Sons of a devil

The mountains of Noril stretched endlessly into the sky, their jagged peaks tearing through the clouds like the teeth of some forgotten beast. The air grew colder as the children—no, the warriors they were becoming—marched upward with the rest of the empowered villagers at their side. Snowflakes drifted lazily, though the tension in the group was anything but calm. Every crunch of boot against the ice sounded louder than it should have, echoing between cliffs.

Cain walked in front, shoulders squared, his silver hair catching faint glimmers of morning light. He had not said much since the attack on Kiralyn. Rage still lived inside him like a wildfire, smoldering and waiting to consume everything. Every child they passed, every hollow-eyed villager that limped behind them, added weight to his resolve. He couldn’t let their suffering be for nothing.

Lucien trailed just behind, hood drawn, his gaze sharp and restless. He fiddled with a dagger in his hands, spinning it over his knuckles absentmindedly. The twins’ newfound crushes walked near him—Liora, with her warm brown eyes and braid that reached her back, and Elias, tall and wiry with his bow slung over his shoulder. Lucien could feel the shift whenever they glanced at the twins, the quiet awkwardness of emotions too fresh to name. For once, Lucien didn’t tease. The gravity of their journey pressed down too heavily.

Ayden limped at the rear, bandaged arm tight against his chest. He cracked jokes now and then—some half-hearted, some forcing a laugh out of Elias and Liora—but even his humor felt subdued. His eyes lingered on the horizon too often, searching for threats that might leap from shadow.

Rei kept her place at the center, guiding them with quiet certainty. Her dark cloak whipped in the wind, and she carried the scroll they had taken from Kiralyn. Whenever Cain caught her eyes, he saw something unspoken there—fear. Not of their enemies, but of what the scroll demanded.

Halfway up the mountain, they paused at a ridge. Below, the valley stretched, scarred by blackened earth where fire had swept through. The smoke of the attack on Kiralyn still clung to the air. Liora’s hands tightened around her bow.

"They burned everything," she whispered. "Even the orchard."

Cain’s jaw flexed. He placed a hand on her shoulder, awkward but steady. "We’ll rebuild. After this."

Rei shook her head. "Not after this. Villages won’t matter if we fail. There won’t be orchards or rivers or children left to save. You must understand—the seals aren’t just locks. They’re consuming you piece by piece. With every one we break, it will demand something in return."

"Then let it demand from me," Cain snapped. "Not from them. Not from the kids. I won’t—"