Just old enough to sit in tidy rows and be taught how to hate.
Before Queen Leora fell, the academy had offered more than just the reminder of who wronged us. We learned about trade and truth. Of distant kingdoms and shared struggle.
Of a world that once moved as one.
After her death, the lessons soured. Now the children were taught blame.
That Selvarra had crumbled by betrayal. ThatLuamisalone had tried to save it.
The lie was everywhere, threaded into rhyme, etched onto scrolls, pressed into memory. But history is rarely written in the full language of truth, only in the words of who deemed themselves powerful enough to change them.
My neck ached, the fingers I dug into it doing nothing to dull the pain. Another nightmare had seized my dreams last night. Again, I woke in sweat and skin, alone with nothing but the pulse of a curse.
I understood what was happening, what it meant. I just hadn’t expected it to happen so quickly.
A pebble skipped across the stone road as I kicked it again. And again. Anything to keep from staring too long at what the dragon had left behind.
Cottages had collapsed into rubble. Shops reduced to ash, long since carried off on the wind. The one ruin I did not mourn was the statue. King Obrann’s likeness once towered above the fountain at the village center, now shattered.
Callum might have told Ronan to keep the king alive, but that hadn’t stopped him from showing his hand.
Voices rose from the temple steps as I neared where a huddled cluster kept their whispers pressed close. Some were cloaked in long red robes, matching veils drawn over hair and throat. Others looked more like me, steel-toed boots, heavy furs pulled tight against the bite of wind.
I nudged the pebble closer, discreetly. Not to interrupt, but to listen.
“…last night, in the Firen Forest,” one murmured, a worshiper.
Another gasped, quickly stifling it.
The Firen Forest was even more avoided than the Roux. Too near the Ryuu border. Too easy for creatures to slip between the cracks of realms and go unseen.
I had only ever strayed near its vastness a handful of times. None of them pleasant.
“How many?” a disciple asked.
“Two, as of now,” an older man answered, voice grating thin. “A mother and child. Both mortals. The girl, ten, maybe twelve.” A pause. A shaky inhale. “Her body was mutilated. Black liquid covering what hadn’t already begun to rot.”
The three bowed their heads, palms lifting, reaching for Gods who hadn’t answered in years.
A younger man broke in, words pitched with panic. “Weknowwho it was, why aren’t we alerting the king? He’ll hunt them down, put an end to these killings.”
These were the first bodies found in years. Or at least the first to make it beyond rumor. So why was his voice so certain, so desperate? Why was every tongue already shaping the word—
Viper.
“Calm yourself.” The elder leaned closer, eyes scanning the square for stray ears. “We don’t know that it was the cursed one. The king’s been informed and proper steps are being taken. There will be a funeral once the dead are named.” His hand closed around the man’s clenched fist. “Trust in him. He will lead us through this.”
The younger nodded, chastened. Convinced.
Oh, fates spare me.
The only place Obrann will lead us is into another war. This time, one that might burn across every realm.
The bell tolled above.
Once. Twice. Three times. Signaling prayer would begin.
The crowd shifted as one, rushing toward the cathedral doors, where robed acolytes stood waiting, arms wide, ushering them inside.
