The sky held its breath.

  Not life—silence. The kind that comes after gods fall and legends bleed.

  Caelan came to with his back jammed against a splintered trunk, bark in his teeth. He sucked air, rolled to a sit, and braced a hand in the dirt. His ribs—already lit by the Emerald’s hits—screamed; the tree had only stopped him.

  He blinked hard, catching breath. “What the fuck was that thing…” he muttered to nobody.

  His blade lay beside him, edge nicked to hell. His coat was torn. Sunlight sifted through a ragged canopy and painted the churned earth in thin gold.

  Then the memory hit: the punch he never saw.

  He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. He listened.

  Footsteps rolled over the ridge—heavy, unhurried, deliberate.

  A figure stepped out of the treeline. Bare, scar-latticed torso. Boots and trousers. Broad as a doorframe. He carried fresh damage: a new wound scored across his chest, edges still angry—and behind it, the ghost of an old tattoo, a faded fragment like time and battle had tried to rub him out of himself.

  Caelan squared his shoulders, breathing evenly. No flourish. He simply stood.

  He looked up and met the man’s eyes. The expression he wore was the same he’d given the monster earlier—no flinch, no blink, no plea.

  Just a quiet readiness to kill.

  Caelan raised his katana.

  “Step in my way again,” Caelan said, voice low and steady, “and I’ll kill you.”

  The mountainous man didn’t answer. He walked into the clearing like a hammer dropping. When he set his heel, a hairline crack skittered through the dirt to Caelan’s boots—and stopped there. Caelan’s soles buzzed like the earth was still deciding whether he counted as ground.

  When the man finally spoke, his voice was measured and stone. “Do you lead these people?”

  “I do.” Caelan didn’t look away. “Problem?”

  “Do you seek the goddess’s power—do you mean to rule?”

  “Frankly, that’s none of your fucking business.” Caelan’s jaw ticked once. “Now move. I don’t have time for this.”

  The mountainous man tilted his head a fraction, speaking almost to the air. “Then your journey ends here, tyrant”

  Caelan’s answer was motion. He rose into his stance, breath cold. “Try me.”

  The man closed his eyes once, exhaled, and took a step. The step looked lazy; the earth shivered anyway—a thin seam chasing forward, dying at Caelan’s boots.

  Enough. Caelan blurred—stillness to steel—closing to the neck in a heartbeat, blade cutting for tendon.

  The man’s hand moved like a reflex. He caught the strike bare?handed; steel squealed like it was on the brink.

  He didn’t just hold Caelan—he used him. Still gripping the blade, he yanked Caelan off his feet and swung him once, twice, slamming him into the ground. The earth cupped each impact.

  Caelan refused to let go. Fingers locked. Breath counted.

  On the next rise, he twisted, planted a boot, and drove the edge forward—not clean, not deep, but enough to score the man’s left side.

  The blade refused to come free. The big man still had it, calm as a millstone. His other hand slid along the steel above Caelan’s knuckles and cracked it in two with a sound like a frozen branch.

  Before the echo died, his palm hit Caelan’s throat and lifted. Thumb under the jaw, fingers at the ridge of the skull. His eyes never left the broken blade.

  “I break anyone who would rule by power,” he said, like reciting law.

  Caelan’s gaze snapped to the shallow cut he’d made across the chest. He rammed the shard into that wound, all the strength he had left behind it.

  The man hissed—more breath than pain—then hurled Caelan like a stone.

  Caelan hit a tree hard and slid, the broken blade still in his fist. For a heartbeat, the world went thin at the edges.

  He spat grit, fingers tightening on the shard. Fuck. I’ve really messed this up now. It was only a matter of time before someone else figured out the scaling in this place. He planted a boot and hauled himself upright.

  A memory surfaced.

  Early morning, three years into the war. Air like glass. Keira is finishing her run; Caelan, sword in hand, is working through drills under the pale dawn.

  The blade was already tired back then—scratches along the length, tiny chips gathering near the edge—but it was still better than what he’d swung before. Every cut stung. Joints complained. How far do I still have to go? How strong do I have to be? It’s the least they deserve in a place like this. I need to keep going.

  Keira bounded up the path, radiant and breathless, grin too big for her face. “I did it again! New record! All hail your queen.”

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  Milo and Aidan staggered in behind her, both wheezing. Aidan flopped to the grass. “Sis, I love you—shut up. You don’t always have to be the teacher’s pet.”

  Milo swung side to side, laughing. “She might run faster, bro, but you beat her at one thing.”

  Aidan squinted. “What’s that?”

  Keira planted her hands on her hips. “Yeah, enlighten us which thing any of you are better at than me, idiots.”

  Milo’s smile sharpened. “You make a smell a lot faster than she does.”

  Keira snorted. “You’re damn right, Milo—that’s why you’ll get married first instead of smelly over there.”

  Aidan caught him in a headlock and scrubbed his hair. “Keep that up, and I’ll rub all your damn hair off, bro.”

  Caelan let the corner of his mouth lift and kept moving. Three years. They were fourteen when they died… and they still act like kids. Maybe that was part of immortality—it preserved more than flesh.

  “You should really get a new sword,” Keira said at last, chin toward the chipped edge. “That one’s falling apart.”

  “Nah.” He wiped sweat with the back of his wrist. “I’ve got a feel for it. Besides…” He glanced down, thumb brushing the worn hilt. “It was a gift. From someone very precious to me.”

  Keira’s grin softened into something real. He returned it.

  “To me,” he said, “it’ll always be perfect.”

  “You know you’re cheesy as hell, right?”

  “Hell yeah. Also, you don’t have to swear so much, Keira.”

  “For the last time, fuckface, it’s sis. And you said it yourself—we’re free to be whoever we want here. So stop being a bore, asshole. Stupid big brother.” She jabbed a finger toward the camp. “Now, you know the deal—chop chop with breakfast before those two hurt themselves messing around.”

  Caelan tossed her a lazy salute. “Yes, queen sister. Your wish is my command.”

  Keira beamed over his shoulder at the twins. “See, idiots? Was that so hard—addressing me with the proper title?”

  Caelan stared at the broken shard in his hand, breath ragged. He let a laugh scrape out of him.

  “Trust me to fuck it all up, eh, sis?” he whispered. “Right—back to it before Solara doubles our training for ‘improper use of time’ or whatever bullshit she invents.”

  He dropped the shard to the dirt, brushed splinters off his old duster, and pushed to his feet with a wince that bit clear across his ribs. The smile that followed was wide and unbothered.

  “Well, I’d best get going,” he said, eyes on the giant. “I’m not hearing the end of it for a month if they drop that thing without me. So—kindly disappear before I make you.”

  He laughed. The man stepped closer.

  “For a tyrant,” the stranger said, voice like stone, “you seem to genuinely care for those people. Given time, power devours. Those with something to lose become the worst monsters in this war.”

  “Couldn’t agree more,” Caelan said, walking in. “Now—time to sleep.”

  He vanished with a dry crack of air and reappeared behind the man, rubbing his knuckles, the wake of his passage rattling leaves.

  “Fuck—like hitting a bastard wall.”

  The big man was still facing where Caelan had been. He went to one knee, breath shortening. “What is that sound you keep making?”

  Caelan stuffed his hands into his coat pockets, cocky and casual. “It’s a wee thing called the sound barrier. You go a certain speed, nature complains. Annoying being so loud, but—who am I kidding—I don’t mind loud or flashy.”

  The man stood, turning back with heat in his eyes. “Speed gets you past most. That’s where your confidence stems from. You’ve only been fighting since you arrived.”

  Caelan cracked his neck, grin sharpening. “So you’ve got me all figured out, then. Don’t keep me waiting, princess.”

  Caelan vanished—just a smear of coat and a dry crack of air—then reappeared in motion: boom after boom, strike after strike. Shit, I need to end this fast; ribs from the Emerald, now my arm from this mountain—too much pain to waste. For a few brief heartbeats, he drove the tempo, but the giant began to read it—turns shaving tighter, guard setting earlier. Each hit landed shallower, the flow trimming around him. He’s learning me.

  He stutter-stepped, cut inside—then the world jerked.

  A hand like iron clamped his left forearm mid-strike and lifted him clean off the ground.

  “You’ve been favouring your right,” the man said, calm as winter. “Take the left out of the equation completely, and this ends.”

  “I see someone knows how to give a man a good time. Bring it, motherfucker,” Caelan grinned.

  The man sighed. With frightening ease, he shifted his grip, torqued, and popped Caelan’s shoulder out. White heat tore up Caelan’s neck, and he screamed—raw, involuntary.

  He didn’t stop to think. He bit down on the wrist that held him.

  The man grunted, “Ow—you really are a damn animal.”

  The giant hissed and let go. Caelan dropped, rolled, and spat blood, grinning up at him. “Says the bear who just dislocated my arm. Fuck, that hurts—whoo. Sound? Want to play dirty? I learned this one in high school. Mach punt.”

  His heel snapped up between the man’s legs with a crack of air, lifting him half an inch. As the big man folded, Caelan was already gone—two steps, a spring off a low trunk, and he whipped around into a high right-leg roundhouse aimed square at the temple. Not so tall now, asshole.

  Close. Too close. The man’s eyes were on him. Crap—I’ve committed.

  A palm caught Caelan’s ankle before the kick landed. The world inverted. The giant swung him over and lashed him into the dirt in front of his own knees. Breath ripped out of Caelan; the ground rang in his ribs.

  “Can you please stop doing that?” he wheezed.

  A hand closed around his throat and lifted. The man set a knee across Caelan’s left biceps, pinning the ruined shoulder, and stared down without blinking.

  “This ends now.”

  Caelan smiled up at him, voice rough. “Fine. But leave the rest of them. They pledged to me. They’re no danger to you. Please.”

  The pressure on his windpipe tightened, then eased a fraction.

  “I eliminate commanders,” the man said. “Not followers. They will be safe. You have my word.”

  His windpipe strained under the grip. Black edged in at the corners.

  Caelan bared his teeth and forced the words out, ragged. “One more thing… if you see my little sis… tell her I cried like a bitch. She’ll know what I mean.”

  The man sighed, gaze steady. “If only you had chosen to rule, gentle tyrant. I will remember you.”

  He drew his fist back.

  Time thinned.

  Sorry, guys. Guess I won’t be there to hold you back anymore. Find a commander quick… you’ll rip this war a new one.

  Branches snapped. A blur tore from the treeline.

  Keira.

  She dove between them, that dumb, fearless grin still on her face. The man saw her too late. Panic flashed in his eyes as he tried to pull the punch—but the mass was already moving.

  The blow caught her full in the face.

  She vanished the way she’d come, body skidding through brush and dirt, crashing to a stop.

  The grip on Caelan’s throat slackened. “I’m… sorry,” the man breathed, shaking. “I didn’t see her. I didn’t mean—” His head turned, searching. “Why is someone that young even here?”

  Caelan turned his head, throat burning. “Sis?”

  Keira lay on her side, blood bright at her nose and lip, eyes closed.

  Something in him snapped.

  Both boots hammered into the giant’s chest. The man flew backwards into a tree; bark exploded. Before he’d even registered the impact, Caelan was there—ribs screaming, left shoulder dead—driving a right heel into his gut and dropping him to his ass.

  Caelan didn’t stop.

  He fell on him with his one good arm, fist rising and falling, knuckles splitting, breath tearing. “I’ll kill you—I’ll fucking kill you—just die, you bastard!” The man barely raised a hand. He didn’t hit back.

  Caelan’s punches slowed. Strength bled out of him until his arm wouldn’t lift. The big man slumped sideways, dazed.

  Caelan grabbed a fistful of hair, dragged the face up, and hissed, “And this one’s from my home country.”

  He drove his forehead forward. Crack.

  Stars burst behind his eyes. He staggered, half rose. “Well,” he muttered, swaying, “that went better—”

  His knees went out. He hit the dirt face-first.

  Black.