The pre-dawn air bit at Astrid's skin as she stood in the training yard behind her house. Frost clung to the grass, and her breath misted in the cold. She'd been up for an hour already, stretching, preparing.
Her father emerged from the house carrying two practice swords and a leather water skin. Despite the early hour, he looked alert, ready. This was his element—training, fighting, preparing for battle.
"We'll start with basics," Garrick said, tossing her one of the swords. "Show me your stance."
Astrid caught the blade easily, settling into her fighting position. Feet shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent, sword held at a forty-five degree angle. She'd practiced this stance ten thousand times.
Garrick circled her slowly, eyes cataloguing every detail. "Your left foot is too far forward. Compensating for the shoulder injury."
Astrid adjusted.
"Better. Now, attack me. Don't hold back."
She moved without hesitation, sword arcing toward her father's midsection. He parried easily, countered, and suddenly Astrid was on the defensive. Their blades met in a rapid exchange—strike, parry, riposte. The familiar rhythm of steel on steel.
Garrick was faster than she'd anticipated, stronger too. Within thirty seconds, he'd backed her to the edge of the training yard, her breathing already labored.
"You're relying too much on speed," he said, not even winded. "Against a Razorback, that works. Against a trained opponent? You'll tire yourself out before you land a meaningful blow."
They reset. Attacked again. This time, Astrid focused on economy of movement, on reading her father's patterns. She lasted longer—maybe a full minute—before he disarmed her.
"Again."
They trained for two hours as the sun rose over Millhaven, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. By the end, Astrid's arms trembled with exhaustion, her shoulder screaming in protest. But she'd managed to land three clean hits on her father, and the last time they'd sparred, she'd landed none.
"You're improving," Garrick said, offering her the water skin. "But you need formal training. Someone who can teach you techniques I don't know."
"Like who? The village doesn't have a combat instructor."
"No, but Veridian does. It's a three-day ride west, but they have a Guild outpost there. I know someone—an old friend who owes me a favor. She might be willing to take you on for winter training."
Astrid's heart leaped. "Seriously?"
"I'll write to her today. If she agrees, you'd leave after the first snow." Garrick studied her face. "It would mean being away from home for three months. Away from the village. Away from..."
"Away from Kaelen," Astrid finished. "He'll be preparing for the Academy anyway. He won't even notice I'm gone."
Garrick's expression suggested he disagreed, but he didn't argue. "Get cleaned up. You have chores, and I suspect the Ashford boy will be looking for you by midmorning."
---
Kaelen found her two hours later in the market square, where she was helping her father load supplies onto their cart. He looked tired, like he hadn't slept well.
"You trained this morning," he observed, noting the way she moved stiffly.
"With my father. He thoroughly kicked my ass." Astrid lifted a sack of grain, wincing. "What about you? More crystal practice?"
"Before dawn, yes." Kaelen moved to help with the supplies, and together they made quick work of the loading. "Master Aldric wants me to demonstrate advanced elemental manipulation at the Harvest Festival next week."
"The whole village watching you show off? Sounds like your nightmare."
"It is." Kaelen's jaw tightened. "But refusing would be... problematic."
There was something in his tone that made Astrid pause. "Problematic how?"
"It doesn't matter. I'll manage." He changed the subject quickly. "Are you attending the festival?"
"Do I have a choice? Father's on the planning committee." Astrid made a face. "Which means I'll probably get volunteered to help set up. Or serve food. Or whatever other tedious thing they need bodies for."
"At least the food will be good."
"True. And there'll be dancing."
Kaelen looked uncomfortable. "I don't dance."
"I know. You'll stand in the corner looking intimidating while everyone else has fun." Astrid grinned. "Very on brand."
"Someone has to maintain the mystique of the brooding mage prodigy."
"Is that what you're going for? Mystique?" Astrid leaned against the cart. "Because mostly you just look constipated."
Kaelen's lips twitched—almost a smile. "Your honesty is refreshing."
"Someone has to keep your ego in check." She glanced at her father, who was talking with the merchant. "Hey, Kaelen? Can I ask you something?"
"Of course."
"Why are you always so... controlled? Like, even now, we're just talking, but you're standing like you're ready for an attack. Your hands never fully relax. It's like you're constantly on guard."
Kaelen was quiet for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was careful. "It's how I was raised. My family... they have certain expectations. Certain standards of behavior."
"That sounds exhausting."
"It is." Something flickered across his face. "Sometimes I envy you, actually. The way you just... are. No filters, no calculations. Just purely yourself."
Astrid felt heat creep up her neck. "That's not always a good thing. I say stupid stuff all the time."
"Maybe. But at least it's honest." Kaelen met her eyes, and for a moment, that carefully controlled mask slipped. "I can't remember the last time I said exactly what I was thinking without measuring every word first."
"Then don't measure. Just talk."
"It's not that simple."
"Why not?"
Kaelen opened his mouth, then closed it. Whatever he'd been about to say, he thought better of it. The mask slid back into place. "We should probably help your father finish loading."
And just like that, the moment was gone. Astrid wanted to push, to demand he actually answer her question, but she recognized the wall when Kaelen put it up. She'd seen it enough times.
They worked in silence until the cart was fully loaded. Garrick thanked Kaelen for his help, then drove off toward the northern farms to make deliveries.
"Training grounds?" Astrid asked.
"Actually, I was hoping you'd come with me somewhere else."
She raised an eyebrow. "Where?"
"The old Ashford estate. There's something I want to show you."
---
The Ashford property sat on the western edge of Millhaven, separated from the rest of the village by a small forest of silver birch trees. The main house was modest compared to what Astrid had expected—a two-story manor built from pale stone, elegant but not ostentatious.
Kaelen led her past the house to a separate building behind it—a workshop or study of some kind, its windows dark.
"My grandfather's laboratory," Kaelen explained, producing a key. "He was a magical researcher. Specialized in lost forms of magic, ancient techniques."
The interior was cluttered with books, artifacts, and arcane equipment Astrid couldn't begin to identify. Dust motes danced in the light streaming through the windows.
Kaelen moved to a locked cabinet, opened it with another key, and withdrew a small leather journal. "He kept detailed notes on his research. I've been reading through them since he died two years ago. And I found something. Something about your condition."
Astrid's heart stuttered. "What?"
Kaelen opened the journal to a marked page. "He wrote about individuals who appear magic-less but aren't. He called them 'Aether-blind'—people whose connection to magical energy is blocked or dormant, usually due to bloodline traits."
"Bloodline traits?"
"Certain ancient families carried specialized magical abilities that conflicted with standard Aether sensing. The magic would lie dormant until triggered by specific conditions—usually extreme stress or proximity to certain types of energy." Kaelen's finger traced a passage. "Your mother's family name. Vermillion. It's listed here."
Astrid moved closer, reading over his shoulder. The handwriting was cramped, academic. "What does it say?"
"That the Vermillion bloodline descends from ancient demon hunters. Warriors who fought in the First Calamity, over two thousand years ago. They wielded specialized magic that made them resistant to demonic influence, but it came at a cost—their children often couldn't sense normal Aether until their unique abilities awakened."
"Demon hunters," Astrid repeated slowly. "My family?"
"According to this, yes. And there's more." Kaelen turned several pages. "The Vermillion magic, when it awakened, manifested as enhanced physical abilities, danger sense, and—this is interesting—the ability to harm creatures that normal weapons couldn't touch."
Astrid sank into a nearby chair, processing. "So I might not be broken. I might just be... waiting to activate some ancient bloodline magic that may or may not exist?"
"That's the theory."
"Great. Helpful." She laughed, but it came out bitter. "So I could spend my whole life waiting for something that never comes, or I could keep training like I'll never have magic and be prepared either way."
Kaelen closed the journal. "I'm not telling you this to give you false hope. I'm telling you because you deserve to know your family's history. What your mother might have been researching before she died."
"You think she knew? About all this?"
"I think she suspected. And I think..." Kaelen hesitated. "I think she died trying to find proof."
The words hung heavy between them. Outside, wind rustled through the birch trees, a sound like whispered secrets.
"Why are you showing me this?" Astrid asked finally. "Why does it matter to you?"
Kaelen turned away, moving to the window. "Because I understand what it's like to carry a legacy you didn't ask for. To have expectations placed on you based on blood and history." His shoulders were tense beneath his training robes. "My family has its own... complications. Ancient bloodlines and forgotten magic. It's why I'm being pushed so hard toward the Academy. Why I can't just be Kaelen, a decent mage who wants a quiet life."
"What does your family expect from you?"
"Everything." The word was quiet, almost broken. "They expect perfection. Mastery. Living up to a name that hasn't mattered in centuries but somehow still weighs on every choice I make."
Astrid stood, crossed to him. "That's bullshit."
Kaelen turned, surprise on his face. "Excuse me?"
"It's bullshit. You're thirteen years old. You shouldn't have to carry all that." She poked his chest. "You're already amazing at magic. You're already better than mages twice your age. If your family can't see that without demanding more, then screw them."
"It's not that simple—"
"Why does everyone keep saying that?" Astrid's frustration boiled over. "Why does everything have to be complicated? You're good at magic. I'm good at fighting. We train, we get stronger, we figure out our own paths. Why does ancient bloodline nonsense have to determine everything?"
Kaelen stared at her, and slowly, something in his expression shifted. A crack in the armor. "You really believe that? That we can just... choose our own paths?"
"I have to believe it. Otherwise, what's the point?" Astrid held his gaze. "You're going to the Academy in spring. That's your choice, right? Not your family's?"
"I... yes. Mostly."
"Then choose the rest too. Choose to be yourself instead of whoever they think you should be." She felt her face heating up but pushed forward. "The Kaelen I know is better than any legacy. Magic or not."
Something intense flashed in Kaelen's pale eyes. For a moment, Astrid thought he might actually say something real, something unguarded.
Instead, he looked away. "We should get back. It's almost noon."
The mask was back up. The walls rebuilt.
Astrid swallowed her disappointment. "Yeah. Okay."
They walked back through the birch forest in silence, but something had shifted. Astrid couldn't name it, couldn't quite grasp it, but the air between them felt different. Charged.
When they reached the village square, Kaelen paused. "Thank you. For what you said. It... helped."
"Anytime." Astrid managed a smile. "That's what friends do, right?"
"Right. Friends." Kaelen's voice was strange, but before Astrid could analyze it, he was already walking away. "I'll see you tomorrow."
Astrid watched him go, that unfamiliar ache settling in her chest again. The one she didn't want to examine too closely.
*Friends*, she told herself firmly. *That's all we are. All we'll ever be.*
So why did the thought make her want to punch something?