The morning after the beast attack, the city of Eryndor carried a strange silence. Merchants opened their stalls later than usual, guards patrolled with sharper eyes, and people whispered in doorways rather than greeting each other in the streets. The Wall towered above them all, gray and endless, casting a long shadow.
Kael sat on the orphanage steps, clutching the broken spear shaft. The wood was splintered where it had pierced the beast's throat. His hands still ached, his body still shook when he thought of its eyes—the hunger, the malice.
"Brooding suits you less than bleeding."
He looked up sharply. Aeris stood there, armored and stern, the Luster insignia gleaming on her collar. She didn't look at him with warmth. She looked at him like a mistake.
"You fought recklessly," she said flatly. "Charging a beast bare-handed with a peasant's spear? You didn't win, Kael—you survived. And that's not the same thing."
Kael's jaw tightened. "I stopped it. If I hadn't, it would've broken through."
Her eyes narrowed. "And if it had been stronger, you'd be dead. And so would everyone behind you."
She tossed a pouch of bread into his lap, like feeding a stray dog. "Eat. The Captain's called for you. The Lusters want to see if you're worth training."
Kael stiffened. "No."
Aeris blinked. "No?"
"I'm not going," Kael said, voice hard. "I've had enough of the whispers. The traitor's son, the orphan who thinks he can fight. If I join them, it'll only be worse."
Her lips curved into a cold smile. "Then you've already failed. Maybe the streets will remember you as the boy who got lucky once."
Her words cut deep, but Kael refused to rise to them. He turned away, clutching the broken spear shaft tighter.
By noon, the whispers spread through the market like wildfire. Kael tried to ignore them, but each word felt like a stone hurled at his back.
"Reckless boy."
"Traitor's blood."
"He'll be dead in a week if he joins."
But one name stopped him cold.
Draven Valcrest.
The son of a noble house. Kael's childhood rival. The boy who had mocked him for being poor, for being fatherless, for being nothing.
"They say Draven's already cut down three beasts," one man whispered.
"Six months in the Lusters, and already his name is in the barracks songs," another added.
Kael felt heat coil in his chest. Draven—the arrogant boy who sneered at him in the alleys—was now praised as a hero.
He could almost hear his rival's voice again:
"You'll never be more than your father's shame. I was born to rise. You were born to fall."
Kael's fists clenched. He wanted to refuse the Lusters, but the thought of Draven looking down on him again burned like fire.
On his way back to the orphanage, Kael passed the infirmary. The doors were wide open, and the smell of blood and herbs drifted into the street. Inside, healers worked tirelessly over rows of wounded.
A child sobbed as a bandage was wrapped around his missing arm. A mother wept beside the body of her husband, who hadn't survived the night.
Kael froze at the threshold, shame gnawing at his chest. He had killed one beast, yes—but how many more had slipped through while he stood trembling with a broken spear? How many more had suffered because he wasn't strong enough?
He lowered his gaze, guilt heavy in his stomach.
If I had been stronger… fewer would be here.
That night, he sat alone on the rooftop, staring at the Wall's shadow stretching across the city. He thought of Draven's smirk, of the wounded crying in the infirmary, of his mother's pale face and the sickness eating her away.
Three truths struck him like hammer blows:
He could not let Draven stand above him.
He could not let his mother die without fighting for her cure.
He could not let the people suffer while he hid in shadows.
A choice had already been made, though he hadn't spoken it aloud yet.
Aeris's voice broke the silence. She had climbed onto the rooftop without him noticing, her armor catching the moonlight.
"So," she said, folding her arms. "Still planning to refuse?"
Kael looked up at her, his eyes sharper now. "No. I'll go."
She studied him, expecting hesitation—but she found none. His gaze was steady, fierce, alive.
"Good," she said, her voice still hard but quieter. "Then tomorrow, we'll see if you're a fighter… or just a boy chasing ghosts."
Kael turned back to the Wall, his fists tight at his sides.
Tomorrow, I'll prove it. For my mother. For them. For me.
And beyond the Wall, in the endless dark, the beasts stirred.