EverKnight

By JL Louw

What is ancient can never die.

In an age long past, humanity possessed incredible powers. Energies both fearsome and immeasurable that flowed in a seemingly endless abundance, but that was a time barely recounted. An age known only as the Era of Darkness. A time when humanity neared extinction as legions of beasts ruled the Earth, demanding no less than the greatest of arcane might in order for a dwindling species to survive.

Today, the human empires had reattained that long-lost greatness. Even though the energies of old had slowly diminished, the advent of technology has rekindled ways into the foregone arts. Progress reshapes society daily, while the many threats of the old ages still prowls at the borders.

In this ever-changing world, Young Leo Pryde seeks his own fate. Even though it may lead into the heart of all that plagues humanity, his will is strong. He wants to fight back. Down to his core he desires to drive the beasts of the Taint into oblivion, without knowing the dire cost of such altruistic pursuits.

The one true authority will rise.

And no one will be left unscathed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: JL Louw
• Release date: Sep 28, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311457868

JL Louw

Hey there guys, my name is JL, but I'm also known by my alternate persona, Azjenco.I'm a fiction fanatic! I love PC gaming, enjoy some D&D sessions with my friends, try to keep up with the latest films and series, read some epic novels and comic books, and in my spare time I write science fiction and fantasy. I even have a few ebooks that I've self-published.My life revolves around entertainment, which is why I strive to create content for other's enjoyment. Most of the time I can be found at twitch.tv/azjenco or on my youtube cahnnel where I livestream indie games and sometimes I'll show my writing while I hang out with my viewers as we talk about our hobbies and interests.

Book preview

The New Blood

"Hallowed was the night when the moon was dead. A moon so darkened not even eyes could see. It was a sign of the blessed calm, where the subdued beast became our prey. Here we fought the night. To bring a new dawn to all of mankind, arms in hand and fervor in heart, conquering the wilds and the Taint beyond the walls."

- The Chronicle of Laranthene—Cited from the works of the long lost Order of Caerde

Chapter 1

The bodies numbered ten in all. Once more Marshall Reiniss Avesro circled the heinous arrangement of corpses. Their remains tattered, rendered broken beyond distinction, limbs and skin freely dispersed about the macabre scene. What remained of their dark silver armors, each emblazoned with the Griffon seal of Albion, identified them as Knights of the Sovereign.

Her grimace intensified as her heart pounded with burning rage, although she calmed her nerve. She only spent her anger when necessity demanded, a useful commodity best left in check and reserved for those who deserved it most.

Reiniss stepped over an arm severed at the elbow, its silver Data-Armlet reflected the sunlight in between spots where dried blood now marred its polish. Her sights darted to a lopped off ear and what appeared to be some part of a ribcage. The rankness of the decay clogged her throat. Even though she often witnessed a fair share of death during her time as a soldier, deep down, she never quite grew accustomed to it. Certainly no person truly ever did, not without giving up an intrinsic part of their humanity.

I can see only eight Gauntlets, Captain, she said. Her auburn hair covered her cheeks, extending all the way down to her jaw line, framing her slender features perfectly.

Captain Gorman turned a solemn look her way, his sullen eyes seemingly stared right through her. These knights had served under the Captain at some stage or another, even fought at his side on more than a few occasions. She knew dying proved a simple fact of life, but there was dying and then there was this egregious slaughter. No words existed that could consolidate an act so vile.

Aye, you are right, Marshall, Gorman said.

Her words restored some part of his senses as he stepped away from the bodies to join her on the sidelines. Of the dozen knights, who had accompanied them to the scene, only a few dared to stray their sights onto the bloodbath, and all except for the Captain stayed well clear from the grotesque area in question.

Reiniss crossed her arms in front of her, clutching her fiber mesh tunic in an effort to combat the cold. Energies infused into the tan colored fabric gave the wearer an ample guard against extreme temperatures, but even with the protection of the crimson salamander scales, the cold air bit into her skin with an avid ferocity.

How can a person express such a loss of life? Gorman asked. His usually tense features even more haggard than usual.

A man casually walked over to join them. He wore the usual fiber mesh pants and long sleeves shirt, clothing crafted from a mix of mammoth hair, cotton, and synthetic fibers. What distinguished him from the average folk, however, was the embossed overcoat, bearing striking variations of blue patterns throughout. Even to Reiniss’ sharp eye little sense could be made of it, but it fulfilled its purpose in identifying him as one from the illustrious order of Incandents.

A funny affair this, is it not? the man said. His hand absentmindedly waved over the scene as if he regarded it as nothing more than a conundrum.

To an Incandent the entire world played a game of puzzles. Where average folk lived their lives in a contained peripheral view, focused on their own states of living, Incandents looked beyond the scope of things with an abundance of curiosity. They explore the nature of the chaotic world and somehow even made sense where most saw none. While they might have invented incredible devices that changed everyday life for the better, Reiniss found their type unnerving. She always tried to keep her dealings with them minimal and to the point.

Funny is not a word I find encouraging, Incandent Irome, she protested, her jaw tightening in annoyance.

Fascinating then? the Incandent said, granting her a crooked smile.

Incandent, she said and sighed, almost losing her patience. What did you find?

They were all killed moments from one another.

So they were slaughtered on the spot, mid patrol, Captain Gorman surmised.

That is not quite it, the Incandent said. He held out his hand, pointing out distinguishable features the others had failed to notice. The bodies and missing peripherals were picked up after death, as some of these markings reveal. Also, the blood splattering over there and over there were in response to injuries, while the blood around the bodies are postmortem and clearly reveal how the deceased were moved around. The perpetrators had gone to a lot of trouble, and it was all done with precise intent.

A knowing smile twitching at the corners of his mouth as Incandent Irome scanned between the two faces that composed of his audience. The scowl Gorman supplied him indicted well enough that he had no intention of entertaining a man too smart for his own good. There was a familiarity in the scene though which Reiniss recognized, unnervingly reminiscent to how soldiers lined up in front of a barracks.

They were inspected.

Reiniss’ response drew a wicked smile from the Incandent.

Exactly, he said with a slow nod. It is as clear as dawn, right?

He stepped closer towards the scene again, each step jolted with enthusiasm. The other Incandents continued about their business, preparing alchemical samples and focusing their energies in arcane rituals that went far and beyond Reiniss’ understanding. She remained unmoved though, merely folding her arms, while Gorman fidget with his hands and constantly shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

Look! The three knights lying in this neat bundle here were pounded to death in their armors, Irome said, pointing out the slice and bash marks that marred their breastplates. Their gear are rendered useless.

Taking a more in depth look caused a pang of sorrow to clench at Reiniss’ heart. No person deserved to die in such a manner.

While these two off to the side sustained the least amount of damage, clearly this was purposefully done and the very reason behind this assault.

Irome crossed over their bodies as he spoke, completely uninterested. As he had stated, clearly this was the reason behind the entire slaughter. The two men were stripped of their possessions and had their armors forcefully removed, and they were probably the two with the missing Gauntlets. Curiously that meant very little to the obscure mind of the Incandent.

But this… this here, Irome said. He held both hands out over the scene, reverently, as he stooped over the mutilated corpses gathered there. All of them burnt and most missing one or more limb, scattered around their mangled forms. Watching Irome as he loomed over the site, not even a sign of discomfort at the gruesome sight and smell, it filled Reiniss with admiration, disgust, and a sense of disconnection with the man, but mostly she felt saddened at the idea of such a compassionless person.

The Incandent held out his hand, palm facing upwards as he rubbed his thumb across his fingertips. Through this simple gesture Reiniss realized he was focusing his inner energies.

Can you feel that? he asked, his smile broadening. These knights were not burned; they were killed by powerful discharges of energy weaponry.

Gauntlets? Reiniss asked, amazed. I guess a user can build great amounts of energy and fire deathly shots, but how many attackers were there to cause this amount of damage in a very short amount of time? She looked to Gorman for answers, but his face was reduced to an ashen pallor and contorted with such rage that she doubted he was thinking straight. The thought that humans possessed the capacity to massacre one another to this extent didn’t leave her without rage either.

This was something else, something entirely new. It is amazing, absolutely intriguing. The signatures released by these weapons, it is… I cannot find the words to describe it.

A tragedy, that is the only true way one ought to describe this, Reiniss said, averting her eyes to look somewhere far off. Her sights only found dark clouds invading over the far off horizon.

There is a storm coming, Incandent.

That there is, Irome said in a grim tone. And mark my words; it is to swallow us whole long before the end is in sight.

Reiniss snapped her tongue in exasperation. Save the drama for those who care, Incandent, your crime scene will be drenched soon. I want you to double time your efforts so my soldiers can see to the bodies, she said and turned her gaze from the irksome man Knights, make certain that no one disturb the Incandents while they finish up.

Hai, Marshall! the knights replied in the formal, military statement of agreement.

As Reiniss walked back to her Griffon, the Captain escorted her in silence. When her mount saw her approaching, it stretched its feathered wings wide and extended its beak in a leisurely yawn.

He was not wrong, you know. Incandent Irome, I mean, the Captain finally said to break the silence.

For a moment Reiniss didn’t respond. Climbing into her saddle she regarded Gorman before she shook her head.

I really wish I could say otherwise, Captain, but of late I have had this strange sensation that something is terribly awry.

With its front talon Viron, her mount and trusted companion, feverishly scratched at the back of its head and she recognized what it was implying. Reiniss leaned forward. She ran her right hand through the soft, white feathers and began to stroke soothingly in the exact way the beast enjoyed. Its tail curled as it drove its hind feline paws into the ground, allowing it to lean forward in a gratifying stretch.

Are there people out there with some new weapon? Are we in danger from attack, from another nation, perhaps? It could not have been beasts. They do not even know how to focus their energies to operate energy weapons, right?

Again Reiniss shook her head, mulling the possibilities over in her mind before she began to strap herself into her saddle. Viron puffed its feathers disappointedly at her release. A deep sigh escaped between her lips.

I do not know, Captain. My only intention is to prepare us for whatever may lie ahead.

If we wish to be ready for whatever caused this, then we are going to need a lot more soldiers, Gorman said, the hopelessness thick in his voice.

I agree, Marshall Reiniss mumbled. A lot more.

Hibernia, Fort Aed

Around the great oaken table sat the Twelve.

Men chosen for their impeccable, unsullied credentials and for the unique perspectives each had to offer. The table occupied a room in the heart of Fort Aed from which they commanded Jorik Dell, the Templar’s Helm, leader of their peacekeeper forces.

From the ancient oaken table, the Twelve bestowed purpose onto the mightiest army of the known world. The first members who became known as the Twelve were founded during the Era of Darkness, when likeminded individuals from different nations came together with the determination to never again allow their world the opportunity to plunge into war. It was a glorious burden, to safeguard humanity from itself. With the passing of the Eras, the immense task of the Twelve became increasingly fragile and complex, profoundly weighted in every decision they made.

Seated now, the Twelve contemplated a crossroads in the very fabric of world relations. They had been at it for hours—days—finding themselves perplexed by how the most prudent needs of all people required them to sacrifice the few. They had never been dealers of death, but they did deal in necessity and would go to any length to uphold the peace.

There is too much at stake. Progress of late grant nations the destructive means to wipe each other out. It is an issue unique to our Era and we must maintain the order, the Twelve serve the way of lawful conduct above all, Tommins said. He was the elder amongst the Twelve and deeply respected by all who knew his name, especially to the rest of his eleven brethren.

Well stated, Tommins. The Templar Helm needs to steer this situation into a favorable outcome, Clenance proclaimed. Like the others of the Twelve, he was born in a different part of the world, Cilicia in his particular case.

And how do you propose we accomplish such a task? We have gone over the reports from the Helm Jorik. His Gauntlets have firm conviction that the fracture between nations has grown critical, Kalil said, lending voice to his misgivings. Embers of distrust spread even between leaders who once extended vows of goodwill.

They are simply soldiers. Can we truly hold their knowledge on politics in high regard? Clenance asked with a shrug.

That they are, nonetheless they captain our two main battle forces and share robust perspectives on how the warfront has evolved over time. I trust they know what they speak of, Kalil asserted, sternly.

Well, if that is the only issue we must deal with, then this will be over very soon, said Phairen, the youngest and to an extent the most spirited among them. His words of levity earned him a few halfhearted smiles, even though it came at the expense of Kalil’s glare.

We can all share a good laugh, perhaps even the darkest of times merits it most, but my stance is not one of mirth. If we eliminate only a handful of individuals, then this delicate threat in its entirety will surely come undone. I propose we let the Gauntlet Marik deal with this, he is by far the most suited, Kalil said, his views on war and severity all the more prominent due to his Parthian upbringing.

Unacceptable! Immonias hissed, his voice deep and commanding. We must pursue execution only as a last resort. If we see ourselves as the highest authority and deem our voice above common law and morals, then we are unworthy of the sanctity of this table.

You are correct, for certain, but have we not exhausted all other avenues? Is this not the final option left before us? Kalil asked eagerly.

Never! Death is never any sort of answer to contemplate lightly or heavily for that matter, especially not when there is hope. And there is always hope, Tommins asserted, to the mindfulness of the table. He had a way of lifting their spirits, and he certainly knew how to bring dissenting voices back into a unified fold.

What are you suggesting, Tommins? Clenance asked, spurred on by ten extra nods.

Tommins cleared his aged, wearied throat. A vague notion it is, but I think we need to place our trust in the goodwill of the people once more. Recall the meeting between the Sovereign, the Prussian King and the Senate from the Era of Expansion. They were all at each other’s throats, but after our long dead predecessors brought them together in a single space, the prejudice they shared quickly melted away. Look how close those three nations stood in the wake of that meeting.

But will it work in our present predicament? They were but three leaders, while what you propose is no less than a global gathering. Is an achievement of its magnitude even possible? Aegen asked. Even as the third son to King Jahan of Aryana, and by far the noblest member of the Twelve, Aegan above all knew his place at the table as an equal member.

Would it not be worth the attempt? Clenance asked in return.

It is the more worthy solution instead of the alternative, especially when murder finds its way into any discussion, Tommins added, to which Aegen conceded with a nod.

Immonias leaned forward, his hands folded in front of his mouth as he inspected his fellow eleven each in turn. None possessed any authority above the others, but Immonias’ methodical thinking and pertinent nature granted him immeasurable esteem.

Then, Immonias began, it is settled. Once I have worked out the finer details, we will make arrangements with the Helm Jorik. His Templar Knights will dispatch word and make preparations with every nation. We will arrange where to meet and inform their leaders when to arrive. This will be the most difficult task ever set before the Twelve, but if realized it could mean the salvation of our world.

Chapter 2

Arms folded, Leo leaned out the window of his third story room. The jubilant roar of the Moon Festival carried across the four inner courtyards of the trade district. He normally didn’t fall in favor of merry gatherings of this sort, especially the large festivals that celebrated the moon passing from the full Hunger Moon into the darkened Dead Moon. Nonetheless, the light shows that played a large part during these celebrations usually captured his attention, but tonight his will was elsewhere.

It couldn’t draw him in even if he wanted it to, not with such a dire choice rattling through his mind. Scanning the moonless sky, Leo watched as the great celebratory beams of light blazed through the celestial gloom. A spectacular sight, the colored beams put on a mesmerizing display, dancing, weaving, and intertwining until all in attendance couldn’t help but stare unabashedly. Stare and challenge the dangers of the night to bite back.

Any other night the lights would have been a glorious sight, but not tonight. A different fire burned inside Leo. It was one he yearned, to his very core, to quench. Looking back to the sky, he found it reflected a deep part of himself. The vacantness, the lone confinement high in the dark blanket of the sky, where intense pinpoints of light pierced the blessed, moonless expanse.

The lump in his throat rose, tasting more and more acidic. Those lights, a sign of isolation and also hope, made him long to step beyond the walls even more; to get out there where lives were tested and deeds proved the strength of mankind. He wanted to run, but he didn’t, he couldn’t. Not yet.

As his uncle’s Levitant Barge floated into the yard and came to a hover in front of their four story estate, Leo swallowed the hard lump and pushed back from the window. He had a different kind of battle to conquer first. A battle he could no longer avoid. Stopping at his door, he listened to every sound that emanated from the floors below. Once the heavy boot steps and murmured greetings of the aides faded, he pushed the door open.

He maintained a steady pace down the monumental stairway, giving him plenty of time to consider his words with meaningful temperance. Once on the ground floor, he crossed the dining room where the manor aides were clearing the table from their earlier supper. The only part of the table they didn’t hover around was his uncle’s open, pristine seat.

He couldn’t remember when last his uncle had come down to supper. Nearing adulthood, Leo wondered if that empty chair, the consistent reminder of his absence, bothered his cousins as it once did. As a person who grew up without his parents, it certainly bothered Leo since they still had the opportunity spend time with their father where he no longer enjoyed the privilege. Their father at least owed them that much.

Leo entered the expansive, cordial quarters of his uncle’s study. Literature of all manner, from archaic to some more recent, from fictitious to factual, and even some arcane scripts penned by scholars of old lined the shelves. Whatever wisdom the mind craved to digest, it could be found within these four walls. Its endless possibilities had made the study Leo’s own calming sanctuary and it was the only place he rated above his personal quarters.

He found his uncle behind his expansive mahogany desk writing. The stern man didn’t move to acknowledge Leo until he finished reading the document that captured his attention. Eyes meeting Leo’s, his uncle motioned for Leo to take one of the vacant seats. Almost a polar opposite to Leo’s own father, short, stocky Uncle Renwald looked on through thick spectacles as he scratched his balding scalp where only a scant cluster of hair still occupied the backside of his head. Leo remembered, also, how his father used to laugh, but he couldn’t recall the sound of his uncle expressing any emotion close to mirth.

Behind Uncle Renwald, the fireplace crackled, flames licking and biting ravenously at a fresh batch of logs. In the past the thick smell of the wooden shelves seemed inviting, but even that didn’t ease Leo’s sudden distaste for the room. The air quickly turned sour, the books unwelcoming. His uncle’s silence endured as he ruffled through a particularly messy stack of papers on his neatly kept desk. When Uncle Renwald finally found the folder amidst the papers, he slid it to Leo, a warm albeit completely foreign smile on his face.

I called in a favor and received your merits early. While far from exemplary, your performance was sufficient… adequate enough for Westmark Academy. They submitted their approval for you shortly after I applied.

Leo stared blankly at his uncle before taking the Data-Chron situated next to his merit folder. The cardboard-thin, flexible metallic sheet felt heavy in his hands, he read the displayed document over and over. Sealed and signed, it made his acceptance of Westmark’s offer official. Among its myriad of menial words Business Academy struck Leo the most loathsome blow. What this represented stood against everything he wanted out of life. It represented an attack against his every aspiration, his very future.

Leo’s stomach lurched. It was too much. A weight far too great pressing down on him. He needed to act immediately; it might already be too late.

Uncle, Leo began, softly at first, I weighed my options and decided that I want to attend Locksley.

Uncle Renwald’s smile fell, Leo’s words a forceful slap. You chose Locksley Academy over the best business facilities in Albion, second only to the Rhomahi Capital itself? You prefer to become an expendable soldier instead of devoting yourself to a prominent life in our line of business? Uncle Renwald scoffed. Outrageous! Utterly outrageous! he boomed as he slammed his clenched, white fist on the table. Its thud echoed through the confined space, rattling Leo’s teeth. And since when do you condone this notion of fantasy? Uncle Renwald asked, his face reddening.

Leo inhaled, returning to his calm resolve. Long enough to realize that this is the only course worth taking, he said.

You speak of worth, boy, but you know nothing of what you speak. Do you know the world that waits outside Sanctuary?

I know enough, Leo said, nodding. And I intend to see it firsthand some day, he added shamelessly.

See the world, aye? And do what then? Have you even seen a Drake? Or faced your share of gnashing Goblinoid teeth? Do you even know what a Lycanthrope looks like? And how will you react when these beasts come for you?

I fear no tales, Uncle. We have brave people fighting to protect us, standing strong against the beasts that plague us. They set an example for us to live by.

And what example is that, exactly? Lawlessness, chaos, and death are all you will find outside this city. Do you miss your parents so much that you think it necessary to be constantly reminded of them by everything and everyone around you? If you go to business school, I can hand you a future, but if you join the military, then you will end up as they did. Are you truly that eager to join them?

Leo’s fists balled up against his sides. Any insult to his parents or their memory he would not abide by. A wise man his uncle might be, but using them to try and make an example only pushed Leo to carry on with his decision. They were dead. Gone. His uncle had no right to bring them up. Stop, Uncle! Not another word I am leaving of my own accord, whether your consent is given or not.

And how do you imagine you will find backing without me? Tell me, is Pryde Trading’s blind consent another of your fantasies, Leo?

Leo had expected as much. He knew that his uncle would attempt to constrict his will. He always had with him. It meant nothing more than a dirty trick, played against his own blood, but from the shifting look in Uncle Renwald’s eyes, Leo saw the truth of it. A move born out of desperation. Expected or not, it didn’t ebb the pain to be treated as such. His uncle once told him that the Pryde never turned their backs on one another. Now he found his uncle doing just that.

I am backing myself with my shares in the company. Their value would not only cover my enrollment, but also see me through if something goes awry at the Academy.

Like Taint you will! Uncle Renwald yelled, jerking to his feet so he could better lean over his desk and gain a closer look at Leo. He met Leo’s confident brown eyes with a penetrating glare. Unacceptable, he said slowly. Unfathomable. I will not condone it. Never! he stood straighter then, his eyes burning down on Leo. Gripping the armrests tightly, his heart pounding in his ears as he looked at his uncle. Leo’s features grew stoically firm.

You would choose a vagrant’s path over Pryde Trading—over the company of your own blood? After all I did to set you right, through hardship and labor, I gave you a future worth living and you wish to throw it all away? I will not stand idly by while you waste what I have given you. As owner of Pryde Trading do you expect me to allow the business I bled to build have the likes of the Sovereign’s Blood get anywhere near it? They will turn my trading ethics into militant propagande.

The shares are mine by birthright and they are mine to employ at my will. If the company, or you for that matter, dares deny me that right, then you push me to bring down the force of the Sovereign’s law on your company anyhow, uncle. Leo exhaled, gripping his fist so tightly that his knuckles cracked, to good effect. And I will not hesitate, he added flatly.

His uncle collapsed back into his seat, his eyes wide. He had underestimated Leo, figured the boy far too subdued to resort to intimidation but today he found he how sorely he was mistaken. Renwald thought his words over carefully then; everything he knew as a businessman told him to conduct threats as an imminent promise of action. It was a fact of the trade, as his uncle taught him and his cousins repeated, a blatant fact instilled firmly into Leo’s psyche.

A successful barter required a person to have the opposition on a weaker footing, always backing away. However, leaving them without any options might lead to desperation and that presents the problem of terrible decision making. A person required an escape. Granting your opponent a glimmer of hope, one carefully crafted by the successful party, meant the trade could proceed desirably.

A vague, empty smile formed at the corners of Leo’s mouth. How he loathed business. Even so, how he used the corporate tactics his uncle taught him against the old man seemed oddly profound. Leo wondered if he’d ever be proud in hindsight.

Even if the threat came from his nephew though, Leo expected his uncle would respond in kind. You surprise me, nephew. You delve to lengths so low, only to accomplish a selfish juvenile need. In light of that I agree with you. It would be best for everyone if you steer far and clear of Pryde Trading, he muttered, just above the crackling of the fireplace. You truly are your parents’ child, he mumbled, standing once more.

Softly spoken or not, the statement punched Leo in the gut with hurtful precision.

I will relieve you of your shares and back you to wherever it may take you so long as it is gone from my sight. With a flick of his meaty finger across the Data-Chron, Uncle Renwald revoked the Westmark application, his face void of any emotion. He swiveled his chair around and discarded the merit folder into the fire. Orange illumination radiated from the fireplace as the pages crackled and curled. They made an eerie silhouette around the bulky leather chair. Ominously fitting.

Leo fumbled to grasp the severity of what just happened, knowing that once his uncle dismissed him, a deep loneliness waited—worse than the loneliness he had known for the greater part of his existence. He got exactly what he wanted, but it felt shallow.

The wave of his uncle’s wrist came and went without any profound words and so Leo left the study in silence. His steps echoed in a welcome sort of rhythm. He finally took control. Nothing stood in his way. Looking up, instead of an empty hall he found his two cousins readily awaiting him. They took him off to the side, making certain they drew clear of any eavesdroppers.

Are you leaving, true word? Garren asked. The youngest cousin and for once his habitual ear-to-ear grin escaped him.

Aye, true word, Leo replied, the fact still taking root in his mind leaving the bubbling excitement to surge through his core.

But you are not afraid of what is out there… beyond Sanctuary? What about all those awful stories, Leo. You must be scared, Garren babbled. His hands held fast to each other, a desperate attempt to calm his nerves.

I am, but you cannot run from your fears forever. Especially if it stands in the way of something your heart desires.

Avoid his fancies, Gar, Dane, the eldest, said, his back straight and chin high. Leo is abandoning us like they all do—plain and simple. Anyone can see that.

The words stung. The brothers had lost their mother to the plague epidemic back when Garren barely crawled from his crib—and not long after Leo’s parents disappeared without a trace. For that very reason they got along more like brothers than cousins. They always shared a deeper measure of empathy.

They spared none for him now though. While Garren merely wanted Leo to stay out of an infantile need, nearly pleading with him as he clasped his hands together, Dane proved far colder. As he always did when his annoyance got the better of him, Dane held his fists fast to his hips and grimaced in a way as if a smell of rotten fish crept up his nostrils.

You know I am not Dane, and you know I have always spoken of travels into the world beyond Sanctuary.

Like father says, Dane sneered, "Those are words of youth and ignorance. The only shame is they will carry on with you into manhood. But that is your choice,