Into the Wild

The doors shut behind me with a heavy thud.

I stood in the hallway, numb. The stone floor felt colder now. Colder than I remembered. Shadows from the wall sconces flickered as if unsure whether to stay or vanish.

Servants passed by quietly. Some paused when they saw me. One stopped mid-step, eyes darting to the floor. Another turned away before I could meet her gaze. I saw pity in some of them. Fear in others. And in a few, relief, like the burden of my failure had been lifted from the house itself.

I walked in silence.

Every hallway I passed through was familiar. I knew each painting, each crack in the stone, every torch and rune-lamp by heart. I had grown up here. I had trained here. I had memorized the layout blindfolded.

Now it all felt foreign.

When I reached my room, the door was already open.

Inside, two servants were packing away the last of my belongings. One carried out a folded robe—my formal robes, black with the red trim of House Ardyn. Another was pulling down the wall scroll I'd earned for top mark in my strategy course. The nameplate outside my door was gone.

One of the servants glanced at me, startled. He froze halfway through folding my bedroll. His eyes widened, and then he quickly looked down and continued, as if nothing had happened.

The room was half-empty. My books were stacked in crates. My practice wand was missing from the wall. Even my boots were gone.

A quiet scraping sound came from the corner, where another servant was sorting through my scrolls, sorting them into piles: ones to keep, ones to discard, and ones to be reassigned.

I stared.

It was happening already.

I wasn't even gone yet, and they were erasing me.

"There's nothing left that's mine," I murmured.

The servant by the scrolls froze. He didn't answer. He just picked up another roll of parchment and tucked it into the crate.

I didn't know what to feel anymore. Anger? Shame? Emptiness?

But before any of it could settle, there was a soft sound at the door. A tiny knock. Then silence.

I looked up as the door creaked open.

Eian stood there in his nightclothes, barefoot and wrapped in his blanket like a cloak. His hair was a mess. In his hands, gripped tightly, was the same crooked stick he'd waved around that morning.

"Kael?"

My throat tightened. "Hey. What are you doing up?"

He stepped inside slowly. "I heard the maids talking. They said you're leaving."

I nodded.

His voice got smaller. "Why?"

I tried to answer. "Because… the ritual didn't work."

He looked confused. "But that's not your fault."

"No," I said. "But it doesn't matter."

He frowned and walked closer, dragging the blanket behind him like a cape. "Did you make someone mad?"

"No. I just… didn't become what they wanted."

Eian was quiet. His small brows scrunched together like he was trying to make sense of something too big. "So now they don't want you anymore?"

I looked away. "That's right."

"But I do," he said quickly. "I still do."

I swallowed hard.

He stepped forward and held out the stick. "You should take this. It's my wand. For protection."

I smiled a little. "Thank you, Eian."

"You're still my brother, right?"

I met his eyes. "Always."

"Even if everyone else says you're not?"

"Especially then."

His face crumpled, and he lunged forward, wrapping his arms around my neck with all the strength his little body could muster.

I held him tight.

"I don't care if you don't have magic," he whispered. "You're still the best."

"I know," I said, my voice rough. "That's why it's hard to leave."

We stayed like that for a moment, still and quiet. Just two brothers in a room no one else wanted to remember.

The servant shifted at the doorway, hesitant. "Young master… it's time."

I nodded once. My throat was tight. I rose slowly from where I knelt, brushing my robe with trembling fingers, and turned to leave.

But Eian suddenly grabbed my hand, his small fingers clutching mine with desperate strength.

"No," he said. "Not yet."

I stopped.

"Please," he begged, his voice cracking. "Don't go."

My chest clenched. I couldn't look at him. If I did, I knew I'd fall apart.

"Eian…"

"You don't have to go," he cried. "Just stay here. Hide! I'll bring you food, I'll—I'll fix it! I'll make them like you again!"

Each word tore at me.

"You can't fix this," I said softly. "No one can."

He pushed against me, as if he could hold me in place by sheer will. "They don't get to say you're not my brother. I don't care if they're mages. They're wrong. They're wrong!"

I wrapped both arms around him, holding him as tightly as I could.

He was shaking.

And I was shaking, too.

He sobbed against my shoulder, gripping the back of my robe in fists so small it broke my heart. "Don't let them take you. Please. Please."

I kissed the top of his head and pulled away just enough to look at him. "You're the best part of this house, Eian. Never forget that." Then, I turned to the servant. "Take him."

"No!" Eian screamed.

He fought when the servant tried to take his arm, kicking, twisting, crying. "Kael! Kael, please! Don't make me—don't—don't let go!"

The sound of his voice shattered something in me.

I turned away.

Because if I saw his face again, I would break.

"Kael!"

I walked away even as his cries followed me down the hall.

"Don't leave me!"

The footsteps behind me stopped. The door closed.

And the silence that followed was worse than the screaming.

---

The stable was quiet when I arrived.

The torches flickered low in their sconces, casting long shadows against the stone walls. The smell of hay and damp leather clung to the air, mixed faintly with the scent of horses. A stablehand stood waiting beside a gray mare already saddled and loaded.

He handed me the reins and a small satchel of supplies: a loaf of bread wrapped in cloth, dried meat sealed in waxed paper, a skin of water, and a tightly rolled bedcloth tied with string. A worn hunting knife was sheathed at the side of the pack, its leather grip faded from age.

That was all they gave me.

That was all I was worth now.

I slung the satchel over my shoulder and tightened the strap. The mare pawed the ground softly and exhaled, her breath steaming in the cool air.

Behind me, the spires of the Ardyn estate loomed over the hillside. I stood still for a moment, staring up at it.

No one came, not even mother.

The stablehand cleared his throat quietly and stepped back. I gave him a short nod, then mounted the horse.

I gave the reins a light tug, and the mare stepped forward. Her hooves struck the dirt softly at first, then more firmly as we passed the last arch of the estate wall. There were no guards. No escort. Just the sound of hoofbeats and the rustling of wind through empty trees.

The road curved down the hill and vanished into the darkness beyond.

I didn't look back again.

Let them pretend I never existed.

The forest ahead was quiet. The path was cracked in places, overtaken by weeds. As the estate faded behind me, so did the firelight. What remained was moonless dark and the distant cry of nightbirds.

With each step forward, the silence deepened. Not peaceful—just hollow.

I pulled my cloak tighter and pressed on.

Toward the Outlands.

Away from everything I knew.