Sunlight crept through the carved wooden window, brushing the curtains with gold. The warm glow danced across Kael's sleeping face until he stirred with a long yawn.
"Mnnh… Five more minutes…"
A sharp knock came from the door, followed by the sound of it creaking open. "Young master," came the voice of a servant boy. "It's morning. Lady Miriel awaits you at breakfast."
Kael groaned. "Of course she does."
The servant stepped in with a silver bowl of warm water, a cloth over his arm, and a towel tucked under one arm. He worked quickly, scrubbing Kael's face, helping him into his embroidered tunic, and brushing down his hair even as Kael fidgeted and sighed dramatically.
"Why do nobles always have to look perfect for breakfast?" Kael muttered. "Can't I eat with bed-hair once in my life?"
"You may, young master," the servant said with a straight face, "but you'll also face Lady Miriel's wrath."
Kael shivered. "Point taken."
---
In the manor's grand hall, morning light poured through the lattice windows, casting long lines across the polished floors. At the head of the table sat Lady Miriel — Kael's mother — draped in silks and fur. Her dark hair was pinned in an intricate braid, and she regarded Kael with a raised eyebrow as he entered.
"You're late," she said simply.
"I was dreaming about politics," Kael lied as he sat. "It was horrible."
She smirked. "Then it must've been accurate."
Their meal was quiet, but not unpleasant. Steamed root vegetables, rice porridge, boiled quail eggs — the usual. Kael ate quickly, knowing full well that lingering would invite a lecture.
After finishing, he gave a half-bow and escaped.
---
Outside, the village was already awake. The early fog had lifted, revealing the bustle of workers, farmers, and stablehands moving about. Kael wandered toward the edge of the barracks where a group of young soldiers were training.
Joran stood among them, calling out corrections as two boys sparred with wooden swords. His voice carried with quiet strength, like someone who didn't need to shout to be heard.
Kael leaned on a fence post, watching. The clash of wood against wood echoed in the crisp morning air. He noticed how the boys moved — not unlike animals. Raw, instinctive, unpolished.
"You swing too wide," Joran barked at one. "You'd be gutted by now. Again!"
Kael rested his chin on his hand, eyes slowly drifting upward.
The sky had turned pale blue with streaks of gray clouds crawling across it like slow waves. Then he saw it.
A flicker — a blur with feathers.
A four-winged raven, black as ink and silent in its flight, darted overhead. Its wings shimmered faintly under the sun, like shadows moving against shadows.
It wasn't alone.
A flock of tiny birds — sparrows, the common kind that flit around barn roofs — scattered in fear. The raven dove with terrifying precision, cutting through the air like a blade.
Kael watched, frozen.
The raven lunged and snatched one of the tiny sparrows mid-air, its sharp beak snapping down like a guillotine.
Feathers rained down.
But as the rest of the flock scattered, one small sparrow — too slow or perhaps too scared — got caught in the chaos.
Its wing twisted.
It fell, spiraling like a leaf until it crashed into the dirt just a few steps from Kael's feet.
The boy stepped forward, blinking down at the tiny, trembling creature. Its body was thin, its breathing rapid, and its wing bent at a wrong angle. Blood pooled from its chest — dark and too much for such a small body.
Kael knelt.
The little bird's eye twitched once. It gave a tiny cry, more breath than sound. Then it stopped moving.
The yard was still.
Even the soldiers paused, sensing the change in Kael's expression.
He stared at the body for a long time.
"Was it weak?" he muttered aloud.
Joran approached behind him clenching his jaw, quietly.
"Or…" Kael continued, not turning. "…did it just follow the wrong one?"
Joran didn't answer.
The boy looked up at the sky again, searching for the raven. But it was already gone — vanished behind the clouds, leaving only drifting feathers behind.
---
That night, Kael sat at his window, staring at the stars.
He kept thinking about that bird.
It hadn't died fighting.
It hadn't even been the target.
It just… got too close to something it couldn't match.
And fell.
His fingers clenched around the windowsill.
He didn't know why, but something in his chest felt tight.
He didn't know it yet — but that little broken bird, lying in a trail of blood and dust, would remain in his memory far lo
nger than the mountain, the trees, or even the strange silence from the day before.
---
[End of Chapter 3]