The firewood crackled under Kael's axe like old bones.
Each blow was precise. Each cut, clean. He didn't need to think—his body already knew what to do, as if the trees whispered where to break.
Beside the cabin, seated on a stump covered by a thick cloak, Lira leafed through a thick book bound in dark leather. The wind tried to steal the pages, but she held them together with her ink-stained fingers. Her breath formed white clouds in the icy air, but her eyes were warm—focused, impatient.
"You don't study at all for the school exam," she said, without raising her eyes. "You only hunt, only chop wood, only fight with that rusty sword."
Kael wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand and smiled, breathless.
"I know the history of this kingdom. Better than any book."
Lira finally looked at him. She raised an eyebrow, skeptical.
"Oh, really? Tell me then… who ruled Vaelthar before the Three Great Clans?"
Kael opened his mouth.
He paused.
He laughed.
"You know I don't know."
"Exactly," said Lira, closing the book with a dry thud. "Do you think knowing the name of Count Dain or Archmage Luminaris will save you on the oral exam? They'll ask you about the Wars of the Mines, the Snow Pacts, the Treaties of Vaelmoor…"
"Vaelmoor?" Kael frowned. "Isn't that a myth?"
Lira sighed, but her eyes gleamed. She loved telling stories—it was the only time Kael stopped fidgeting.
"It's not a myth. Vaelmoor was real."
"Was?"
"It was destroyed almost seventeen years ago. During the Night of the Broken Wolf."
Kael dropped the axe and sat cross-legged before her, as he had done when they were children.
Continue.
"Well…" Lira opened the book again, but spoke from memory, her voice low, almost as if she feared being overheard. "…Before, Vaelthar was ruled by three clans: the Bloodiron, whose symbol is the Black Bear; the Luminaris, of the Golden Eagle; and…" she paused, "…the Vaelthorn, of the Silver Wolf."
"I've never heard of them."
"No one hears of them. Because they ceased to exist."
"What happened?"
"They say they wanted to control the mines of the north—black coal, gold, and the rare blue diamonds that only shine under the winter moon. The other clans refused. The lesser earls rebelled." And then… — Lira lowered her voice even more — … Count Dain, with the help of the Luminaries, attacked Vaelmoor during a peace banquet. He killed the lord and the lady. He burned everything. He hung the bodies from the towers as a warning.
"And the Silver Wolf?"
"It's gone. Erased from books, from coats of arms, even from constellations. Today, only the old whisper about it… and only when it snows."
Kael remained silent for a long time, watching the smoke rising from the cabin's chimney.
"Sad," he murmured.
"It's history," Lira corrected, but there was something in her voice… something almost nostalgic, as if she missed something she never had.
Kael stood up, picked up his axe again.
"And how's your magic? And the bow?"
Lira slammed the book shut.
"Good. But… not good enough for Elverest. There, everyone is a count's son or an arcanist's grandson. I'm just…"
"Lira," Kael interrupted, with a firm smile. "Don't worry.
We'll go in. We'll get through.
And we'll make Uncle Valeris proud."
She smiled, despite everything. Because, even without knowing it, those words sounded like a promise. Old.
Kael turned and walked into the forest, carrying the pretext of "more firewood."
But Lira knew.
He was going to train.
She returned to the book, but her eyes no longer read the words.
Instead, they saw the Silver Wolf—lonely, frozen, waiting.