," Serenya muttered from the balcony rail, silver eyes narrowing.
Below, her twin adjusted his grip and lunged forward, relentless. Kaelric's blonde hair stuck to his forehead with sweat, but his strikes carried sharpness, precision.
"You always criticize," he shot back between breaths, glancing up for just a heartbeat before his blade whistled past his opponent's shoulder.
"You always leave an opening." Serenya's voice was calm, but her knuckles whitened on the railing.
The clang of metal stopped. Kaelric stepped back, chest rising and falling like bellows. The boy he fought dropped his sword and bowed out. Victory, but Serenya wasn't smiling.
"Not bad," she said as he climbed the steps toward her, still panting. "Still predictable."
Kaelric snorted and brushed sweat from his brow. "You sound like Father."
"That's a compliment." She pushed off the railing. "Come on. Mother will be inside with Elinor."
They crossed the courtyard and stepped into the grand hall. Marble columns rose like silent sentinels, catching the glow of the afternoon sun. Somewhere deep in the manor, a child's laughter rang like silver bells.
Elinor.
The five-year-old sat curled in Lady Elira's lap near the open windows, her small hands clutching a stuffed fox. Blonde curls framed her round face as she looked up at her mother with wide, expectant eyes.
"Again, Mama," Elinor begged, her voice bubbling like spring water.
Lady Elira's smile softened, rare as a thaw in winter. "Again?"
"Yes! The beginning part!"
Elira set aside the scroll she was holding, lifted her daughter higher on her lap, and smoothed the child's hair. Her voice dropped into a tone as rich as velvet.
"In the dawn before names and crowns, the divine beings carved this world from chaos. They blessed ten mortals for their courage, ten who stood against the void. Each received a fragment of divinity: fire to burn, storms to break, shadows to veil, and more. From those ten came the sacred bloodlines, the pillars of this kingdom."
Elinor's eyes shone. "And us?"
"We are Ashthorn," Elira said softly, pride threading her voice. "Blessed by the Heart of the Forge, masters of steel and creation. In our hands, iron bends. In our will, weapons are born. Steel in our veins, unyielding as the blade."
Kaelric folded his arms. Serenya lingered behind him, gaze flicking to the crest engraved above the hearth, a thorn-wrapped sword marking their house.
Ten families. Ten gifts. And one truth pressing like iron against their shoulders: the weight of names.
Outside, footsteps echoed faintly in the distance. A figure in plain clothes and a merchant's satchel slipped through the manor gates without looking back. Raven hair caught the sunlight for an instant before vanishing into the streets below.
Neither twin spoke of him. Neither dared.
The world had written his story already. He had not even begun to write back.