Chapter 5: A Boy With Burning Eyes

The whispers had teeth now.

Kaelen heard them as he crossed the village square, words hissed between cupped hands and knowing looks. The washing lines snapped in the wind like battle flags, and beneath their flutter, voices carried farther than they should have.

"—birds vanish the day he walks near the fields—"

"—Edira's womb burned after he was born. Stillbirths, since then—"

He kept walking, shoulders hunched against more than just the cold. The words didn't cut like blades—they rotted like cold in bone, quiet and slow, working their way deep.

Behind him, someone spat. Not for luck this time.

A mother pulled her child closer as he passed, the boy's wide eyes tracking Kaelen's movement like he was something that might pounce. The woman's grip left white marks on the child's shoulder.

*They're not even trying to hide it anymore.*

Kaelen ducked his head and walked faster, but the whispers followed. They always followed.

---

The abandoned threshing yard sat at the village's edge, where broken stone circles marked the boundary between tilled earth and wild grass. Children had claimed it years ago—a place where adults didn't venture, where games could turn rough without consequence.

Kaelen found himself there without remembering the walk. His feet had carried him while his mind churned over whispers and stolen glances, over the growing certainty that Veldermere was becoming too small to hold him.

"Look what wandered in."

Tolen stepped out from behind the largest stone circle, flanked by two other boys. Marec's eldest son had his grandfather's cruel mouth and his father's narrow eyes. At fourteen, he was built like a young bull—broad through the shoulders, confident in his strength.

"Heard you talk to bones, witch-boy." Tolen's voice carried the lazy authority of pack leaders everywhere. "Whisper back to the well?"

Kaelen's hand found the charred medallion at his throat—the crude dragon Gerun had carved for him. The wood felt warm against his fingers.

"I don't want trouble."

"You are trouble." Tolen stepped closer, and the other boys spread out, forming a loose circle. "My grandfather says cursed blood draws cursed things. Says the sky-beast came for you."

Jori, the blacksmith's youngest, snickered. "Maybe it did. Maybe it's still looking."

The stones were already in their hands—nothing large enough to kill, but big enough to hurt. They threw them lazy-like, testing his reactions. The first few fell short, kicking up snow and dirt.

Then one caught him above the left eye.

Kaelen staggered, warm blood trickling down his cheek. The metallic taste filled his mouth, and something deep in his chest began to burn.

"Oops." Tolen grinned, already reaching for another stone. "Clumsy."

"Stop." Kaelen wiped blood from his eye, the red stark against his pale skin.

"Or what?" Jori darted forward and grabbed the medallion's cord. "You'll curse us?"

The leather snapped. The wooden dragon hit the snow with a soft thump.

"Don't."

The word came out quieter than a whisper, but it carried weight. Heat flared behind Kaelen's ribs, spreading outward like spilled oil catching flame.

Tolen laughed. "Why not? You scared of your own magic?"

He reached for the fallen medallion. Kaelen moved without thinking—not a punch, barely a shove. His palm connected with Jori's chest, pushing him backward.

Jori screamed.

The sound cut through the afternoon like breaking glass. He stared at his hand—the one that had grabbed the medallion—and screamed again. Blisters crawled across his palm like living things, angry red welts that steamed in the cold air.

No fire had touched him. No flame had passed between them.

"He burned me!" Jori's voice cracked with terror. "He burned me without fire!"

The youngest boy—Henwick's son—turned and ran, his boots kicking up snow as he fled toward the village. Tolen backed away, his face pale as birch bark.

"You are cursed," he whispered. "Devil's blood. You burn."

Kaelen dropped to his knees in the churned snow, staring at his hands. They looked normal—pale, cold, human. But Jori's screams still echoed in his ears, and the heat in his chest pulsed like a second heartbeat.

*I didn't light a spark. But something inside me did.*

---

His mother was humming when he pushed through the door.

Edira stood at the kitchen table, kneading bread dough with mechanical precision. The same lullaby she'd sung when he was small, when nightmares chased him from sleep. Her fingers worked the dough while her voice rose and fell in wordless melody.

She looked up when he entered, and her hands stilled. Blood had dried on his cheek, dark against pale skin.

"Kaelen." She crossed to him, cupping his face in floury hands. "What happened?"

"Boys. Stones." The words came out thick, like his tongue had forgotten how to shape them properly.

Her thumb traced the cut above his eye, checking for depth. No fever burned his skin, but her touch lingered anyway, searching for something she hoped not to find.

"Did you do it?" The question slipped out soft as silk, dangerous as steel.

Kaelen met her eyes. In them, he saw love and fear warring for dominance. Fear was winning.

"No."

She nodded, but her humming started again—quieter now, more urgent. Like a prayer set to music.

"Good. Because it didn't happen." Her voice stayed level, but her hands trembled. "You fell. He tripped on the stones. You didn't burn him."

"But Ma—"

"Say it didn't happen."

The words hit like a physical blow. In her eyes, he saw the future she feared—torches in the night, rope twisted from hemp, the smell of burning wood and worse things.

"It didn't happen," he whispered.

She pulled him close then, flour dusting his hair, her humming vibrating against his ear. But he could feel her heart hammering beneath her ribs, could taste the lie hanging between them like smoke.

*She knows. She knows, and she's choosing to pretend. Because pretending is safer than burning.*

---

Alone in his room, Kaelen knelt beside the water bucket and lit a candle stub.

The flame cast dancing shadows on the walls, turning his charcoal drawings into living things that writhed and twisted in the flickering light. Wings stretched and folded. Eyes opened and closed. The creature from the sky watched him from a dozen angles.

He leaned over the bucket, studying his reflection in the dark water. The cut above his eye had stopped bleeding, leaving only a thin line that would fade by morning. Normal. Human.

But as he watched, the water began to ripple. No wind stirred it. No touch disturbed the surface. It moved on its own, circles spreading outward like something had dropped into the depths.

His reflection flickered.

For just a moment—less than a heartbeat—his eyes burned golden in the candlelight. Not the warm amber of autumn leaves, but something fiercer. Hungrier. The color of flame at its heart.

Then the water stilled, and only his familiar face stared back.

*If I didn't burn him, why can I still hear him screaming?*

The candle guttered in a draft that came from nowhere. Shadows leaped across the walls like living things, and in their dance, Kaelen saw wings spread wide against the darkness.

Outside, something howled in the Blighted Woods—not wolf or dog, but something that had learned to imitate their voices. The sound echoed across the village, bouncing off stone walls and thatched roofs until it seemed to come from everywhere at once.

Kaelen pressed his face to the window. The village square lay empty, but the well's mouth gaped like a wound in the earth. Above it, stars wheeled in patterns that hurt to follow, and between them, darker shapes moved with purpose.

*They're coming. Whatever I am, whatever I'm becoming—they know. They're coming for me.*

He touched the window glass, and it fogged instantly beneath his palm. When he pulled his hand away, the outline of his fingers glowed faintly on the surface—not with light, but with heat that should have dissipated in seconds.

The mark lingered, burning bright as a brand, until the cold finally claimed it.