Chapter 153: Reconsider
Callan watched Thorne walk away, his gaze lingering on the figure that so closely resembled Celia. The resemblance was uncanny: those piercing blue eyes, nose and facial features. Thorne carried the kind of beauty that Callan had long associated with Celia, but that was where the similarities ended. Where Celia had always been gentle and warm, Thorne was a storm of anger and pain, a smoldering fury simmering beneath the surface. It was a rage Callan didn’t entirely understand but couldn’t really blame him for. A pang of guilt twisted in his chest, feeling partly at fault. During their teenage years, Celia had devoted herself to caring for him, pampering and doting on a version of Callan who had been moody, ungrateful, and difficult. All the while, her own son had been sent to the battlefield, facing the horror of war, risking his life day after day.
The shame burned deep. It felt wrong, so profoundly unjust, that he had taken the place in Celia’s heart that should have belonged to her own flesh and blood. And now, seeing Thorne, Callan couldn’t help but notice the cold distance between mother and son, a chasm of hurt that neither seemed to know how to bridge. He didn’t like the way Thorne treated Celia, though. Didn’t Thorne see how hard she was trying? She had made mistakes, yes, but wasn’t she also seeking redemption? Wasn’t she trying to make amends?
Callan let out a weary sigh.
"Callan, do you think he hates us?" a small voice interrupted his thoughts. He turned to find his younger brother, Rian, looking up at him with wide, worried blue eyes. Rian’s curly white hair. Callan couldn’t help but smile, though it was tinged with sorrow. He reached out and ruffled Rian’s hair, trying to bring some levity into the moment.
"There’s no way," Callan reassured, though he wasn’t sure if he believed it himself. "He’s just... hurting."
Rian stepped away from Callan’s reach, but his gaze remained fixed on Thorne, who had become a silhouette in the distance. The jealousy Callan felt was irrational, he knew that. But it hurt nonetheless. Thorne, with all his achievements and that solemn, brooding presence, had come into their lives and turned everything upside down. Up until a few months ago, Callan had been the model older brother. He had been the one Rian looked up to. But how could he compete with someone like Thorne? Someone who had built himself up from nothing, someone who exuded strength and tenacity.
Rian shifted uncomfortably. "Besides," Callan added, trying to mask the ache with a smile, "even if Thorne does hate us, you still have Rhea and me, don’t you?"
Rhea, who stood beside them with her arms crossed, nodded in agreement. She was a vision of their father, both in her physical appearance and in her supernatural gift of water control, unlike Callan and their father, who wielded ice. Her grey eyes were calm but observant.