Cael stood at the edge of the clearing, his gaze sweeping over the little cottage—the home he built with his own hands, stone by stone, memory by memory.
The shutters creaked gently in the wind. The garden swayed softly. The river nearby murmured like it always had.
It was quiet here. Peaceful.
And it had been his world.
His sanctuary.
His healing.
But now...
Now he had to leave.
He let out a breath that trembled at the edges.
"I really don't want to go," he whispered, almost laughing. "I was happy here."
He touched the doorway one last time, his fingers brushing the wood like it could remember him.
⸻
He walked around the house slowly, committing every little corner to memory—the uneven step he always forgot to fix, the window that never quite closed right, the tree where he once hung herbs to dry.
He remembered mornings filled with birdsong and bread.
Afternoons spent teaching strange little boys how to hold flowers without crushing them.
Evenings by the fire, soft hands wrapped around his arms, warm breath pressed into his side.
He shook the thoughts away.
It was better this way.
Once he offered his kindness to those children, his life had already begun to unravel.
"I just wanted to help."
"Now everything's changed."
⸻
He sighed, rubbing his face. "Should I go to the seaside this time?"
A little smile curved his lips. It didn't quite reach his eyes.
"I could eat fresh seafood every day... Watch the waves... Maybe even have a dog."
His voice cracked softly. "That doesn't sound so bad, does it?"
He turned back toward the house.
"I'll leave tomorrow. One last night."
⸻
Later, he walked down to the village—his basket slung over his shoulder, empty at first, then slowly filled with travel supplies: dried food, fresh bread, healing herbs, salves, flint, cloth.
He moved slowly, savoring each moment.
He spoke to the old baker who always gave him the best slices, even when he didn't ask.
To the woman who once gave him spare seeds for his garden.
To the carpenter who helped fix his roof after the storm.
They didn't ask why he was leaving.
But they saw it in his eyes.
And they wished him well with quiet smiles and soft words.
⸻
As the sun dipped behind the trees, Cael stood at the edge of the market and looked back toward the hills.
Toward his little house.
Toward the forest.
Toward the place where everything had started.
"I hope the kids will be okay," he murmured. "They just wanted warmth. That's all. Someone to care. That's why they became attached."
He closed his eyes.
"They'll forget me. Eventually."
But a part of him knew—
Monsters don't forget what makes them feel human.
And he had made them feel more than that.
He had made them feel loved.
The village air had never felt so suffocating.
Cael stood frozen behind the herb stall, his basket clutched in trembling hands. A group of unfamiliar men stood across the square, dressed too clean, too sharp, their eyes scanning every face with mechanical calm.
They didn't belong here. Not among farmers and bakers and wandering merchants.
They were trained. Soldiers. Not knights—worse.
Trackers.
And he recognized the emblem stitched into their collars.
The coiled black serpent—his stepbrother's crest.
His heart plummeted to his stomach.
"No. No, no... how did they find me?"
He ducked low, heart racing.
It wasn't just random knights.
It was them.
Two of the men near the well—one silver-haired, one with a jagged red scar across his brow.
Kael and Reilan.
His brother's left and right hands.
They had once served beside him. Protected him. Trained with him.
They would recognize him—even in disguise.
If they caught sight of him now, this entire town would turn into a trap. They'd alert Rowan. They'd drag him back in chains if they had to.
⸻
He backed away quickly, slipping through the narrow alley behind the shop.
His chest was tight. His breath shallow.
"I can't go back home—they're probably watching it already. And the main roads? Blocked. Patrolled."
Even the forest, his haven for so long, was no longer safe.
He was trapped.
Like a deer in a burning forest.
And then—an awful, impossible thought struck him.
There was only one place left.
One place none of Rowan's men would dare enter uninvited.
The dukedom.
The land of the devil twins.
⸻
Cael leaned against the stone wall, running a hand through his hair.
"If I stay here, they'll find me. If I try to run, I'll be caught. But if I go to the twins..."
His hands clenched.
It was madness.
But...
This is the safest place to hide.
⸻
His throat tightened.
"I really am trapped, aren't I?"
There was no freedom. No seaside cottage. No quiet life. Not anymore.
He would have to return to them.
To the children with red eyes and silver hair.
To the only place left where no one else could touch him—Cael stood at the edge of the clearing, his gaze sweeping over the little cottage—the home he built with his own hands, stone by stone, memory by memory.
The shutters creaked gently in the wind. The garden swayed softly. The river nearby murmured like it always had.
It was quiet here. Peaceful.
And it had been his world.
His sanctuary.
His healing.
But now...
Now he had to leave.
He let out a breath that trembled at the edges.
"I really don't want to go," he whispered, almost laughing. "I was happy here."
He touched the doorway one last time, his fingers brushing the wood like it could remember him.
⸻
He walked around the house slowly, committing every little corner to memory—the uneven step he always forgot to fix, the window that never quite closed right, the tree where he once hung herbs to dry.
He remembered mornings filled with birdsong and bread.
Afternoons spent teaching strange little boys how to hold flowers without crushing them.
Evenings by the fire, soft hands wrapped around his arms, warm breath pressed into his side.
He shook the thoughts away.
It was better this way.
Once he offered his kindness to those children, his life had already begun to unravel.
"I just wanted to help."
"Now everything's changed."
⸻
He sighed, rubbing his face. "Should I go to the seaside this time?"
A little smile curved his lips. It didn't quite reach his eyes.
"I could eat fresh seafood every day... Watch the waves... Maybe even have a dog."
His voice cracked softly. "That doesn't sound so bad, does it?"
He turned back toward the house.
"I'll leave tomorrow. One last night."
⸻
Later, he walked down to the village—his basket slung over his shoulder, empty at first, then slowly filled with travel supplies: dried food, fresh bread, healing herbs, salves, flint, cloth.
He moved slowly, savoring each moment.
He spoke to the old baker who always gave him the best slices, even when he didn't ask.
To the woman who once gave him spare seeds for his garden.
To the carpenter who helped fix his roof after the storm.
They didn't ask why he was leaving.
But they saw it in his eyes.
And they wished him well with quiet smiles and soft words.
⸻
As the sun dipped behind the trees, Cael stood at the edge of the market and looked back toward the hills.
Toward his little house.
Toward the forest.
Toward the place where everything had started.
"I hope the kids will be okay," he murmured. "They just wanted warmth. That's all. Someone to care. That's why they became attached."
He closed his eyes.
"They'll forget me. Eventually."
But a part of him knew—
Monsters don't forget what makes them feel human.
And he had made them feel more than that.
He had made them feel loved.
The village air had never felt so suffocating.
Cael stood frozen behind the herb stall, his basket clutched in trembling hands. A group of unfamiliar men stood across the square, dressed too clean, too sharp, their eyes scanning every face with mechanical calm.
They didn't belong here. Not among farmers and bakers and wandering merchants.
They were trained. Soldiers. Not knights—worse.
Trackers.
And he recognized the emblem stitched into their collars.
The coiled black serpent—his stepbrother's crest.
His heart plummeted to his stomach.
"No. No, no... how did they find me?"
He ducked low, heart racing.
It wasn't just random knights.
It was them.
Two of the men near the well—one silver-haired, one with a jagged red scar across his brow.
Kael and Reilan.
His brother's left and right hands.
They had once served beside him. Protected him. Trained with him.
They would recognize him—even in disguise.
If they caught sight of him now, this entire town would turn into a trap. They'd alert Rowan. They'd drag him back in chains if they had to.
⸻
He backed away quickly, slipping through the narrow alley behind the shop.
His chest was tight. His breath shallow.
"I can't go back home—they're probably watching it already. And the main roads? Blocked. Patrolled."
Even the forest, his haven for so long, was no longer safe.
He was trapped.
Like a deer in a burning forest.
And then—an awful, impossible thought struck him.
There was only one place left.
One place none of Rowan's men would dare enter uninvited.
The dukedom.
The land of the devil twins.
⸻
Cael leaned against the stone wall, running a hand through his hair.
"If I stay here, they'll find me. If I try to run, I'll be caught. But if I go to the twins..."
His hands clenched.
It was madness.
But...
This is the safest place to hide.
⸻
His throat tightened.
"I really am trapped, aren't I?"
There was no freedom. No seaside cottage. No quiet life. Not anymore.
He would have to return to them.
To the children with red eyes and silver hair.
To the only place left where no one else could touch him—