It doesn't take her long to find the hole in my shoulder, her hands trembling as she checks my wound.
"You're hurt..." She says weakly. My chest tightens with a feeling I cannot describe, a grimace finding its way onto my face.
I Always thought I was strong, mentally, and always considered myself logical and smart.
Maybe I had built that persona as a way to make up for my other weaknesses, but in that moment, I failed to hold back the tears that had been welling up in my eyes.
"Y-your… heart…" I whisper, my chest tightening painfully.
The tears fall freely as I pull Kaitlin into my arms. Wrapping both hands around her small frame in the hope that maybe that would ease her pain.
"Young Master… you're hurt," she whispers.
"So are you," I answer hoarsely.
Her crimson blood stains my skin as I hold her tighter, tighter — like I'll never let go.
"I-it's nothing… my lord… nothing an elixir can't fix…" Her voice was weak.
Each word costs her effort. But she's wrong. No elixir can mend a missing heart.
"Shhh… don't talk." My voice breaks.
Her breathing slows. Growing shallower. Weaker every second.
"Kaitlin…"
"Yes… Young Master…"
"Thank you," I whisper. "For everything."
Her breath ceases.
The castle burns. The screams fade into the distance. And in the heart of the inferno, I hold onto the last person who ever believed in me.
And now.
She was gone.
...
"Ahhhhhh!!!"
Oliver cried. He wailed until he ran out of breath.
He screamed until his voice broke — a raw, wordless cry that tore through the smoke-filled space.
Then silence.
He forced himself to move. He could not stay here.
Gently, he lifted Kaitlin's body, her head lolling against his arm, and carried her into a nearby chamber. He laid her down upon the cold stone floor, folding her hands across her chest.
He caressed her flowing white hair with a gentle stroke, "Rest now," he whispered, though his throat burned and his voice shook.
From the window curtains, he tore a long strip of fabric. Biting one end, he wrapped the cloth around his mangled shoulder, pulling it tight until his vision blurred with pain.
"Argh!" The bandage darkened quickly, soaking through with blood.
Looking around the room, he found a plain brown tunic and put it on over his lean, bare upper body.
"Too big." It was quite baggy, for his small frame, flapping in the gentle breeze flowing into room. There was nothing gentle about the atmosphere around him though.
The walls shook constantly from the shockwaves of attacks bombarding the castle. If he stayed here any longer, another mana wreathed spear might find its way toward him at any moment.
He stepped out into the stables.
The stables were not what one might imagine — they were vast, tall enough to house wyverns and other great beasts.
The air smelled of flesh, ash, and blood.
Normally, hundreds of wyverns would rest here, but tonight only three remained. The others had clearly been taken to battle.
With great difficulty, he grabbed a saddle from the wall using his good arm, dragging it toward a black-scaled wyvern.
The creature exhaled steam from its nostrils, its eyes gleaming faintly in the dim red glow of the fires outside.
It was enormous — easily twenty times his size — while Oliver was small, he was barely fourteen this year.
Yet the wyvern lowered itself, allowing him to climb onto its back. Gritting his teeth, he fastened the straps one-handed and gave the reins a firm tug.
"Go," he whispered hoarsely.
The beast began to move, its claws scraping the stone floor as it crawled out of the keep and into the open.
Beyond lay the cliffs, the sea stretching endlessly beneath the burning sky.
For a moment, he looked out over the uncharted waters. He had always wondered what lay beyond that horizon — but he was not foolish enough to find out.
Everyone who sailed west was said to vanish without a trace. Even then, he felt tempted, if only a little bit.
He pulled the reins. The wyvern roared, its massive wings flapping once, twice — stirring the air into violent gusts that scattered ash and dust. Then, with a final thrust, it leapt into the night sky.
The world fell away beneath him. The wind caught his white-silver hair as he looked back.
Below, the once-mighty castle burned like a beacon. Flames consumed its towers and halls. Behind it, the great city — his home — was nothing but an inferno clinging to the edge of the coast.
A massive army still advanced from the plains, banners waving crimson and gold beneath the bluish moonlight.
His father's forces fought valiantly around the city, but they were hopelessly outnumbered — ten to one. The King's army was at least a hundred thousand strong.
He watched, unmoving, burning the sight into his memory even as the wyvern carried him farther away.
He didn't care if someone spotted him — if a mage's spell found him and burned him from the sky — he didn't care anymore.
Maybe he also deserved to die, like her.
But she didn't deserve to die.
Maybe he would find peace in the afterlife.
Maybe he didn't deserve to live.
Maybe not!
His eyes were bloodshot, full of rage. Rage not only at the King and his army, but at himself — for his weakness, for his uselessness. For being a burden. For surviving when others died protecting him.
He watched it all. He wanted to remember.
Even as the wyvern's wings flapped and the world dropped away beneath him, he did not look away.
He would remember the screams, the fire, the blood — every moment of this night.
Because this was the moment he swore an oath.
He clenched his fist.
No more.
In that moment — in silent agony, in helplessness — he made a vow.
He would find a way.
To hell with the gods and their fate.
To hell with this broken body that cannot wield mana.
He would make himself strong enough to break the heavens if he had to.
He would rewrite his destiny.
And when he did…
And when that day came, they would pay.
Every. Single. One of them.
The wyvern's roar split the night as it vanished into the dark horizon, leaving only the sound of wings and the promise of vengeance.