The days following the Tora Trial moved slowly in Hearthshade. While the city whispered of the chosen ten who would soon become Raiders, Kael Lancaster remained behind, quietly working under the heat of the midday sun. His hands were blistered from hauling crates and swinging hammers, but he didn't complain.
Far from the working-class streets of Hearthshade, in a grand marble estate nestled in the Noble Quarter, Roland Vordellan stood motionless in the family hall, head bowed under the burning gaze of his father.
"You were humiliated," Lord Vordellan spat. "Knocked to the ground by a nameless rat — a child of no lineage."
Roland clenched his fists, eyes downcast.
"And yet… you were chosen, not for your talent, but because he was too young. What does that make you?"
His mother didn't speak. She didn't have to.
Her silence cut deeper than any insult.
Roland said nothing. He'd tried to defend himself — that he had won fairly, that he'd trained hard. But all of it sounded hollow now.
His pride, once inflated by the selection, was now crushed under the weight of disappointment — not from the public, but from his own blood.
He left the estate that evening, shame burning in his chest and rage licking at the edges of his mind.
---
Later, in the shadow of a crumbling tower on the edge of the noble district, Henry met two others.
Henry Crestwind, a Ducan noble with icy eyes and a smooth voice, sat tossing a dagger from hand to hand.
Syra Vale, a Luckan girl with a sharp tongue and sharper eyes, leaned against the wall, arms crossed.
They had all shared one thing — they weren't chosen. And it still stung.
"I heard the kid who embarrassed you can barely move," Henry said casually. "Not even in camp, is he?"
Roland's jaw tightened.
"He's at home. Resting, probably."
Syra arched a brow. "So what, you want us to beat up a half-paralyzed boy? That's brave."
— "No," Roland said coldly. "I want to make sure he never steps in our way again. Or anyone else's."
Henry smirked.
— "Now you're speaking like a noble."
Syra didn't reply, but the glint in her eye said enough. They all wanted the same thing: to make someone else pay for their shame.
And Damon Lancaster had been the spark.
---
At that same hour, back in the small stone house where warmth still lingered despite the pain, Kael wiped dirt from his hands and entered.
He found Damon sitting on the floor, attempting to cheered him up while bandaging his bruised legs . Lina was helping him, humming a lullaby under her breath.
Kael paused, watching silently.
Their little home was fragile — like a flame in the wind.
And something in his gut twisted, as if danger was coming close.
"Everything alright?" he asked.
Damon nodded, though sweat clung to his brow.
Lina smiled, though her eyes were tired.
Kael sat down beside them.
"You're strong," he said to Damon. "Stronger than they'll ever admit."
Damon looked up at his brother — quiet, but filled with something like hope.
But far across the city, revenge had taken root.
And someone planned to finish what the trial had only started.
---