The smell of smoke clung to Daren Ashveil's hair long after the battle had ended. No matter how many times he scrubbed with snow, it lingered — acrid, bitter, mixed with the iron tang of blood. Frostvale had burned, and though the flames had died, their memory lived on in every breath he took.
He sat now on the broken steps of a ruined house, his sword across his knees. The blade trembled faintly in his hands, not from cold but from the memory of its weight in the fight. He was only sixteen, barely grown, but the Ashborn had no patience for children. In war, you bled, or you were buried.
Daren had bled.
His left arm bore a shallow cut, hastily bandaged by one of Serenya Flameborn's warriors. His muscles still ached from swinging steel against armored men twice his size. But what haunted him most was not the fighting. It was Kaelen Duskbane.
Daren had watched him from the edges of the square, shadow lashing like a living beast, his sword a blur. He had seen Kaelen stop the shard's hunger, restraining power that could have wiped out the Hollow Crown in moments. And in that moment, shame burned hotter in Daren's chest than any wound.
Because a part of him had wanted Kaelen to unleash it.
If he had, my friends wouldn't be dead, Daren thought bitterly. He had seen two boys his age cut down by Crown steel. If Kaelen had given in, perhaps they would still be alive.
Yet another part of him remembered the whispers — the stories of champions who had fallen to their shards, consumed until nothing remained but shadow and hunger. He had seen fear in his elders' eyes, fear not of the enemy but of Kaelen himself.
He clenched the sword tighter. I don't know what to believe anymore.
"Brooding doesn't sharpen steel," a voice said.
Daren looked up to see Serenya standing over him, her axe slung casually across her back. She studied him with eyes like smoldering embers, unblinking.
"I wasn't—" Daren started.
"You were," she cut him off. "But it's natural. First battles always linger." She crouched beside him, glancing at his trembling hands. "You lived. That's more than many can say."
"I froze," he admitted, shame flooding his voice. "I thought I was ready, but when the Crown came, I couldn't move. Kaelen saved me. Again."
Serenya tilted her head. "And that angers you?"
"I don't know," Daren said. He lowered his eyes. "I wanted him to unleash it. The shard. I wanted him to save us all, no matter the cost. But he didn't. He held back. And now…" He gestured at the ruins around them.
Serenya was silent for a long moment. When she finally spoke, her tone was measured. "Do you know why fire burns?"
Daren blinked. "Because it hungers?"
"Because it must," Serenya said. She reached for a small piece of wood from the ruins and tossed it into the smoldering embers nearby. Flames licked eagerly at it. "But fire can warm, or it can consume. Kaelen walks that line every moment. Perhaps you do not understand his choice now. But one day, you might."
She rose, adjusting the strap of her axe. "Sharpen your blade, Ashveil. War does not pause for doubt." Then she left him to the silence.
Daren stared at the flames until his vision blurred. He thought of Kaelen's shadow, writhing like a beast, and of the way Kaelen had looked at him in the barracks days earlier: I don't control it. I resist it. Every moment.
Every moment. Daren shivered. Could he live like that? Could anyone?
That night, as the village settled into uneasy sleep, Daren wandered the ruins. The moans of the wounded echoed through the square, the crackle of dying fires filled the stillness. He found himself drawn toward the council hall, where faint voices murmured behind the broken walls.
He knew he shouldn't listen. But curiosity was stronger than fear.
"…he's dangerous," one voice hissed. "Every step he takes, the shard grows stronger. It's only a matter of time."
"Dangerous, yes," another voice answered. "But necessary. Without him, we'd already be ash."
"Without him," the first spat, "we'd be united. Varik would lead with strength, not hesitation."
Daren's blood ran cold. He recognized the second voice — one of the Ashborn elders. He pressed closer, heart pounding.
"The people will not follow him forever," the first voice continued. "The council will not tolerate restraint much longer. When the moment comes… we will decide."
Daren stumbled back, nearly tripping over a fallen beam. His breath caught in his throat. Traitors. Not Hollow Crown, not Shroudbound — Ashborn, their own.
His mind whirled. If Kaelen knew, would he break? Would the shard whisper louder? Would he finally unleash it?
The boy tightened his grip on his sword. He was too young for secrets this heavy. And yet now he carried one that could decide the fate of the Ashborn.
Above him, the stars glimmered coldly, uncaring.