Kael stared at her, his sharp grey eyes narrowing like a wolf catching an unfamiliar scent.
"I don't understand what you just said."
Violet exhaled slowly, her fingers curling into the blanket beneath her. "My secrets are useless to you."
Silence.
Then Kael's hand slammed against the wooden support beam. The entire tent shuddered.
"I am at my limit, child." His voice was low, dangerous—not a shout, but the kind of quiet that preceded storms. "You intrude upon a sacred ritual. You invoke another sacred rite. And now you sit here answering me like the most witty girl in the world, as if this is all some game."
His tattoos flickered faintly, silver light pulsing beneath his skin like a heartbeat made visible.
"Give me truth," he said. "Or I will drag it from you."
Violet flinched but didn't look away. "I'm sorry," she said softly. "But if I had been honest outright… it would've been useless."
Kael's jaw tightened. "What does that mean?"
Violet took a deep breath. Her hands trembled. "It means…" She paused, choosing her words like picking thorns from a wound. "…you need to flee."
The tent fell silent.
Then Kael laughed—a short, bitter sound that scraped against the air like steel on stone.
The laughter stopped.
His eyes locked onto hers, cold and unyielding.
"You know so much about our traditions and culture," he said slowly, each word deliberate, "and yet you know nothing about us."
He stepped closer. The temperature seemed to drop.
"Beastkin don't run. We fight. We die with honor."
Violet's voice came out softer than she intended. "Even if it costs Vael's life? Even if everyone you wanted to protect dies?"
Kael stilled.
"You may be a warrior," Violet continued, her voice steadying, "but you're not a leader."
His claws extended.
For a heartbeat, Violet thought he might strike her. But he didn't move. He just stared, breathing hard, muscles coiled like a spring wound too tight.
"What," he said slowly, "does that mean?"
***
Violet looked down at her hands. "Fighting will only bring ruin to this valley. Everyone will die. Even the ones who flee."
"Except one."
Kael's eyes narrowed. "Who?"
"Your son." Violet's voice cracked. "But he'll die eventually too. Just slower. Alone. Broken."
The words hung in the air like smoke.
"Everything starts," Violet continued, "the day you take them to the war grounds. The children left in the village will be ambushed. Taken hostage. The enemy will know exactly where they'll be."
Kael's breath hitched.
"The guards will be killed before they can react. The mothers will cry in anger. The fathers will go mad with rage. But one by one…" She met his eyes. "…they'll all die."
Kael's hand trembled. "How—"
"The First Princess," Violet interrupted, "is currently a Fourth-Rank warrior-mage. Behind her stands a Third-Rank general commander—her teacher."
She paused, letting the weight of those words settle.
"There are twelve ranks," she said quietly. "Four tiers. Each tier holds three ranks."
Her fingers traced invisible lines in the air as she spoke, as if mapping the heavens themselves.
"Mortal Tier—the Fourth Tier. Sixth, Fifth, and Fourth Ranks. This is where most warriors die."Mortal Tier—the Fourth Tier. Sixth, Fifth, and Fourth Ranks. This is where most warriors die."
"Ascendant Tier—the Third Tier. Third, Second, and First Ranks. These are the ones who command armies, who flatten cities.""Ascendant Tier—the Third Tier. Third, Second, and First Ranks. These are the ones who command armies, who flatten cities."
"Sovereign Tier—the Second Tier. Grand Third, Grand Second, Grand First. Kings fall before them. Nations kneel.""Sovereign Tier—the Second Tier. Grand Third, Grand Second, Grand First. Kings fall before them. Nations kneel."
"Absolute Tier—the First Tier." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Celestial Third, Celestial Second, Celestial First. Gods made flesh.""Absolute Tier—the First Tier." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Celestial Third, Celestial Second, Celestial First. Gods made flesh."
Kael stared at her. "I've never heard there were an Absolute —"
"Because," Violet said, "the royal family keeps this knowledge buried. They don't want people to know how vast the gap truly is."
She leaned forward. "A Fifth-Rank warrior can destroy a capital city filled with Sixth-Rank knights. Alone. The difference between ranks isn't linear—it's exponential."
Kael's throat worked. "Then why tell me this?"
"Because even if you use everything in your arsenal," Violet said, voice shaking, "the best you could do… is take a limb or two. That's all.
You can be 4th rank at best..."
Silence.
Kael's eyes widened. Not in fear—in disbelief.
"How do you know this?" he asked slowly. "The secrets of the royal family… those are stories buried with the dead."
***
Violet's mind flashed back.
Velanor's voice, smooth as silk, echoing through the cell:
"Let me tell you a story, little ghost. The story of how Isvalar rose and fell. How my siblings burned and bled. How I stood atop their graves and smiled."
She had spoken for hours—proud, cruel, savoring every word. Every secret. Every betrayal.
"Knowledge is power," Velanor had whispered. "And you, dear Violet, will die knowing exactly how powerless you were."
Violet blinked. The memory faded.
"As I said," she murmured, "my answers are useless. The only thing I want… is to protect my friend."
The words slipped out before she could stop them.
Kael tilted his head. "Who?"
Violet froze.
No. No, not yet.
She opened her mouth. Closed it. Tried to pivot—
"Who?" Kael repeated, softer this time.
Violet looked down. Her voice was barely a whisper. "Vael."
Silence.
Then Kael blinked. Once. Twice.
"You want to… be his wife?"
Violet's head snapped up. "WHAT?! No! He's a child! I'm—we're—that's disgusting!"
Kael raised an eyebrow. "Then why—"
"Because he's my friend!" Violet's face flushed. "Or… he will be. One day. I just—I don't want him to suffer. That's all."
Kael studied her. His nose twitched—the telltale sign of a Beastkin sniffing for lies.
Nothing.
But he still didn't believe her.
Violet bit her lip. Then, quietly: "Vael broke his pinky two weeks ago while running after a rabbit. He was embarrassed, so he told everyone he fought a bear."
Kael's expression shifted.
"He cried," Violet continued, "but only when no one was watching. He hid behind the supply tent and held his hand until it stopped hurting. Then he went back and smiled like nothing happened."
Kael's breath caught.
"I know," Violet said softly, "because I saw him. And I didn't say anything. Because I knew he didn't want anyone to know."
Kael stared at her for a long moment.
Then he sat down—hard—like his legs had given out.
"How…" His voice was hoarse. "How do you know that?"
Violet looked at him with eyes far too old for her face.
"Because," she said quietly, "I've seen what happens when no one protects the people they love. And I won't let it happen again."
***
Kael's hands curled into fists. His tattoos pulsed faintly, lightning crawling beneath his skin like restless spirits.
"You speak of the future," he said slowly, "as if you've lived it."
Violet said nothing.
"You know my son's secrets. You know the enemy's strength. You know—" He stopped. His eyes narrowed. "You're not just warning me. You're mourning."
Violet's breath hitched.
"You speak," Kael continued, voice dropping to a whisper, "like someone who's already buried us."
Tears pricked her eyes. She blinked them away.
"I won't let it happen again," she repeated, firmer this time.
Kael stood slowly. He walked to the tent entrance, staring out at the camp beyond. Fires flickered. Voices murmured. Children laughed.
"If what you say is true," he said quietly, "then we're already dead."
"No." Violet stood, her legs shaking but her voice steady. "Not if you listen to me."
Kael turned. "And what would you have me do? Run? Abandon our home? Our honor?"
"Yes."
The word hung between them like a blade.
"Honor," Violet said, "won't keep your son alive. Pride won't stop the First Princess from burning this valley. Tradition won't bring back the dead."
She stepped forward. "But running? Surviving? That will."
Kael's jaw clenched. "You ask me to be a coward."
"I ask you to be a father."
The words struck like thunder.
Kael stared at her—this small, broken child who spoke like a prophet and wept like a mourner.
"Who are you?" he whispered.
Violet smiled sadly. "Someone who lost everything. And who refuses to lose it again."
***
Outside, the wind picked up. Storm clouds gathered on the horizon—dark, churning, inevitable.
Somewhere beyond the valley walls, an army marched.
And in the tent, two people stood in silence—one mourning a future that hadn't happened yet, the other struggling to believe it ever would.