The echoes of wooden blades still rang faintly in Caelum's ears as he left the training ground after a full day of training. The bruises across his ribs throbbed in time with his steps, each breath sharp against his chest, but the ache in his body wasn't what unsettled him. It was the memory of that moment... that brief instant when he had almost… lost control.
He had seen his sparring partner's smirk, the mocking glint in her eyes as she toyed with him. Her words still scraped at him: "How will you save anyone like this?" A cruel jest, but one that brushed far too close to the truth. He had felt it then, a wave rising inside him, a hunger so sharp it nearly drowned out thought. The vision of tearing into her, of silencing her smug expression in a spray of red, had been so vivid he could taste it on his tongue.
And then it had vanished, smothered by his own fear, leaving him broken and bloodied on the ground, more wounded by his restraint than by her strikes.
Now, as the other children chattered behind him, laughter spilling into the night air, Caelum's steps carried him down the stone paths of the clan estate. The world seemed too calm, too normal, as though mocking the storm inside him. He's at least thankful for Seren dragging the brute head, Elias when he realized that Caelum needs some alone time.
Lanterns glowed faintly along the walkways, their soft greenish light shimmering against carved wooden beams. Beyond the walls, the forest whispered in the wind, ancient oaks bowing, leaves rustling like distant murmurs. Young disciples crossed paths with him, their faces flushed with the joy of training. Some carried bundles of herbs, others sparring gear. They nodded at him politely, none lingering long.
Servants passed by in simple garb, bowing quickly, eyes lowered. Caelum offered faint smiles in return, though his thoughts were elsewhere. Each exchange felt like a mask slipping further from his face.
Why did he feel so apart from them?
The estate was large, divided into quarters for families, halls for cultivation, gardens where life-magic shimmered in the air like dew. Here, the elves of the clan lived and worked with an order that had lasted generations. He had grown up in these same corridors, among these same people. He should have felt at home.
And yet every step made the distance between them feel wider.
His feet slowed. Without realizing, he had wandered down the path that led to his mother's quarters. The pale archway loomed ahead, familiar and comforting, and his chest tightened. For a moment he thought of pushing open the door, of asking her everything . why he felt so wrong, why he couldn't cultivate like the others, why his very blood seemed to rebel inside his veins.
But a passing servant, arms full of folded robes, paused and bowed.
"Caelum, young master. Lady Brinet rests. She asked not to be disturbed."
Caelum's lips parted, but no words came. He nodded mutely, swallowing down the knot in his throat. Disturbing her now would be selfish. She had endured enough. The sickness that gnawed at her had only worsened in recent years. She needed peace, not the burden of her son's confusion.
So he turned away, leaving the archway behind. The guilt only deepened the hollow inside him.
By the time he reached his own quarters, the night had thickened. The chamber doors opened soundlessly at his touch, revealing the modest space within. Candles flickered faintly, casting the room in muted gold.
"Young master," a voice greeted.
Tetsu, his attendant, hurried forward. A boy only a little older than Caelum, but already taller and more composed, with the steady hands of someone used to service. He bowed, then noticed the bruises along Caelum's arms.
"You're injured again."
Caelum forced a laugh. "It's nothing serious."
Still, he let Tetsu help him change from the sweat-soaked training garb into a clean robe. The boy worked quickly, his hands sure as he wrapped fresh linen around Caelum's ribs.
"You push yourself too hard," Tetsu muttered. "But I suppose that's expected of you. Everyone says the young master will surpass us all one day."
Caelum smiled faintly, though the words stung. He knew the truth. His cultivation lagged behind most of his peers. He trained harder than any of them, but effort alone couldn't bridge the gulf.
When Tetsu left, closing the door softly behind him, silence returned. Caelum sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the floorboards.
That was when the question rose, unbidden.
Who am I?
It slipped into his thoughts like a whisper, quiet but impossible to ignore. The absurdity of it made him chuckle under his breath. Who was he? Caelum, son of Brinet, member of the Elarion Clan. Everyone knew that. He knew that.
But the laugh died quickly.
Because if it were so simple, why did it feel false?
He leaned back against the wall, covering his eyes with a hand. His hair, dark as the night sky, was unlike the silver, gold, or pale hues of his kin. His affinity for life magic was weak, embarrassingly so, where even children younger than him could coax buds to bloom with ease. His cultivation crawled at a pace that mocked his effort.
Every part of him contradicted the legacy of his clan.
Another thought struck, sharper, crueler.
Am I even an elf?
The moment it formed, he regretted it. But the thought clung to him, sinking hooks into his mind. He shook his head, trying to banish it, but it only returned stronger.
His chest tightened. The walls of the room felt closer, pressing in. He stood abruptly, pacing. He had to ask his mother. She would know. She had always known how to ease his worries, how to make sense of the chaos.
Grabbing a fresh robe, he threw it over his shoulders and moved toward the door. The need for answers burned in him, overwhelming.
But as the door slid open, a shadow blocked his path.
An elder stood there, tall and stern, robes heavy with embroidered sigils of authority. His hair was tied back, his eyes sharp as flint. Caelum recognized him at once. Elder Rynel, one of the patriarch's closest advisors.
Caelum's words faltered on his tongue. He bowed instinctively. "Elder."
Rynel's gaze swept over him, unreadable. Then, in a voice that carried the weight of command, he spoke:
"The Patriarch summons you."
For a moment, Caelum's heart stopped. The air seemed to thin, his earlier desperation swallowed by sudden dread. It had been years since he had been called alone by the patriarch. Whatever this was, it would not be trivial.
His grip tightened on the robe at his chest. Questions for his mother evaporated. All that remained was the pounding of his heart, loud enough to drown thought.
He bowed once more, forcing steadiness into his voice. "Yes, Elder."
And as he followed Rynel down the lantern-lit corridors, the thought gnawed at him like a phantom wound.
Would he finally be deemed so useless and dumped out, never having the chance to save... anyone?