Beginning of a War.

Echoes Of Ossian

War had erupted at the borders. Every family was compelled to send soldiers, a silent decree woven into the fabric of the kingdom—if you wished to remain in the king's favor, you had to send one of your own to lead the troops. To refuse was not an option. To obey was to bring honor to your name, even if it meant sending a loved one to die.

Our father was too old. My brother, too fragile. That left only me.

The idea of Ainar being taken from me, thrown into a battlefield that would swallow him whole, was unthinkable. I knew what awaited him—death, inevitable and cruel. The kingdom had no use for a weak heir, only a victorious one, and Ainar… he had been born with too kind a heart to survive a war.

And so, in a rare twist of fate, my name was called instead. For the briefest moment, I felt something close to relief. He was safe. That was all that mattered. But then, reality sank in—I was not chosen out of merit. I was not chosen because I finally mattered. I was chosen because I was disposable.

I had always known that if the family head had the chance to rid himself of me, he would. This was that chance.

Stories of soldiers who never returned reached my ears long before my name had been sealed to the war decree. Bastards like me, men without power or lineage, were sent to the front lines with little chance of survival. I understood what my fate would be. Perhaps, long ago, I would have embraced it. But now…

Now, there was someone waiting for me.

For a week, I carried the weight of this truth alone. I should have told Ainar—I owed him that much. But every time I looked at him, I lost my resolve. How could I tell him, knowing I would see the stars he loved so much reflected in his tears?

Instead, I memorized him. I watched him laugh, observed the way his hair caught the afternoon light, the way his small hands gripped mine whenever he spoke. I held onto every detail—the warmth of his touch, the softness of his voice. And at night, when he was asleep, I stood outside his window, whispering silent goodbyes.

But Ainar was always listening.

He heard it from the maids—just as he always did, just as I always had. And when he found me, his eyes were already glistening with unshed tears.

"How many times have I told you to stop eavesdropping on the maids?" I muttered, but there was no true scolding in my tone. I wasn't angry—only exhausted, only heartbroken. But in that moment, despite his trembling frame, I felt a small, selfish relief. He cared. He cared enough for his world to break at the thought of losing me.

Had I been wrong to get close to him? Had I been selfish to let him love me?

He clung to me then, his small hands gripping my clothes as if he could keep me here, as if by holding on tight enough, he could stop the inevitable. I ran my fingers through his hair, whispering soft reassurances I did not believe myself.

And then, his quiet, broken voice:

"Take me with you… please."

I froze.

"But… do you understand the situation?" My voice was barely above a whisper. "I'm going to war, Ainar. I can't take you with me. I won't be able to protect you. I can't even protect myself." The last words were spoken so softly, I wasn't even sure he heard them.

"I don't care," he said, and when I looked down at him, I saw something fierce in his gaze. A knowing. An acceptance. He understood. He knew I might not return. And yet, he still wanted to be by my side.

I had to stop him.

Even if it meant lying.

Even if it meant breaking him.

I pushed him away—not hard, but enough. Enough to make him stumble. Enough to put distance between us. And then, for the first time, I raised my voice.

"You have to understand," I said, my own heart hammering against my ribs, "you're weak, and I can't protect you forever! You're not a child anymore, Ainar. You need to grow up! I won't take you with me! Instead, prepare yourself for my return—because when I come back, I will take my rightful place as heir."

The words struck him harder than any physical blow.

The light in his eyes flickered, then faded. And as the silence stretched between us, I realized what I had done.

I had used the same words our father had thrown at him time and time again. I had become the very thing I despised.

I sucked in a sharp breath, my chest tight, my hands curling into fists at my sides. Blood seeped from where my nails dug into my palm, but I did not move. I did not dare to.

Ainar's lips trembled, his body shaking with the force of his silent grief. His expression—the betrayal, the disbelief—was something I would never be able to erase from my mind.

Then, before I could even take a step toward him—before I could even whisper his name—he turned and ran.

And I let him go.