My mother used to say that every war begins with a boy who wants to be seen.
I never understood what she meant — not until I found this scroll.
It was unlike the others. Where Sir William Bryce's spoke of conquest and steel, this one breathed — soft, trembling, alive. It came from the Cy woods, written in the hand of a boy named Leon.
****
Leon
It was happening. It was really happening. The Castling Knights were in our woods.
All of us were scared, nobody knowing what would become of us.
The town square was packed. Everyone was shouting and crying; it was pure chaos. I threaded my way through the crowd, tugging Eulalia by the hand. She was seven — four years younger than me — but unlike me, she had yellow hair and no taste for trouble. I always did.
Eulalia kept whispering that we should go home, that Mother wouldn't like us being here. But Marcus was going to speak — and I didn't just want to hear what he said. I wanted to be there.
Then, all at once, the noise fell away. A hush rippled through the crowd.
And there he was — the great Marcus.
"There was once a time," he began, fierce and unyielding, "when we bore these marks with pride!" He struck a finger against the birthmark on his cheek. "When our lands stretched farther than the skies, and our armies rolled like thunder! When our children were kings, and we—gods!"
He paused, eyes blazing. "You say it's all in the past? It is not! The blood of Zeus runs in our veins still. If the Castling scum think they can drive us out without a fight—" He slammed his fist to his chest. "—they have something coming."
He leaned forward, voice dropping low so the words sank into people like stones in water. "They are in our woods, yes. But they do not know the woods. We do. We can use the changes to pick them off, one by one. We can turn the Cy Woods into a fortress. We can make a name for ourselves."
I stood there, breath caught, the words like fire in my chest.
Then I heard a shout—then another—and the square turned into a single, roaring beast.
"He's right! We fight!" a man bellowed.
"Fight with what? They'll slaughter us!" another screamed back, his voice cracking with fear.
Fear and fury tangled into a single, deafening noise.
"Look around you!" Marcus yelled, his voice slicing through the chaos. "Arm yourselves with anything that can pierce flesh! WE FIGHT!"
The crowd's cheer was a sharp, savage sound. It snapped into motion, suddenly dangerous and focused. It was like watching tinder catch—one spark, and the whole place burned. Men scrambled, grabbing axes from woodpiles, wrenching hoes from gardens, holding up any piece of wood or metal that could be swung like a weapon.
It was then that another man climbed the stage. Damon. He was the opposite of Marcus in every way, including age. He held up his hands. "Listen!" he begged. "The resistance at Atticus was cut to the last man. The Castling have men of knowledge. They will find a way through the woods' tricks. Surrender is the only way to keep our children alive."
Disbelief and anger met his words. Marcus shoved past him as if the old man were a nuisance. "Disgrace!" Marcus spat. He shoved Elian aside and yelled, "Men of Vasilian blood — arm yourselves! For our homes! For our names!"
That was all it took. The crowd scattered like a fist unclenching. Men ran for clubs and sticks, for sickles and pieces of metal. A dangerous kind of joy rose up in the square — the joy of people who had been given a reason to hurt.
My heart pounded so hard I could taste it. This was the thing I'd been waiting for: the real thing. I saw a heavy branch, split clean from an old oak, thick as my arm. Perfect. I grabbed it. It felt right in my hands, like it belonged there.
As I turned , Kael and Finn; my play friends, fell in beside me, their faces bright with the same wild hunger.
"You got one!" Kael grinned. "Let's go!" Finn shouted.
We stood for a breath like a tiny army, imagining the glory of it. Then a sudden feeling came upon me. Something was missing. I look around to see what. I switched my branch to my right arm and there was where it hit me.
Where is Eulalia?
The branch grew ridiculous in my hands. The crowd swarmed, faces blurring. I called her name until my voice cracked. Panic pushed ice through my bones.
I asked out, not particularly to anyone, "where is Eulalia?"
"Was she even here, Leon?" Kael asked, his voice unsure.
I stared at them, waiting for the joke to be over. The answer was supposed to be on their faces. But it wasn't. I looked around at the swirling chaos, at the men gripping their makeshift weapons, and my sister was nowhere in it. The panic was a live thing, clawing up my throat.
"Leon!"
The voice cut through the noise like a whip. I spun around.
There she was. Eulalia, her small hand firmly gripped in our mother's. And beside them stood Damon. My mother's face was pale, her eyes burning with a fury that made my stomach drop.
"What were you thinking?" she scolded, her voice low and sharp as she pulled Eulalia closer. "I told you to get fruits! I told you to stay away from this madness! And you bring your sister into it?"
I kept quiet, the heat of shame rising to my cheeks.
"What by the gods is wrong with you?" she continued, her voice rising. "And to make it worse, you lost her! What if something had happened to her while you were following a man who knows nothing?"
That was it. I could take the yelling, but she couldn't say that. She couldn't say that Marcus—that those brave men—knew nothing.
The shame boiling in my chest suddenly turned to fire. The crowd was still roaring behind me. Marcus's voice still echoed in my head.
"They're attacking us!" I exploded, gesturing wildly with the branch I still held. "I have to join the fight! I have to protect our home!"
Damon stepped forward, his expression calm but his eyes serious. "Leon, a man who rushes toward a storm often drowns in the rain. Protecting your home starts with protecting those inside it."
I shrugged him off, a rude, angry motion. "You don't understand anything! That's why no one listens to you!"
That was it for my mother. She didn't say another word. She just reached out, snatched the branch from my hand, and threw it aside. Her grip was like iron on my arm as she dragged me away from the square, away from my friends, away from Marcus, away from the war, and toward home.
******
Our house was a refuge of quiet, smelling of dried herbs and the cool earth of the forest floor. The main room was neat, with woven rugs and a low fire, but it felt like a cage. I didn't stop. I stormed straight through it and into my small quarters, slamming the door shut behind me.
I was about to throw myself onto my bed when I heard their voices from the other room. My mother and Damon.
"…a child with a stick, Artemisia! He could have been trampled! He lost Eulalia! Marcus is sending men to their graves!"
"I know," my mother's voice was tight, stretched thin. "I know."
"It is over now. We found Leon. You should rest; you look tired," Damon said, his voice softer. I could picture him placing a hand on her arm, the way he sometimes did.
There was a sharp movement. "We talked about this," my mother said, her voice cold and final. I heard her pull away. Then her words fell, quiet and devastating. "I just wish he understood… he's not strong enough for the world he wants to live in."
The words hit me like a physical blow. Not strong enough.
I couldn't listen anymore. I lay on my bed, the rough blanket scratching my cheek, her words playing over and over in my head.
Not strong enough.
But I was. I was Vasilian. I had the blood of the old gods. None of my friends could take me. I was the strongest, and they would lose without me.
I slid my hand under the bed, my fingers finding the familiar, hidden shape. My knife. The blade was short and sharp, a real weapon, not a stupid branch. I tucked it into my belt and moved to the window.
"Leon?"
I froze. Eulalia was standing in my doorway, her eyes wide and glistening in the dim light.
"Don't go," she whispered.
I turned to her, my heart a drum in my chest. "I have to," I said, the words feeling brave and important. "I have to protect you. I have to protect Cy, like the others."
Before she could say another word, I slipped out through the window and into the waiting dark.
*******
I found them at the edge of the village, a grim gathering of almost every man and boy. Marcus stood on a tree stump, his face sharp in the dappled light.
"The woods have confused them!" he declared. "They're trapped at Eagle Clearing. My scouts confirm it. Just four knights. And the Poli family? Their five boys already took care of the scouts that came from the east." A murmur of approval ran through the crowd.
Just then, a hawk cried out, its flight path cutting sharply through the air. Marcus watched it, then grinned. "See? The forest changes for us. The clearing is now to the east. Just four of them. We will crush them."
A fierce cheer went up. He gestured, and we set off, a silent, determined river flowing into the trees.
The forest was thicker than I remembered, the bushes grabbing at my tunic, slowing me down. Maybe because Mother wasn't here to cut them back. Mother was strong, with good muscles from all her work. Some men had said she had the strength of two men. That was mother.
Kael fell in beside me, his face pale but excited. "You came," he whispered. "We won't lose with you here, Leon."
I nodded, my chest tight, my hand finding the cool handle of my knife. This was it. My time.
We moved like ghosts through the woods, careful not to make too much noise and not to be seen. Finally, we reached the edge of the clearing. Marcus held up a hand. Every man crouched, waiting for his signal. He counted on his fingers. One. Two.
"ATTACK!" he roared.
We erupted from the trees, a wave of screaming fury, our sticks and hoes held high. They won't escape us.
But the clearing was empty.
Everyone skidded to a halt, our angry shouts dying in our throats. We looked around, confused. There was no one.
Then a voice came from the bushes, a deep, dark voice.
"Kill them all."
Then, from the bushes we'd just left, four knights stepped out. Their swords were already drawn, the steel glinting. They didn't scream. They just started cutting.
It wasn't a fight. It was a harvest. Men tried to swing their tools, but the knights moved with a terrible, easy grace, their swords finding flesh with sickening thuds. The cheers turned to screams of pain and terror. In a heartbeat, the courage broke.
I tried to hold my ground, but I could feel the earth shake under the stampede of our own men fleeing. I looked back, my heart screaming at me to run. When I looked forward again, I saw a horde of my own people running towards me, their faces twisted with panic.
I was trampled. A heavy boot slammed into my side, and a sharp, blinding pain stole my breath. An elbow cracked against my jaw as I fell, and the taste of blood filled my mouth. I hit the ground, and for a moment, there was only the thunder of feet and the crushing weight of a body stumbling over me. When I finally scrambled up, gasping, my whole body was a single, throbbing ache.
I saw Kael and Finn on the ground, not moving. My breath caught. Their eyes were open, staring at nothing. They were dead. I wanted to scream, but the sound was trapped in my throat. Then I heard Marcus yelling. I looked and saw a knight, his sword red, holding a bleeding Marcus by the hair. It was then I screamed.
A powerful arm wrapped around my waist, lifting me into the air. I screamed and struggled, my feet kicking at nothing. The knight's armour was hard and cold against my back. I twisted, crying out, and remembered my knife. I yanked it from my belt and, with a desperate, blind stab, drove it into the side of his neck.
It didn't go all the way in, but it was enough. Blood gushed over my hand, hot and shocking. The knight made a choked, gurgling sound and dropped me. I fell to the ground and looked up. He was a man with yellow hair, and his eyes, wide with shock, looked right at me, almost asking why.
I heard another knight call out, "Bryce!" and rush toward him.
The other two knights turned their gaze toward me.
I didn't think. I ran.
I ran as if the shadows themselves were clawing at my heels. Thorns tore at my arms and face, but I didn't feel them. My lungs were burning coals, and every gasp of air was a knife. I didn't dare look back, expecting a sword in my back at any moment. I leaped over fallen logs, crashed through ferns, my heart hammering a frantic drum against my ribs. I ran until the screams faded, until the only sound was my own ragged sobs and the pounding of blood in my ears.
I collapsed, my whole body shaking, and cried. I cried for Kael and Finn, for Marcus, for the look in the yellow-haired knight's eyes.
A twig snapped in the bushes behind me.
I shot to my feet and ran again, pure terror giving me new legs. I burst through the final line of trees and there it was—my house. And there was my mother, her face etched with worry. She saw me and screamed my name, crying, running toward me.
"Mother!" I sobbed, stumbling toward her.
But suddenly, she stopped. Her face drained of all color, pure fear freezing her in place. She was looking behind me.
I turned.
There, emerging from the tree line, were the three other knights. And with them, stumbling, was the one I had stabbed, his hand pressed to his bleeding neck, his eyes locked on me.