I grew up alongside Cassiel Viremont. The palace was practically my second home — which meant I learned very early how to bow properly and how not to. His parents treated me like family.

Doesn’t mean I ever forgot my place.

When he becomes king, I take my father’s position as High General. I fight for him. I bleed for him. I die for him if it comes to it. He’s the only man I’ll ever call brother — and I’ve got two by blood, so that should tell you something.

We trained together from the time we could hold wooden swords. I control the weather — storms answer when I call. Wind bends. Lightning listens.

And then there’s Cassiel, who can project the powers of others.

Fighting beside him is humbling. Fighting against him is worse. He’s one of the most skilled swordsmen I’ve ever seen, and I’ve been raised around the kingdom’s best. Agile. Precise. Ruthless when he needs to be. Add his projection ability to that? It’s unfair.

Growing up beside him meant I had to be better. Sharper. Faster. You don’t survive being the prince’s closest ally if you’re mediocre.

My father made sure of that.

Where Cassiel received tutors in politics, languages, diplomacy and the art of looking like he enjoys a ballroom, I got battlefield lectures and bruises. Mistakes meant punishment. Punishments were physical. To my father, the only true failure was death — and sometimes not even that.

The first time I killed someone, I was five.

I threw up after. Cried for days.

My father called me weak.

The whipping that followed was… motivational.

Cruel? Yes. Effective? Also yes.

I am twenty now. Four years into Atheris School of War — Valmireth’s proud slaughterhouse disguised as education. Over two hundred from my year alone are dead. The school doesn’t care about compassion. It cares about results.

We are shaped into weapons to protect Valmireth.

Atheris has been brutal — endless training, blood, funerals. Though there have been distractions. The occasional hookup. Fine. More than occasional. And the rare drunk night with Cassiel where we pretend we’re just men, not future monuments to war.

But sometimes my father decides Atheris isn’t enough.

Sometimes he drags me home for “real experience.”

Interrogations.

Prisoners accused of plotting against the king. Rogue Noctyra who abused their gifts. And worst of all — the truly unforgivable crime in Valmireth:

Being powerless.

Today is meant to be another name on a growing list.

I step into the cell expecting anger. Defiance. Something.

Instead, I see her.

She can’t be older than nineteen.

Bruised. Bloodied. One leg bent at an angle that makes even me wince. Chained. Silent.

If you ignore the damage, she’s… striking. Long, straight dirty-blonde hair. Emerald green eyes dulled by pain. Skin pale now but probably golden under sunlight.

I ask the guard what she’s in for.

“Robbery,” he says. “No powers.”

Of course.

I look at her again. She’s trembling, silent tears slipping down her face, but she doesn’t beg. Doesn’t scream. Doesn’t plead.

Just endures.

And I know what I’m supposed to do.

She’s a weakness. A liability. A stain on the kingdom’s strength.

I should end it quickly.

But something about the silence unsettles me.

Maybe I’ll get information first.

I step closer to the bars, voice calm, almost bored.

“Look at me,” I say coolly. “If I’m going to be the last thing you see, the least you can do is have the decency to face me.”