Date: The 2nd Day of the Month of Rain, Year 1098 of the Imperial Calendar.
Location: The Kael Merchant House & The Muddy Street Outside.
The house of Merchant Kael had become a tomb for the living.
In the days following the accident, a heavy, suffocating silence had descended upon the residence. The servants walked in socks, terrified that the click of a heel might trigger another screaming fit from Mistress Elara. The heavy velvet drapes were drawn tight against the sun, casting the hallways in perpetual twilight.
But the most disturbing change was the mirrors.
Every reflective surface in the house—the polished bronze in the hallway, the silver platter in the dining room, even the glass of the window panes—had been covered with thick black cloth.
Merchant Kael had ordered it. "She must not see," he had commanded, his voice hollow. "If she sees what she has become, she will scream again. And I cannot bear the noise."
Upstairs, in the room that smelled of sickness and strong camphor, Aanya lay in the center of her large bed.
She was not sleeping. She was floating in a haze of pain and poppy milk. The Alchemist had given her a syrup to dull the senses, but the burning never truly stopped. It was a throbbing, red-hot pulse on the right side of her face, a constant reminder of the boiling water that had rewritten her destiny.
Her head was wrapped in layers of white linen bandages. They covered her right eye, her cheek, her ear, and part of her neck. Only her left eye, her nose, and her mouth were visible.
She felt heavy. She felt small.
The door creaked open. A sliver of light from the hallway cut across the floor.
Aanya shifted her head on the pillow, wincing as the movement pulled at the tight skin. She looked at the door with her one good eye.
"Mother?" she rasped. Her throat was dry.
Elara stood in the doorway. She was holding a tray of broth. She did not enter the room. She stood on the threshold, her hand gripping the doorframe so tightly her knuckles were white.
Elara looked at the bed. She looked at the small, bandaged figure. And for a moment, Aanya saw a flicker of something in her mother's eyes.
It wasn't love. It wasn't pity.
It was revulsion.
"Leave the tray on the table," Elara said to the maid standing behind her. She didn't step inside. It was as if she feared the ugliness was contagious.
"Mother, please..." Aanya whispered. "Sit with me. Tell me a story."
Elara flinched. She looked away, staring at the wall. "I cannot. I have... I have a headache. The stress, Aanya. The stress you have caused this family is immeasurable."
"I'm sorry," Aanya wept, a single tear sliding down her uninjured cheek. "I didn't mean to fall."
"Intentions do not pay debts," Elara said coldly. "Your father is downstairs with the moneylenders. They heard about the accident. They are calling in the loans. We might lose the shop."
She turned to leave.
"Mother!" Aanya cried out, reaching a hand toward the door. "Am I... am I ugly now?"
Elara stopped. She didn't turn around. Her shoulders stiffened.
"You are nothing," Elara whispered, the words hanging in the stagnant air like smoke. "You were a diamond. Now... you are just broken glass."
The door clicked shut. The latch slid into place.
Aanya stared at the wooden door. The silence rushed back in, louder than before. She curled into a ball, careful not to touch her bandages against the sheets.
In the darkness, her mind drifted to the only bright thing she could remember. The taste of a red apple. The boy with the messy hair. The boy who said he would come back.
Veer, she thought. Veer wouldn't look at the wall. Veer would look at me.
She turned her head toward the window. But there was no light there. Her father had ordered the shutters nailed shut from the outside to prevent drafts from infecting the wound.
She was trapped in a box. And the only person who had the key was a thief she barely knew.
Outside, the rain was falling in sheets. It was a cold, miserable downpour that turned the streets of Aethelgard into rivers of brown sludge.
Veer stood across the street, huddled under the awning of a bakery that had closed for the day. He was soaked to the bone. He had been standing there for three days.
He looked terrible. His eyes were sunken, dark circles bruising the skin beneath them. He hadn't eaten properly since he gave Aanya the apple. Every copper coin he stole, he saved. He had two copper coins now. He wanted to buy her a flower. A white lily, to make her feel better.
But he couldn't get in.
"Something's wrong," Veer muttered, wiping wet hair from his eyes.
For the past week, the Kael house had been a fortress. The garden gate was locked with a heavy iron chain. Two hired guards—brutes with clubs and leather armor—patrolled the perimeter day and night.
And the window...
Veer looked up at the second floor. The window he had climbed through was gone. In its place were thick wooden planks, nailed horizontally across the opening.
They had sealed her in.
"They aren't letting her breathe," Veer whispered. Panic clawed at his throat. He imagined Aanya inside, suffocating in the dark.
He had to see her. He had to tell her he was still there. He had to tell her that even if her face was hurt, she was still the girl who liked apples.
Veer looked at the guards. They were standing by the front gate, huddled under a small shelter, sharing a flask of wine to keep warm. They looked distracted.
Now.
Veer moved. He didn't go for the front gate. He ran to the side of the house, where a tall oak tree grew near the garden wall. The wall was high, topped with broken glass to deter thieves, but the tree branch hung over it.
He scrambled up the wet bark of the tree. His bare feet slipped, scratching his skin, but he hauled himself up. He crawled along the branch that extended over the wall.
He looked down. The garden was a mud pit.
He dropped.
He landed in a bush of wet hydrangeas with a soft thump. He froze, waiting for a shout.
Nothing. The rain masked the sound.
Veer crept toward the house. He went to the back, to the drainpipe he had climbed before. He reached out and grabbed the cold metal.
"Hey! You!"
The shout was loud and sudden.
Veer spun around.
One of the guards had come around the back to relieve himself against a tree. He was standing ten feet away, fumbling with his trousers, staring right at Veer.
"A rat!" the guard yelled, buttoning his pants quickly. "Hey, Marko! We got a rat in the garden!"
Veer didn't think. He scrambled up the drainpipe. If he could just reach the boarded window, maybe he could yell to her. Maybe she would hear him.
Aanya! It's me!
He got five feet up the pipe before a heavy hand grabbed his ankle.
"Get down here, you little filth!"
The guard yanked hard.
Veer lost his grip. He fell backward, hitting the muddy ground hard. The air was knocked out of his lungs. Before he could scramble away, a heavy boot slammed into his ribs.
"Gah!" Veer curled up, gasping.
The second guard, Marko, came running around the corner, holding a heavy wooden club.
"What is it? A thief?"
"Trying to climb into the sick girl's room," the first guard spat, looking down at Veer with disgust. "Probably wanted to steal the silver candlesticks while the family is distracted."
"No!" Veer wheezed, trying to shield his head with his arms. "No! I just... I wanted to see her! I'm her friend!"
The guards laughed. It was a cruel, barking sound.
"Friend?" Marko sneered. "Did you hear that? The gutter rat is friends with the Merchant's daughter. Look at him. He's covered in sh*t."
"I am!" Veer screamed, desperation giving him strength. He tried to stand up. "Tell her it's Veer! Just tell her Veer is here!"
Marko swung the club.
It wasn't a killing blow, but it was brutal. The wood connected with Veer's shoulder with a sickening crack.
Veer collapsed, screaming in pain. The mud filled his mouth.
"Shut up!" the first guard kicked him in the stomach. "You want to wake the Master? He's in a foul mood already."
"Please..." Veer sobbed, clutching his shoulder, it burned like fire. "Just let me... just let me talk to her..."
The back door of the house flew open.
Merchant Kael stepped out onto the porch. He was wearing a sleeping robe, holding a lantern. The light swung wildly, illuminating the rain and the scene in the mud.
"What is this noise?" Kael roared. "My daughter is in agony, and you are shouting in my garden?"
"Caught a thief, Master Kael," Marko said, stepping back and pointing at Veer. "Says he's a 'friend' of the young mistress."
Kael stepped down into the rain. He walked over to where Veer lay curling in the mud. He lowered the lantern.
He recognized the boy. The messy hair. The defiant eyes. He had seen this boy lingering in the alleyways before.
Kael's face twisted. All the anger, all the frustration of the past week, all the lost money and the ruined dreams—he needed a target. He couldn't hit his wife. He couldn't hit the Emperor. But he could hit this boy.
"A friend?" Kael said softly, his voice trembling with rage.
He kicked Veer. Hard. Right in the face.
Veer's head snapped back. Blood burst from his nose, mixing with the rain.
"You are vermin," Kael spat. "Do you think she wants to see you? Do you think she wants anyone to see her?"
Veer looked up, blood bubbling on his lips. "She... she is lonely..."
"She is a monster!" Kael screamed, his composure finally breaking. "She is a scarred, ruined thing! She is hideous to look at! Do you understand? I can barely look at her! Her own mother vomits at the sight of her!"
Veer froze. The words hit him harder than the club.
"No..." Veer whispered. "She's beautiful."
Kael laughed. It was a manic, hysterical sound. "Beautiful? She is a horror. And you... you are trash. If you ever come near this house again, if you ever try to look at her, I will have the guards cut out your eyes."
Kael turned to the guards.
"Throw him in the street. If he moves, break his legs."
The guards grabbed Veer by his tunic and his hair. They dragged him through the mud, across the beautiful garden, to the iron gate.
Veer tried to fight. He tried to dig his heels into the ground. He tried to yell Aanya's name.
"AANYA!"
The scream ripped from his throat, echoing through the night.
Inside the boarded-up room on the second floor, Aanya's eyes flew open.
She heard it. Muffled by the rain and the wood, but she heard it.
Aanya!
"Veer?" she whispered into the darkness. She tried to sit up, but the pain in her face exploded. She fell back, tears soaking the bandages.
She couldn't reach him. She couldn't even look out the window to see him.
Outside, the guards threw Veer into the middle of the cobblestone street. He landed hard on his injured shoulder and cried out, his vision blurring.
"Stay down, rat," Marko warned, standing at the gate. "Next time, we use swords."
The heavy iron gate slammed shut with a clang that sounded like a prison door closing forever.
Veer lay in the middle of the street. The rain washed the blood from his nose down his chin. He was shivering uncontrollably. His shoulder felt broken. His ribs felt cracked.
But the pain in his chest was worse.
He looked at the house. He looked at the boarded-up window.
For the first time in his life, Veer realized the true weight of the world.
He had thought that being fast was enough. He had thought that being brave was enough. He thought that stealing an apple could solve hunger.
But he was wrong.
Against the walls of money, against the iron gates of class, against the cruelty of adults... he was nothing. He was just a boy with a stick, fighting against a kingdom of swords.
He couldn't save her. He couldn't even comfort her.
He was powerless.
Slowly, painfully, Veer dragged himself up. He couldn't walk straight. He limped, clutching his shoulder, moving toward the darkness of the slums.
He didn't look back at the window. He couldn't bear it.
I'm sorry, he thought, the tears finally mixing with the rain. I'm sorry I'm weak. I'm sorry I'm poor.
As he disappeared into the shadows, something inside Veer changed. The innocent boy who stole apples for fun died in that muddy street.
In his place, something colder began to grow. If he wanted to break down those gates, if he wanted to tear the boards off that window, he needed to be more than a rat.
He needed to be a wolf.
The closed door had separated them. And it would stay closed for seven long, painful years.