The Shield of the World

By Finn C Aspenson and Natalia Junqueira

Seven children once grew up in a home absent of love and driven by competition. The brothers grasped at each other's throats for the privilege of succession while the sisters could only watch and fester in the rotten household. Their decisions would send ripples throughout

• Language: English
• Publisher: Finn Aspenson
• Release date: Mar 31, 2025
• ISBN: 9798218639822

Book preview

I

Pod

Many years ago…

1

Winning

Theovel’s hands reshaped the snow with care. Even at the tender age of nine, his hands already were strong and sturdy. They hung still over the snow and glided through the air with calm, calculated movements. His other siblings were rambunctious and bubbling with energy, appropriate behavior for children. Yet ever since Theovel’s birth, he was quiet. He had to be. The lack of any mouth forced him into the shadow cast by his siblings. However, one of his siblings was kind enough to turn around and pay him mind.

Vyron sat on his knees a short distance away from Theovel. He too shaped something in the snow. Every few seconds, the bright-eyed boy of six years would laugh in delight at his creation.

The laughter didn’t quite catch Theovel’s ears. Waves crashed against the precipice of the island’s front and created a constant yet soothing roaring noise. Vyron’s laughing, though, made Theovel curious. Either he was just having fun, or a masterpiece sat at his knees.

A sigh from his nose brought Theovel to his feet. Below him lay a long and winding serpent sculpted into the snowy ground, complete with a rattling tongue protruding out its mouth. He tried to give it a gaping mouth and menacing fangs, but the snow was not compact enough. Theovel turned to Vyron.

Vyron’s body blocked his creation. The little boy glanced back. Oh, you’re done? he hollered. I am too!

Theovel trudged through the snow and stepped around Vyron. His eyes widened. Sitting before each of them was a griffin. The wings tucked at its sides and its head reeled up in a valorous pose. The griffin was a widely known symbol of love and unity, thanks to Arellia. Yet all it summoned from Theovel was a simmering jealousy.

The servant watching over the boys, a thin man of smooth black hair and graying sideburns, came forward and observed Vyron’s creation. Most impressive, the middle-aged man chuckled. Well done, Lord Vyron.

Vyron beamed. Thank you, Sello.

What about yours, Lord Theovel? Sello cleared his throat.

Something about the sound of Sello’s throat clearing annoyed Theovel. It annoyed him so much that he had the gall to complain to father about it. Father, of course, dismissed his complaints. Sello was around Theovel often, which meant he heard it often. Every time it happened, his heart would thump with a hating burn.

Theovel led them to his creation. Right away, Vyron gasped.

Ooh, a snake! he said.

You know, there are snakes in the Harbinger Peaks with scales as white as the snow, Sello taught. They use it to pounce on their prey and inject them with a venom that melts them from within. He knelt before it, clearing his throat again and glancing up at Theovel with an approving smirk. Well done to you too. For half a second, I thought this may have been the real beast.

That lightened Theovel’s spirits. Only a bit.

Not far behind them, the door to the manor’s east wing swung open. Out strode a tall man of pale skin and brown hair speckled by growing whites. A dark bear hide cloak traced with shining, intertwining silver shrouded his body. A circle of raven feathers hung at that thick neck. Father.

Boys, Nelethray Brandoff bellowed. It is time for you two to return inside. Your uncle is due to arrive within the hour.

Vyron froze and gave a rigid bow. Y-Yes father, he called.

Sello eased him forward with a hand on his back. He glanced back at Theovel and beckoned him to follow with a swift hand gesture. Theovel’s chest burned with hate when Sello cleared his throat again. To have to hear that and be told what to do by him made Theovel want to tear the geezer’s throat out. Still, he obeyed. He had to.

Dammit, Theovel, pick up the pace, Nelethray barked. Are you my son or are you a thorn in my side? Come!

Nelethray’s intense voice made Vyron visibly scared. His arms stiffened and his mouth hung half open. Father’s yelling always did that to him, so Theovel sped up for his little brother’s sake.

When everyone arrived inside, Nelethray and Sello escorted the boys back to their chambers. The inside of Daelstran manor was large and lavish, almost comically so. The candles that burned on the swaying chandeliers of gold were made of perthan wax, a unique wax hailing from Westmourn. When burned, the rare wax would give off a white mist that hovered evenly in the air, giving every hallway their own small set of clouds. A quaint orchestra from within the manor played a quick and uppity tune that echoed through the halls, demanding all inhabitants move with swiftness and energy.

The manor was too large for just one family, so it also served as a workplace for the corporation’s most esteemed employees. The first floor and much of the second housed executives, other high-ranking chairmen of all departments, and prestigious clerks. Such a privilege made every facet of the Children of Arden highly competitive. Some of the workers here earned their place through hard work, but most came here through more sly tactics.

The four reached the manor’s third floor. As they came close to Theovel and Vyron’s rooms, Nelethray slowed his walking. Your custodians await you in your chambers, he noted. They will dress you accordingly for Uncle Oddar’s visit.

In my eyes, Greatfather, your boys look more than ready, Sello noted. Under their coats, the boys wore thick purple shirts of silk with comfortable black jerkins. Rigid collars with tiny pins pointing up forced upright necks, and the shape of their jerkins demanded a straight back.

You think I’ll let them don the clothes they wore while frolicking in the snow? Nelethray came to a halt in the middle of the wide and long hallway. Between him were two great bedchambers. To your rooms, boys.

Vyron did as he was told. Theovel, however, remained where he stood. The command did not quite register with him. Sometimes his thoughts were so loud and turbulent, even a loud crash right before his eyes would come off as a whisper.

But Sello cleared his throat again. That always snapped Theovel out of every trance.

"Theovel, his father hissed. Do not stand there. To your chambers. Now. Before I make you."

Face red with anger, Theovel stormed off to his room. His room was large enough to fit dozens of beds. Various toys and drawings scattered across the polished floor. Opposite the grand window that looked outside to the south was a bed fit for four people. A pretty young worg woman sat on its end, Theovel’s custodian.

Lord Theovel, she greeted with a soft grin. Let’s get you fit for your uncle.

Come evening, all but one of the Brandoff children stood in a line in the manor’s great entry chamber. Theovel stood still as a stone at the line’s end, peering down it with cold eyes. Vyron stood to the left of Theovel. Without looking right at him, Theovel could feel how nervous Vyron was.

To Vyron’s left was Theovel’s twin, Reesa, her cumbersome eyeliner smudged by recent tears. No one, not a single servant or even mother and father, ever told Theovel or Reesa the two of them were twins. Perhaps they thought it unimportant. Theovel discovered it when he overheard Reesa share her age with her custodian, giving a number that matched his own. The girl’s body was stiff, spelling her immense discomfort in the black dress she wore. The girl of nine years started to spill tears as their mother approached her.

Really? Again? Alluris Brandoff spat. Quit your fucking crying already, Reesa. It’s just a dress. You’re sullying the makeup.

I don’t like it… Reesa whined. I-It’s hard to breathe.

Oh, please. I wear dresses like that all the time and you don’t hear me whining about it. A tight purple dress showed off the near-perfect curves of Alluris’ body. Her delicate hand of dark Kayrosian skin brushed through her locks of black hair. Much of it was mixed by traces of silver, yet that somehow didn’t make her look old, just more outrageously beautiful than she already was. Alluris possessed an extravagant kind of beauty, and she knew it. Theovel once heard whispers of Nelethray having to pay one billion ravens to her old family to have her hand in marriage.

At the end of the line was the thirteen-year-old Luneri, the eldest sister of the family. She peered down to Reesa and snorted with laughter. Baby, she mocked.

Enough of that, Luneri, Nelethray commanded. The leader of the corporation stood behind them all with folded arms, his eyes on the tall entry doors of smooth wood. Back straight, Tyce.

The eldest boy of the Brandoffs, twelve years old, sighed. I know, he mumbled.

Alluris walked past the eleven-year-old Urien, who stood with a back so straight his body nearly tilted backward. You’re overdoing it, Urien. Slack a bit.

Yes, mother, Urien said, voice brimming with duty. His fists were tight and jaw clenched.

Theovel’s face nearly went purple from Urien. In his mind, the boy tried too hard. Everything about him was infuriating. It felt like he wasn’t attempting to be his own person. Yet even at his young age, Theovel knew being his own person was not an option, not for him nor any of his siblings. Even so, he hated that Urien fell so cleanly, so willingly in line.

Pathetic.

Where is Erzebet? Tyce asked. Shouldn’t she be here?

She is sick, Tyce, in mind and body, Nelethray mumbled. Oddar will not see her.

Now that was a name Theovel did not hear often. Nelethray said what all others who saw the youngest Brandoff girl said. Something was deeply wrong with her. She neither acted or looked normal. Theovel once overheard his own custodian say Erzebet was a curse on the family. Funny. Theovel heard others say the same thing about him, yet here he was.

Finally, the giant doors cracked open, and flurries of snow filed inside. An imposing silhouette strode into the manor. A couple of servants approached, their arms out for the man’s coat. The silhouette swiftly waved them away, and they obeyed. When he came inside and the doors shut with a soft boom, the light of the chandeliers revealed Oddar Brandoff, a bald man with a thick black beard.

Brother, he greeted, voice equal parts delighted and hollow. So good to see you.

Nelethray walked past Urien and Tyce, greeting his brother with a firm handshake. A small grin came to Nelethray’s face, a grin anyone hardly saw. You as well, Oddar. Welcome back.

Oddar stepped around him and observed the six children. Well, well, he said after smacking his lips. What a collection. Four boys, hmm? That ought to make for a very entertaining Day of Proving. He scanned the boys. I predict you’ll be the next Greatfather. He pointed at Urien.

Urien nodded, trying hard to restrain a grin. Thank you, Uncle Oddar.

‘Thank you?’ Oddar scoffed. I predicted. I didn’t give you my blessing, boy. You’ll still have to try. He walked over to Luneri’s end of the line and peered down at her. Your name?

Luneri, she responded.

Oddar gave an amused chuckle and lightly touched her nose. Cute. He walked one person down.

Tyce, the eldest boy introduced.

"Ah, a strong name," Oddar complemented. He continued down.

Urien, the too-straight-backed boy announced.

I’ve already had the pleasure. Oddar came upon Reesa. What about you, little lady?

She sniffled. R-Reesa.

Oddar’s lips thinned. He said nothing and continued down. You?

Vyron, sir—I mean uncle.

Ah, Vyron! My grandfather’s name. Good choice, brother. Finally he came to Theovel, his eyes widening. Uh… what’s this one’s name?

Theovel, Nelethray answered.

Oddar frowned. What a hard life you’ll lead, little Theovel. Absent of mouth and an ugly face. I don’t envy it.

Ugly. Theovel could not be angry. His chest felt empty at that. Rarely ever did he feel sad.

Watch your words, brother, Nelethray sighed. He probably tells himself that already.

Oddar looked at Theovel again and laughed. His hoarse laughter made Theovel’s eyes hurt with embarrassment. How does he even eat?

You shall soon see. Nelethray clapped his hands, prompting all his children to follow him. We prepared dinner. Come, everyone.

Dinner dragged on. It always did.

Despite eating seeming like an impossible hurdle, it was really quite easy for Theovel. A tiny metal opening was built into his neck, which traced through the neck muscles and poured out into the esophagus. Instead of a plate, Theovel received a syringe to inject into the opening. It contained mushed up food with a healthy amount of clean water. It was tough to tell just by looking at it. Through the foggy glass, it looked like gray sludge, but he did not care. It kept his belly full.

His leg twitched up and down for the entire dinner. Oddar boasting about his life after leaving the family made the dinner drag on for over an hour. Dinner already dragged all the time. Did this annoying uncle of his really need to worsen that? Theovel wanted to leave the instant he emptied the syringe.

He could not stand dinner ever. Reesa was always on the verge of tears from both the food she ate and having to sit next to mother. Luneri would snicker at her and chew loudly with an open mouth. Anytime one of the children would share something they accomplished, Urien, without fail, would always one-up them. Worst of all was the fact that no one could leave until father dismissed them all.

When Theovel was finally given leave, he returned to his room. Only darkness enveloped the chamber, and a starless night made his window peer into a dark void. All he could see through the blackness were the glowing markings on the Skyholder trees on Denova’s northern coast. He liked it like this, but it was not enough to lighten his tarnished spirits. His mind still lingered on the word ugly. Why was that the first thing Uncle Oddar regarded him as?

The answer was obvious, of course. Theovel really was ugly. He could only speak his mind, show people how he really felt, by breaking something. As he sat in the corner of his darkened room, he grabbed one of his toys and threw it against the distant wall. The toy horse shattered into bits and left a dent in the wall. Tears flooded Theovel’s eyes and trailed down his cheeks. He could not remember the last time he cried. Such a defeating feeling.

Someone knocked on the door. Theovel? Uncle Oddar’s voice called. You in there, lad? His voice was softer than before.

Theovel brought his knees to his chest. Why him, of all people? It was because of Oddar this day was especially bad.

I wanted to apologize. You and I got off on the wrong foot. Would you let me in?

The young boy sniffled, the prospect of an apology bringing him to the door. Anger was quick to replace his sadness, but he was curious to hear what Oddar had to say. His hand lingered on the knob for a few seconds before opening the door.

Goodness, it’s dark in here, Oddar guffawed. His hand reached through the doorway and tapped the button on the wall near it. The three chandeliers in Theovel’s room switched on and glowed bright. Better. He walked in and eyed the bed. Would you sit for me?

Theovel did as he bid, his legs dangling over the end of the bed. Oddar then sighed and descended onto one knee before him.

I deeply apologize for earlier, Theovel, Oddar confessed. Ugly is a word no child should ever be called. Do you forgive me?

Oddar was genuine, Theovel could tell. As his shoulders slumped, Theovel nodded.

I must point one thing out, if you don’t mind, his uncle went on. You look absent, as if your mind is never really there. Do you care about the family business?

Theovel’s eyes danced left and right. He shrugged.

You don’t know, hmm? That’s no good. I know you aren’t fond of your brothers and sisters. When the Day of Proving comes, do you want to be beaten by them?

Theovel shook his head.

Oddar sat beside him on the bed. "See, lad, when you’re as high up in the world as we are, you can never shrug like you just did. You can’t be uncertain. That’s because this family is not a family. It is a competition. You are competing with your brothers to see who is worthy of leading this place. Even when the Day of Proving passes, this truth will never let up. The competition will continue. That’s why your father beckoned me here to visit. He wanted to flaunt his victory and display his children like trophies. That’s what you are to your father: a trophy, and better yet, a potential replacement. His lips thinned. That’s why I called you ugly. Your father wanted me to be impressed, jealous even. I just had to deal him one little blow."

Oddar’s hand clasped Theovel’s shoulder. This is all a game, Theovel, he said, words heavy. Do you want to win?

Eyes bright with resolve, Theovel nodded. His frustration with this life and his family would give him the energy he needed to triumph. Sooner or later, Theovel would prove he was not just that strange one that doesn’t have a mouth.

Oddar gave a wide, approving smile. You know, your father told me things about you. He said you’re ‘a pain to manage,’ ‘a thorn in his side,’ and ‘a liability.’ Oddar laughed. Keep being that. That’s the only way you’ll win. So from now on, start winning. And remember, you’re a Brandoff. Winning by any means is how this game is played.

2

Finding a Voice

O h, my darling! the worg actress bellowed. My precious darling? Where have you scurried off to? What has become of the man I love?

From stage left came crawling a human man. A coat of white feathers shoddily covered his person, and a cheap makeshift beak of yellow wood strapped around his mouth. He crawled until he reached the worg’s feet and pecked them with the fake beak.

The worg spun around and uttered a comical gasp with her fingers clawing at her cheeks. "My darling, you’ve become a goose!"

Laughter flooded the audience and washed over the Reesa Brandoff of eleven years. Her legs kicked in her seat as she struggled to regain her breath. The young worg servant beside her quietly chortled with tightly folded arms. Never in Reesa’s life did she feel this happy. Stage plays always intrigued her, tragedies and comedies alike. She had read dozens back at the manor, but today she saw an official production for the first time. It was better than she could have hoped. Upon that stage was another world, a world she preferred vastly over her own.

She badly wanted to go to Nafundur Hall, Denova’s most acclaimed and legendary theatre, but the servant attending her insisted on going to Leyraneth Center instead. This was Satyr’s second largest theatre. The servant suggested this location because it was neither a theatre the corporation owned nor as high-profile a location as Nafundur. The Children of Arden had eyes and ears, which meant Alluris, Reesa’s mother, was watching.

The comedy went by in a flash. Reesa wished it could go on forever, but every great play had an end. When the lead actors bowed for the audience as the curtains closed, Reesa clapped so hard that her hands hurt. The servant looked down at her with a smile.

When the two walked out into Satyr’s bustling streets, Reesa stayed close to the servant. Thank you for taking me, Leonard, she said.

You’re very welcome, Lady Reesa, the worg said, cordial. Just know this cannot happen often. Your parents must be wondering where you are. Do you have an explanation ready?

Really, that’s your excuse? Alluris hissed. I know you, daughter. You sneaked off to a theatre, didn’t you?

Reesa stood before her mother in the master bedchamber, legs weak and throat sore. Her mother’s anger always ripped the truth from her. A fearful nod squeezed the tears from her eyes. Yes…

Alluris sighed and rubbed her face. I know you couldn’t have gone alone. Who took you?

L-Leonard, Reesa confessed. Tyce’s old custodian.

Really? Him?

Please don’t hurt him, mother! Please!

Alluris scoffed and brushed her hair behind her shoulders. She did that often, probably because she loved the feeling of her own hair. I’m no barbarian. I’m not going to hurt him. But I will see to it that he is no longer employed here. She bent over, her nose nearly touching Reesa’s. "And because you tried to lie to me, I’ll say the reason for his termination was sexual misbehavior against a male peer. A pervert and a filthy queer? No one will take him."

Reesa looked away from her, the tears blurring her sight. Mother, please…

It’s to be done. You are never seeing Leonard again. And I don’t want to hear anything about theatre from you anymore. One day, you may get lucky and be put in charge of our theatre division, but that day is long off. You are a Brandoff. You haven’t the time for things like that. Study, train, and discipline yourself, dammit. And speaking of training, you are practicing magic tomorrow with the rest, and your instructor says you’re behind. Now I know exactly why.

In a moment of bravery, Reesa clenched her fists and looked up to her mother. I want to write plays! she professed. I-I want to write stories and see actors play them. We have the money, we can—

Alluris slapped Reesa, her tears flinging from her face and dotting the floor. Oh, shut it, she grunted. Your duty is to this family.

Then I’ll leave! Reesa cried. I’ll leave and write plays and become famous!

You really think I would let that happen? Alluris yelled back. Half the industry is in our hands, and projections say that it will grow in the coming years. You won’t survive. She smiled after an angry, frustrated laugh. You’d turn yourself into a peasant, wallow around in the mud with a bunch of worthless, walking and talking statistics. That is all they are. You are my daughter, and I will not see you willingly degrade yourself to that.

But—

Alluris slapped her again. The sharp nail on her index finger left a tiny cut near Reesa’s nose. Enough! she hissed. "Go to your room. Now!"

Her mother’s shadow and the titanic dark walls around her made Reesa feel caged. Outside was an unending sea with the only visible land being the ominous Harbinger Peaks to the south. The Skyholder grove looming over the distant Dunham’s Rise complemented the mountains. Even a town as small as that one had eyes from her family. There was no escape. Reesa cried as she turned and walked out, head dropped.

Being built atop a ruined fortress that once belonged to the Starborn regime long ago, Daelstran manor held many dungeons and great rooms underneath it. Nearer to the top were bigger chambers like old audience halls and barracks. Much of these held no use, but the largest audience hall, just one floor under the manor’s first floor, was where the Brandoff children trained in combat. These children would grow to be financially powerful, of course, but so too did family tradition require them to be experts in combat, even the daughters.

The chamber stretched for nearly a quarter mile in width and length. Wide pillars of old stone and iron kept the chamber from collapsing under the manor’s weight. They helped to segregate the children, letting their training feel more focused. Each child had their own trainer specialized to their needs and interests.

Reesa trained in the northwest corner with a magician well-versed in ice. Today, the magician pushed her harder than before, harder than what was considered okay for a child. No doubt this was Alluris’ doing. The instructor forced Reesa to fill her shards with aether over and over again, to experience the jarring feeling in her veins until sweat drenched her forehead and sagged her eyes.

Luneri trained in the upper center section with a magician experienced in both High and Fallen magic. Floating shards of mystic glass surrounded the two of them as her instructor taught Luneri how to create fractals, guardian spirits that protected their summoner. Luneri adored the idea of creating her own servants to do her bidding.

Urien trained in the northeast corner with not one, but two instructors, one a martial artist and the other a magician trained in all the elements of Meddler magic. The boy punched the air over and over again with vim and vigor. The martial artist looked down on him with a smile.

Good to see you’re so eager, Lord Urien, he commended.

I’d be happier if you were a Mokuza, Urien said. I want to learn from them and be as strong as Kaiba Acculo.

No one will ever be as strong as Kaiba Acculo, the magician scoffed. That man is an anomaly of strength and a magic genius. The perfect storm, really. The dreadful combination of high artistry and raw talent. From what I’ve read about him, it’s hard to even call him a Mokuza at this point. He’s a walking apocalypse, not a Flaming Tempest.

Urien twirled with a kick, striking just the top book off a shaking stack. Well then maybe I ought to learn from him.

Those desert dwellers would never accept a pale human boy, the martial artist said. Us two shall suffice.

Tyce trained directly below Urien in the southeast corner. His instructor, once a Blood Deacon of the Sovereign Sect, trained the eldest Brandoff boy in the ways of Judgment. Tyce liked the divine feel of it on his hands and how it burned everything to a crisp more than fire could.

Vyron, training in the center of the chamber’s south side, learned how to summon fractals like his eldest sister. He also trained in Judgment to complement it. Unlike Luneri, he preferred one strong fractal ally as opposed to a swarm of them. It was like choosing a loyal friend rather than a mob of people who were half-interested in him.

Then there was Theovel. He trained with a wielder of an ishendo, the long curved sword originating from Sunicia. When it came to an ishendo, Theovel had two choices: he could either wield the variant from the dunes of Sunicia’s eastern half, or the tropical and lively west half. Though both fell under the umbrella of the Nahrembo Dynasty’s rule, the cultures varied in a number of ways, and so did their weaponry. The ishendo of the dunes was shorter but more hardy, made for killing the fierce monsters that lurked above and below the sands. The ishendo of the rainforests and jungles was longer, made for killing people and cutting away vegetation. Theovel opted for the latter.

Additionally, his instructor taught him the ways of Damnation, the primary offensive magic of the Fallen Ones, Judgment’s opposite. Rather than burning like Judgment, Damnation was cold, bearing the ability to drain the stamina of any living thing it struck. Theovel was lucky to have just one instructor tailored to his exact desires. It helped him to grow quickly. The instructor’s deaf ears proved to be another positive. There was a fundamental error in the man, much like there was in Theovel. It made this instructor one of the only people Theovel truly connected with.

After a few precise swings, Theovel suddenly set his practice ishendo down and strode over to the piece of parchment sitting on a desk. The instructor hustled over and looked at Theovel writing words on the paper. When he stepped back, the instructor peeled his eyes to read them.

Are you able to speak?

The instructor gave a light chortle and wrote his own words down.

Not well, for I have never heard any speech.

Conversations between them had to go like this. They dragged on because of it, but the two were accustomed to it.

I heard people can use Fallen Magic to speak. Is it true?

The instructor sighed as he quickly wrote his reply.

Yes.

How?

Illusions. You can create auditory Illusions that grant you a voice.

Why don’t you do this?

Because I’m used to how I am now. Besides, it’s not like I can hear people anyway.

What about me? Can I do it? Can you teach me?

No. I’ve never touched Illusions. But I have seen your little brother over there attempt them a time or two. Maybe ask him.

Okay.

Theovel entered Vyron’s room after a long and miserable dinner. In his hands he held a wide and mostly empty piece of parchment, a pen nested in his left hand. Vyron sat on the floor trying to create the perfect fractal, but the pieces of white and silver glass that floated around him struggled to come together. They fell into nothingness when Vyron noticed his older brother.

Hi Theovel, Vyron mumbled. His lips stuck outward when he gave a big and frustrated sigh. Fractals are hard.

Theovel came before Vyron and held the parchment in front of him.

Vyron squinted. ‘Do you know how to use Illusions?’ he read. A little bit. Why?

Sitting opposite him, Theovel brandished his pen and used his knee as a hard surface to write on. He held it out when he was done.

‘Do you know how to make sounds?’ Vyron read. He never needed to read it aloud, but Theovel appreciated it nonetheless. It made it feel like he was speaking. I-I remember I made the sound of wind blowing once, but that’s it. His shoulders tensed. Why? Did you want to know how to do it too?

Despite years of Vyron being the only brother who paid him mind, Vyron was nervous around Theovel. Theovel was growing rapidly, his shoulders and chest stretching wider. Unlike him, Vyron was much the same as two years ago. To ease his nerves, Theovel slowed his movements and wrote on the parchment again with care.

‘I want to give myself a voice,’ Vyron read. Oh… I see! The boy of eight years brightened. You want my help? Yeah. I’ll try.

The red aether of the high ones that filled the metashard on his necklace had faded. Patches of skin around Vyron’s neck and left hand went gray when the shard bubbled with purple. He shut his eyes, the muscles around his mouth and brow tensing. His fingers felt around the air in an attempt to craft a sound.

Theovel watched, his body still as a statue.

Heh.

The soft shudder sounded in the air around the two boys. Vyron’s eyes shot open when he laughed. Yes! I remember!

Theovel’s impatient hand only wrote one word.

How?

Vyron nodded. W-Well, it helps if you shut your eyes. Think really really really really hard about the sound you want, then… let it go?

The directions were vague, but it was a start. A patch of skin stretching from Theovel’s nose to his ear turned gray. He shut his eyes and thought hard of a voice, resorting to Vyron’s after a moment of indecisiveness. He extended his hand, thinking that would help him.

Then, he felt a jolt in his head.

For a quarter of a second, what sounded like Vyron mumbling sounded in the room, then the voice devolved into a strange groaning of a combination of voices. After another half second, it was gone.

That’s it! Vyron said, his excitement bringing him to his feet.

An almost foreign feeling bubbled in Theovel’s chest. Pure relief and warmth relaxed his shoulders and focused his mind. It felt strange to feel so satisfied.

That’s all I know, though, Vyron confessed. I’m sorry. Maybe you could ask father to hire an instructor or—

Theovel shook his head. He quickly wrote down words on his piece of parchment.

I will figure out the rest myself. Thank you, brother.

Vyron beamed with a wide smile. You’re welcome! He laughed.

Smiling was impossible, so Theovel instead relished in the fuzzy warmth within his chest. He bowed his head, something he would do only for Vyron to express thanks without having to write it down.

Do you want to see who can make the loudest sound? he wrote.

Vyron refilled his shard. Yeah!

The two filled the room with strange, whisper-like noises. It was hard to actually tell if anything was louder or quieter, but that didn’t matter. This was a competition where Theovel, strangely, did not care about winning. Something about Vyron being happy made him happy too.

Lord Vyron, sir? Sello said from outside. You’re supposed to be going to bed. What are all those peculiar noises?

Sorry! Vyron hollered. He walked past Theovel toward his lavish bed.

Theovel walked out of the room and stopped in his tracks when he heard Sello clear his throat. All that excitement and happiness was snuffed out. A vein bulged in Theovel’s head, and his fingers clenched the parchment so hard that it tore through.

Lord Theovel? Sello said from behind. Are you well?

Theovel stormed away to his room.

3

Merely an Ant

Vyron sat on the floor in his room once again, just one night after he introduced Theovel to auditory Illusions. White and silver fractal shards hovered around his hands. In the past he managed to form birds or mice, but those would never help in a fight. Each time he tried to make something more complex, the pieces would never come together.

This is hard… the youngest boy whispered to himself. When his hands fell to the floor, he drowned in thought. There was thrill to be found in forming his own fractals, but the idea of battle scared him. He did not want to fight his brothers on the Day of Proving. Neither did he want to live his life in constant competition. He very often lost in any kind of game, yet there was little he could do. He was the youngest boy.

Why does it have to be this way?

He recalled hearing one of the many servants, Shyen, talk of her mother. The human woman once spoke to another servant of how much her mother would care for her in her younger days. Shyen longed for that simpler time.

Vyron’s parents were no such thing. Nelethray was distant and cold, and Alluris was prickly and impatient. Everything Vyron heard about other people’s parents did not line up with his own. Something deep inside told Vyron this was not normal.

His arms filled with an uncomfortable chill. Silence dominated the room as well as the hallways outside of it. The young boy looked all around, his shoulders growing tenser by the second. Right now, he felt truly alone. His lips started to quiver.

A familiar throat clear sounded from behind his door. Lord Vyron? Sello said, knocking. It’s far past your bedtime and your lights are still on. Is something wrong?

Can you come in? Vyron said, unable to speak loudly.

Of course. Sello came into the room with a dutiful stride. Normally, the servant was formal as any other, but he acted far more casually around Vyron and Theovel. Are you alright?

Vyron sniffled.

Face softening, Sello knelt before him. Nightmares? Sickness? Tell me and I shall help you.

I don’t think I should be here, Vyron mumbled.

Sello’s aging face twitched. Come again, my Lord?

Can you just call me Vyron, please?

Yes, Vyron. Forgive me. You said you don’t think you should be here? Why?

I-I, um… His hands curled into fists. I don’t know.

Sello’s brow furrowed. Is someone in this room? Are you in—

No! Vyron blurted. I—I don’t feel like I belong here. He looked at Sello with longing yet darkened eyes. Do my mother and father love me?

Vyron, of course they do, Sello assured. They may be hard on you, but you are a Brandoff. This dynasty has lasted for over a thousand years. The life that comes with it is not easy, but you should be proud of it.

But they don’t hug me. They don’t kiss me and pray to the gods with me. They don’t say they love me.

Sello came close to Vyron and put a warm hand on his back. The lives your mother and father lead are busy, hectic, and unforgiving, he said. And despite that, think of all they have given you. The greatest food in the nation, a house that once held Arden’s Coalition, wealth beyond imagination. Even if you lose on the Day of Proving, you will still bask in what Greatfather Nelethray has left behind for you.

Vyron did not react to Sello’s words. Instead, a tear fell from his eye. No one loves me.

Vyron, that is not true.

No one does.

I do, Sello declared.

You do?

Sello nodded. I know my only purpose here is to serve and make your lives more convenient, but I do love you, Vyron. You are patient, kind, intelligent and curious. His lips rolled. He clearly wasn’t prepared to give this kind of counsel, but his words were genuine. So long as I serve this family, you will never be alone.

Vyron’s chest was warm. Never in his life did he hear such kind words. He felt kindness from Theovel in the past, but never was it spoken, only suggested. He lurched at Sello and embraced him. The old servant laughed and rubbed his hair.

I wish you were my father, Vyron said.

A wide smile lit up Sello’s face. Let’s get you to bed, Vyron. He cleared his throat.

Theovel’s eyes snapped open when he heard that aggravating noise through the walls. His chest buzzed with frustration and rage. For the past two nights, Theovel was restless. The noise awoke him right before he drifted off to a better sleep. His fingers clenched the sheets and threw them away.

Mind heavy with a twisted clarity, he rose from his bed. Winning by any means is how this game is played. Uncle Oddar’s words rang loud. A hissing buzz sounded in each of Theovel’s ears. They guided his every move. There was only one thing he wanted now.

When he heard Sello leave Vyron’s room, Theovel opened his door. Sello locked eyes with him and came forward. Lord Theovel, he greeted. Was there something you needed?

Theovel motioned his head back, beckoning Sello into his room. Sello obeyed and entered with quiet steps. When he turned on the light, Theovel shut the door.

Sello cleared his throat and came to the side of the bed. I heard your past two nights of sleep were restless. Was there an herb you—

Suddenly, Theovel shoved Sello onto the bed. Sello rolled over, but Theovel pounced on him and pushed his hands onto the servant’s throat. Sello’s whole face swelled a bright red color. Theovel’s other hand moved to cover his mouth. He only needed one to end him.

Theovel’s blood was warm. It rushed and churned with a hellish thrill that pressed his hand down. The buzzing in his ears turned into multiple screams, screams of fright and excitement. Sello’s terrified face turned to a swelling purple, and his eyes bled. He tried to get Theovel off, but his hands dropped when his eyes rolled back. A bitter chill rushed up Sello’s neck. He was dead.

Theovel stumbled backward and stared at the body, panting. Part of him was horrified at what he did, but a bigger part of him felt a strong relief. Never would he have to hear that annoying sound again.

Realizing the corpse could not stay, Theovel opened one of the tall windows and pushed the body down. When he saw it splash onto the snow three floors below, Theovel sighed.

I win.

The next morning, Theovel and Vyron walked into the master bedroom of the manor. A sickly aura stained the air. Nelethray sat at his desk in the room’s center with cold and knowing eyes. His fingers beckoned them forward. In front of his desk sat two seats just for them.

Vyron took the left seat while Theovel took the right. Nelethray allowed several seconds of unnerving silence to soften up the boys. His hands came together when he sighed.

Do you know why I called you here? he asked.

No, Vyron said, shaking his head.

Theovel shook his head as well. He was oddly calm. This meeting could have only been for one thing.

Sello is dead, Nelethray bluntly said. He was found on the snow before dawn with many broken bones and strains on the neck.

Vyron’s mouth opened. It moved and fidgeted, trying to get words out. His hands shook when he looked between his father and Theovel. N-No! he panicked. He—he can’t be! I saw him last night! I saw him!

Which is why I called you two here. According to another servant, you two were the last to see him. Have either of you any idea of what happened to him?

He’s okay, is he Theovel? Vyron asked, his voice growing shaky. He isn’t dead! Why are you lying to us?

Nelethray said nothing. His expectant stare lingered on Vyron.

Vyron sniffled. He was in my room and told me he loved me, he said. Then he put me to bed and left.

Nelethray’s gaze drifted to Theovel. He had prepared a piece of parchment and quill for him.

Theovel leaned forward and grabbed the quill. His writing hand hung just above the sheet but struggled to write anything. Telling the truth would break Vyron’s heart, but it was already broken. Perhaps this could show father that his mouthless son was not to be ignored or treated carelessly. This would be another victory, Theovel thought.

Theovel looked at Vyron with regretful but accepting eyes. A quiet yet pronounced voice within him begged him not to do this. Yet there would come a day Theovel would have to face his brothers down and fight to claim his right as the family’s head. He would not be a child forever. This had to happen. He wrote.

I killed him.

Nelethray turned the parchment and read it. His hand curled into a fist. "What?"

Wait, wait, Vyron said. He took the paper and read it. A weak breath made his chest quake. He looked back and forth between the paper and his brother. Each time he met Theovel’s stare, his face grew more terrified. Why? he wailed. Why, Theovel, why?

Calm yourself, Vyron, Nelethray ordered. He was just a servant. We can easily get another.

He loved me! Vyron wept. He loved me, Theovel, he loved me. He was the only one who loved me!

That is nonsense, son, Nelethray said, trying to soothe his voice. Your mother and I love you very much. His underlying tone suggested feelings lesser.

No you don’t!

Do I not provide for you? Nelethray suddenly roared. Do I not feed you and drape warm sheets over you as you sleep?

Sello did those things, not you!

Sello is an ant. He hasn’t our blood nor our name. He is not worthy of our feelings nor is he worthy of such childish grief. Cease your crying, Vyron.

Vyron did no such thing. He kept sobbing in his chair.

Anyone who does not bear our name is not to be concerned for, Nelethray went on. We are the only people in this world, do you understand?

Vyron was no longer listening. His crying loudened.

Nelethray rolled his eyes with an annoyed sigh. Theovel, what is your explanation?

Theovel quickly wrote his reason down. He annoys me.

That’s it? Nelethray asked. Really? I’m inconvenienced everyday, but I never resort to throwing people out my window. Vyron’s sobbing caught his attention again, and Nelethray grunted. Winslay! he bellowed.

The worg servant in the far corner of the room came forward. Greatfather.

See to it that Sello’s remains are returned to his relatives. His cause of death was a drunken fall out the window. Ensure he is offered a proper burial and take Vyron to his funeral. That ought to give the boy some closure and let him move on.

Of course, Greatfather.

And take the boy out. He is exempt from any studies and training today. Let him grieve. He lowered his voice. Lowly as the man was.

Nodding, he came to Vyron’s side and offered his hand. Come, Vyron. Let’s go to your room.

I don’t wanna go anywhere, he wept. I don’t want to be here…

Take his hand, Nelethray ordered. Now.

That quieted Vyron. His weak hand finally grapsed Winslay’s, and the worg led him out of the room.

Only Nelethray and Theovel remained. The Greatfather reeled his head back and sighed. Why? he mumbled. Why does Vyron feel so attached to him?

Theovel remained still. Hearing Vyron mourn as he did greatly dampened him, but he could not look weak in front of his father.

What you saw from Vyron is wrong, he lectured. If we waste our time worrying over commoners and their needs, this corporation, this family will never progress. What you must remember about rats is their resourcefulness. So long as they are together, they’ll survive somehow. They do not need us.

Theovel wrote nothing.

Nelethray chuckled, but quickly wiped his mouth and removed the smile. Part of me wants to commend you, son, he admitted. You took matters into your own hands and achieved a result. But this is not to be done again, do you understand me? The things you do ought not to leave a mess for me to clean up.

Theovel nodded in compliance.

A fortnight later, Vyron watched Sello’s casket descend into the ground. He stood with Winslay in a small and remote fishing settlement near the Caged Sea on Denova’s east coast. Only a few people gathered for the funeral, and those few shed steady tears. All were equally moved by Sello’s life and kindness. Standing among Vyron were Sello’s nieces and brother. A couple of others were old friends of his.

Vyron couldn’t bear to watch the sprinkles of dirt pile up on the casket as the gravedigger buried Sello for good. Winslay’s firm hand clenched Vyron’s shoulder as he wept over the only person who ever loved him.

When the funeral passed, the attendants gathered in a small inn to lighten the mood with drink and food. Vyron and Winslay sat in the corner. Vyron’s food was untouched.

You must eat, Lord Vyron, the tan-furred worg said.

Vyron wiped his face and took one measly bite.

We’ll stay the night and return to Bentsby with haste.

I don’t want to go back, Vyron said.

Winslay tried to say something to comfort or strengthen the boy, but he remained silent.

Two common women near the bar, Sello’s nieces, exchanged whispers while eyeing Vyron. The two were of lowly status, marked by calloused hands and dirty clothes. Winslay cast them a wary look. When the human women approached them, he straightened his back. What business have you two with us? he questioned.

We just wanted to ask this young man something, the blonde one said.

Winslay sighed. Very well. Ask.

The woman bent over to match Vyron’s height. What’s your name? she asked softly.

Vyron, he muttered.

The woman gave a warm smile, one that comforted the young boy. How did you know Sello? We did not expect a child to come here.

No one in the town knew who Vyron nor Winslay were. Some reasonably assumed Vyron was part of the Brandoff family, but no one knew for sure. Vyron requested Winslay tell no one. He was tired of being called Lord.

He’s, erm… Vyron sniffled. He’s my father.

The woman’s jaw dropped. A heartbroken frown darkened her face. He was? Not this man with you?

Vyron’s eyes flooded with tears again. He nodded. Sello is my father. He loved me.

The other woman, one of brunette hair, rubbed Vyron’s hair. You poor thing—

Hands off the boy, Winslay ordered.

No, Vyron quavered. It’s okay.

Both women were on the verge of tears. Is there something we can do for you, little Vyron?

Vyron’s head fell, the tears dropping onto his feet. I miss him…

The blonde woman embraced Vyron, and the other rubbed his back. If there is anything you need of us before you go, we are here for you.

Vyron hugged the blonde woman back. These are no ants, father.

Winslay relaxed himself and let Vyron mourn with the commoners.

As Vyron started to sob again, his mind grew dark. He sobbed not just for Sello’s death, but Theovel’s betrayal. Theovel knew Vyron liked Sello. Why would you do this, brother? Why?

4

We Like You

Two years later, Nelethray, Alluris, and the children all crowded around the great front doors of the manor to bid Urien farewell. Urien wore a padded and form-fitting suit of black leather, an expertly made piece of apparel designed for traveling the cold mountains while remaining nimble. Strapped to his back was a tight pack with minimal pouches. Hanging at his leg was a slick sheepskin of water. He stood with his back to the door and his face to his family.

Thank you all for seeing me off, he said with a bow. Fear not for me, I will return stronger and smarter.

You’re sure about your current load? Tyce jested. You look like you’ll survive for only a day. Not that I doubt you, but you are light on the essentials.

I will make do with what I find. That ought to make me more resilient and iron-willed.

Theovel rolled his eyes. He could not stand the way Urien talked about himself sometimes. What made it worse was that he was right much of the time. Theovel did not doubt Urien’s potential return.

Well then, good luck with those crows, Alluris said. That Acculo brat should sharpen you just fine.

Oh, he will, Urien promised. He turned with a wave and opened the door. Farewell, everyone!

Bye, Urien, Vyron called out.

Be strong, son, Nelethray bellowed. Come back to us in due time.

Urien walked with vigilance and pride into the clear-skied dawn. The doors behind him shut with enough force to make the nearest chandelier sway. Everyone was silent for a few short moments.

Well, how long do you think he’ll be out? Alluris asked, turning from the door.

Luneri snickered. He’ll spend a night outside in the cold and come running back.

He’s already done that, Tyce noted. Just to prove to me he could.

Of course he did, the eldest girl scoffed.

The two oldest siblings walked off. Reesa followed shortly after. Theovel remained by the doors and stared at the crack between them. This trip would surely let Urien accrue much strength and skill. Theovel had catching up to do. What that would be, he was not sure.

Theovel turned to see Vyron still standing behind him. Ever since Sello’s murder, Vyron never quite looked the same. His gaze was distant, a constant frown on his face and stiffer movements. Theovel did not quite regret the killing. He never had to hear the horrendous throat clearing noise again, but he disliked seeing Vyron like this. The fact it was his fault hurt most of all, but it wouldn’t have been a problem if Vyron didn’t feel so much blasted affection for the man. That threw a wrench in everything.

When Vyron turned away, Theovel walked alongside him. What do you make of this? Theovel asked, speaking with Illusions. The voice did not yet have a consistent tone. Sometimes he sounded like a young girl, other times a sickly old man. Many sleepless nights were spent just forming consistent words. Making the words sound nice came later.

Vyron’s eyes glued to the floor as he walked. He separated himself from his brother until there was a length of three arms between them. He’ll be back, he mumbled.

That hardly answered his question. Do you think he’ll have a chance at being the Greatfather?

Vyron nodded. The highest, I think.

Theovel sighed. He walked alongside his little brother until they reached Vyron’s room. When they reached the door, Vyron finally looked him in the eye. Leave me alone, he muttered.

Wait, Theovel said. Can I talk to you? In there?

The ten-year-old took a moment to nod. Fine. He opened the door.

Once the two were inside, Theovel adopted a straight back, refilling his shards and turning most of his head gray. He tuned the Illusions with his mind such that the voice was quieter.

I think you and I should lead this family, Theovel declared. You are smart. I am strong. We can take it together.

The proposition made Vyron’s brow raise. What? B-But there can only be one Greatfather.

I will be the one to win the Day of Proving. But I would have you at my side.

I, erm… Vyron’s fingers rubbed against his palms, and his green eyes darted all around in thought. I don’t know. I don’t know if I want to be in charge of anything here.

Theovel came close, keeping his steps soft. I know what the others say about you, Theovel said. They say you are weak.

I am weak. I am weak and no one loves me.

But you can show them you aren’t. Just imagine how angry father will be when I make us co-Greatfathers. I am giving you a victory, Vyron. What do you say?

Vyron said nothing.

Theovel tried to remember his uncle’s words and pass them on to his little brother. Vyron, life is about winning. You can’t sit in here sad all the time. Be a man. Stop losing.

I don’t want to work with you, Vyron said, fists shaking. Y-You killed Sello.

Theovel’s eyes shut. I am sorry I did. I didn’t do it to hurt you.

You killed him because he annoyed you, he accused, because you think he is an ant!

I do not see people as wolves and sheep, Theovel explained. I see the ones who move and the ones who stand still. You are standing still, Vyron. Father stands still. I want you to move. Think of what you could be if you did.

You lie!

Theovel’s face was heated for this whole argument. But he could not take his anger out. Not yet, at least. You helped me gain a voice, he said, quieting the Illusion. I want to repay you by giving you strength.

The door creaked. Someone was watching.

I don’t want you to help me! Vyron yelled. You killed Sello and I hate you! Urien will beat you when he comes back and he will be Greatfather. Not you! You are a miserable idiot!

Theovel’s frothing blood and hateful countenance made him lurch forward. His hard-as-steel fist struck Vyron in the jaw.

Theovel! a servant roared as they ran inside. "You do not hit your brother!" Three other servants came in behind him.

The mouthless boy spun around, darkening his hands with Damnation. Get away from me!

As Theovel grew older and his body grew larger and mightier, Nelethray employed stronger servants and placed them on this floor. The guards were strong enough to restrain him.

Two of the servants grabbed hold of Theovel and pinned him down. Another took off the necklace that held his purple metashard. The fourth knelt beside Vyron.

Are you okay, Lord Vyron? he asked.

Vyron ignored him and set his sights on Theovel. You’re a monster! he screamed. I hate you! Get out of my room!

We’ll take him away, Lord Vyron, said the servant who had his foot on the backside of Theovel’s calf.

Theovel was at a loss. No metashard, not enough strength. He wanted to tear his mouth open and scream at everyone in this room, everyone in this house. In a desperate show of might, Theovel sprung up from the ground, and a warm rush flooded his body. A sizzling crackle sounded in the room.

The servant consoling Vyron suddenly fell to the ground in hysterical, uncontrolled laughter. The two that tried to hold him waned in strength when Zorna’s Will infected their conscience. Fortunately for them, they held strong.

What was that? the servant holding Theovel’s necklace shuddered.

Just knock him out!

A swift bash on the back of the head made Theovel see only black. When Vyron’s enraged panting and the chatter of the servants faded, he heard only one thing: a million-headed laughter.

We like you, boy.

Theovel’s groggy eyes peeled halfway open, seeing a warm chamber of grotesque humidity. His dampened shirt stuck to his chest. Two cold chains held his hands against a thick stone pillar. He sniffled. When the sound of it echoed loud off the walls, his eyes snapped open fully.

In an instant, Theovel knew this place. It was the undercroft of Daelstran Manor, a huge natural cavern sitting under the remnants of the old fortress that the Manor proper sat on top of. Torches circled the entire undercroft and gave Theovel sight. Dilapidated prison cells lined some of the walls, the torch light reflecting off of their steel doors. Pebbles of darkstar dotted across the cavern’s jagged and stalactite-ridden ceiling. Unlike the darkstar formations in Satyr’s Belly, these ones glowed red. The undercroft looked and felt hellish, which prevented any of the children and most of the servants from entering it.

He spotted a shadow entering from the old stone stairway at the room’s other end. Father. Accompanying him were two strangers he had never seen before, one a green draka man and the other a worg of dark blue fur. Both of them were equipped for battle.

Theovel rose from the ground but was unable to move forward thanks to his binds. Nelethray stopped in the undercroft’s center. The strong echoes in the room carried his voice loud and clear over to Theovel.

Do you know why you are here, son? he asked, voice dark.

Theovel nodded.

You think it’s because you struck Vyron?

Again, he nodded.

Half-correct. He stepped forward. I understand I can be a cold father figure, but never would I lay a hand on any of you. But you, Theovel, have done what I would never do. You struck your own kin.

Theovel badly wanted to fire back. Reesa was often struck by Alluris, and the boys would all draw blood from one another come the Day of Proving. His chains struggled to hold him in place when he tried to dash forward.

The two fighters beside and behind Nelethray bent their knees and readied their weapons.

But there is another reason you are here, Nelethray said. Do you know why?

Theovel shook his head.

Good. Then I will not elaborate further. Ease up. I will free you. Nelethray strode down the undercroft with a key in hand. Before he did so, he observed Theovel. You want to strike me too.

Theovel nodded.

I’m not surprised. I wouldn’t be surprised if you also wanted to kill me. I may have treated you too harshly. Nelethray changed his tone to something more fatherly, or at least he tried. "But I did not lock you down here to punish or embarrass you. There was something else that happened in Vyron’s room,