Morning came gently, like it always did in spring—soft light filtered through the wooden shutters, birdsong whispering at the edge of waking. Ajax stirred to the warmth of a hand brushing his hair back from his forehead, and the soft rustle of skirts nearby.
"Ajax," Jasmine whispered. Her voice was warm, honeyed with sleep but tinged with something else—an edge he didn't recognize.
He blinked slowly, catching the shimmer of morning light around her silhouette. She looked like a portrait in motion, framed by golden beams from the window, her features soft and distant.
"Time to get up, sweetheart."
Ajax sat up, rubbing at his eyes. "Is it already morning?"
She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "It is. I need a favor. Cassian's working in the forge all day, and we're short on salt and resin. Think you can go into the village and grab some from Marren's?"
He tilted his head, curious. "That's usually your job."
"I know," she said softly, brushing a hand along his cheek. "But I think you're ready to start handling a few more things on your own. You're growing so fast."
There was a pause. She opened her mouth, closed it again, then knelt so they were eye-level.
"Ajax," she murmured, "just… take your time. Don't rush back, alright? Enjoy the day. It's a beautiful one."
That was when he really looked at her. Her smile was trembling. Her eyes looked glassy, though she blinked the wetness away before it could fall. She kissed his forehead quickly and pulled him into a tight hug, arms squeezing harder than usual.
"I love you," she whispered.
"I love you too," he replied, confused, his voice muffled against her shoulder.
She let go. "Go on now. You'll be back before noon."
Ajax left the house feeling a strange knot in his chest, but the sky above was blue and clear, the grass warm under his feet, and the path to the village alive with the buzz of spring. He walked slowly, just like she'd said. He waved at the old shepherd by the stream, exchanged a joke with one of the baker's sons, and even helped a girl pick up a spilled basket of herbs.
The sun was high and golden by the time he finished the errand. The village felt like something out of a dream—peaceful, even lazy. As he began the walk back home, he caught himself smiling. For a moment, he believed that maybe this could last. Maybe this life—simple, warm, quiet—was real.
Then he smelled smoke.
Ajax stopped mid-step, eyes narrowing. His gaze turned toward the trees, toward the rise in the land that led back to their clearing. A curl of black reached toward the sky like a claw.
"No…"
He dropped the bundle in his arms and sprinted.
Mana surged to his legs before he could think—spiraling through his limbs, flooding his muscles with raw energy. He ran faster than he ever had, faster than his body should have allowed. Trees blurred past him. The road vanished beneath his feet. His breath came hard and fast as the treetops gave way to open sky.
Then he saw it.
Home—his home—was burning.
Flames licked through the roof beams, devouring the wooden walls in greedy waves. The forge had already collapsed, smoke billowing like a storm. The garden was trampled. The training post split in half. The scent of ash and iron filled the air, and there, at the center of it all—
"No."
He ran inside anyway.
The fire bit at his skin, but he didn't care. He didn't even feel it. He stumbled through the smoke, coughing, eyes stinging—and then he saw them.
Two shapes.
Motionless.
One near the hearth, the other near the back door. Familiar clothes. Familiar hair.
"Mother, Father…" he breathed.
He fell to his knees.
Something inside him cracked open—something deep and silent and ancient, too wide to scream, too heavy to lift. He reached for her hand. It was still warm.
Ajax curled into himself on the ash-covered floor and sobbed like he never had before. In his past life, he had led armies, endured torture, survived things that would have broken most men. But he had never had this.
He had never had a family.
And now he had lost it.
He cried until his throat burned. Until his limbs shook. Until the fire around him was a distant roar, and all he could hear was the memory of Jasmine's voice humming lullabies into his hair.
"I should've stayed," he whispered. "I should've never left."
But even as he said it, something pulled at him. A flicker of doubt. A whisper beneath the grief.
She had told him to go slowly. She had held him too tightly. She had said goodbye like she knew it would be the last time.
No blood. No wounds. Just smoke. Just silence.
And a slip of linen near the hearth, almost hidden beneath fallen beams—folded neatly, with a single emblem stitched into it.
An emblem unknown to me. Faint, almost burned away. But it was there.
She wouldn't have had time to hide that if they were attacked by surprise.
They weren't killed.
They left.
They wanted to be away from him.
Because someone had come for them. And staying would've put him in danger.
Ajax stood slowly, wiping soot from his eyes.
They had done this to protect him. They faked it. They gave him a chance to live.
But he would not stay a child while others hunted them. He would not remain weak. He would not let anyone tear away what he had just begun to love.
He walked to the hidden panel beneath the floorboard that had somehow survived. From it, he took a blade. A satchel. Mana stones. Chalk. The few things he had prepared in case war ever came again.
Then he stepped out into the sun, eyes blazing through the smoke.
If the world wanted to rip away what he loved, he would tear it down first.
He would grow stronger. Stronger than anything.
And so, with nothing left but a name and a purpose, Ajax turned down the road, away from the village that had never truly welcomed him, toward the heart of Kaelridge—the city shared by all races. A city where strength meant survival. A city where no one knew his name.
Yet.
But they would.
They would.