No Path Chosen

The library was quiet, but the mood wasn't.

Leon sat with his feet propped up on a nearby stool, flipping through a thick book titled Fireborn: Tales of the Emberline. "See this?" he said, pointing at a flame-wreathed warrior mid-charge. "I could totally pull this off. Just give me a proper gauntlet and some flair."

Harry sat beside him, shoulders slouched, eyes drifting. "Yeah… cool." His voice lacked its usual spark.

Across the table, Lucian was quiet, face slightly scrunched as he slowly flipped through a magazine of sword types. A larger, older book on swordsmanship lay open beside it, annotated with sketches of footwork and stances. He didn't say anything, but the crease in his brow said enough.

Eva sat nearby with a half-empty bottle of chilled Renby juice, her eyes flicking between the three of them. "He said he'll come back, remember?" she offered gently. "Don't act like it's goodbye forever."

Lucian nodded without looking up. "He will. Just… not soon."

Leon leaned back, clearly trying to mask his own disappointment. "Well, when he does come back, I'll be stronger. Strong enough to give him a real match."

Harry just sighed and let his head rest against the edge of the table. "I miss him already."

Eva smiled faintly, then took another sip. "You all are hopeless."

Outside, the road stretched quiet and sunlit as Silas and Servin walked side by side. The air was warm, the kind that made you squint even with your eyes open. Their boots kicked up bits of dust, but neither of them spoke for a while.

Eventually, Silas broke the silence. "So. How do you feel?"

Servin kept his eyes forward. "It was good. The orphanage, I mean. Being there." He paused. "I didn't expect it, but… it filled something. I didn't know I was missing anything until I had it."

Silas glanced sideways but didn't interrupt.

Servin added quietly, "Now I have to go back. And pretend like it never happened."

Silas didn't answer right away. He didn't need to. He could read it in Servin's voice—the weight behind the words, the calm cover hiding everything underneath. Expectations. Pressure. Silence that was never really quiet.

"I'm sorry," Silas said finally. "It's not fair. You're just a kid."

Servin smiled faintly, but there was no humor in it. "Yeah. I forget that sometimes."

By the time Brightmoor came into view, the sun was dipping behind wisps of cloud. The streets widened. The air felt cleaner, like it had passed through a dozen filters before reaching them.

Silas didn't react much—his eyes didn't widen, his steps didn't slow. Just a tired, familiar look as the grand neighborhood unfolded before them.

Servin noticed. "This isn't your first time here, is it?"

Silas gave a small smile. "You could say that."

Brightmoor was every bit as lively as it was polished. Two-story homes lined the brick-patterned roads, each with its own distinct design, yet all sharing that elegant, old-world charm. Walls were adorned with vine-wrapped railings and tall arched windows. Sloped roofs with intricate trimming, soft pastel walls, and wrought-iron balconies gave the place a storybook feel—only richer.

Kids raced along the sidewalks with wooden gliders in hand, dogs tugged on polished leashes, and neighbors both gossiped and argued over fences without shame. One man cursed at his car as steam hissed from under the hood, tools clattering as he worked on the curved, brass-trimmed engine.

Despite all the motion, the place didn't feel crowded. Trimmed trees lined the roads, their canopies swaying gently above fancy glass-lantern streetlamps. The homes came in different shapes—some with circular towers, others with sprawling porches or fountains in front—but each was spaced just enough for comfort, for quiet.

It was beauty wrapped in money. Nature and wealth in balance.

And for Silas, it meant nothing.

They finally reached the front gate of the Morvain estate—a towering ironwork structure wrapped in ivy and polished to a mirror shine. The moment Servin stepped into view, the gate creaked open and a wave of activity surged out.

Maids, groundskeepers, and house staff hurried toward them, faces tight with worry.

"There you are!" one of them gasped. "We thought—if something had happened…"

"You weren't in your room. We knew you might sneak out again, but—this far?"

Another maid grabbed his arm gently but firmly. "Inside. Now. Your parents will be home in minutes."

They didn't wait for Servin to argue. Within seconds, they were guiding him through the open gate, their hands careful but insistent.

Silas followed, curious, steps slow as they passed manicured hedges and a pristine cobbled path that led toward the mansion. He expected someone to stop him—but no one did. Dressed well enough to blend in, the staff must have assumed he was another teenager from the neighborhood.

"Thank you for bringing him back," a butler said with a relieved nod as they reached the front steps.

Silas nodded once but didn't speak.

Servin turned, already halfway through the grand doorway. He gave Silas a small wave—one that said both thank you and sorry—before disappearing inside.

Silas turned to leave.

That's when he heard it.

The low, smooth hum of a luxury engine. A sleek black car rolled to a stop just outside the gate—its surface polished like glass, golden rims catching the last bit of sunlight. Even the tires gleamed. It was the latest model from Mirage City—no doubt.

The driver's door opened.

Jerad stepped out.

His eyes locked onto Silas.

And Silas froze.

His body stiffened. He couldn't move. His gaze dropped before he even realized.

He knew exactly why.

And still—he couldn't help it.

Jerad's steps were calm as he approached the gate.

"…Who are you?" he asked—tone even, almost polite.

Silas trembled.

His body wouldn't respond. His mouth refused to open. He stood frozen, head down, heart thudding like it wanted to escape his ribs.

"I see," Jerad said softly. "My apologies."

The moment the words left him, the pressure vanished.

Silas exhaled. His hands unclenched. The air felt breathable again.

"That's… a really strong King-presence," he muttered.

Jerad raised an eyebrow. "You know about it?"

Silas nodded, finding his voice. "Yeah. I'm Silas. I'm also an Ascender."

Jerad's eyes narrowed slightly. "You? What path?"

In answer, Silas turned his left hand—and feathers shimmered into existence, forming a sleek raven's wing from wrist to elbow.

Jerad's surprise was visible, but brief. "Greenwarden… I see."

He studied Silas a moment longer. "You look young to be an Ascender."

"I'm nineteen. Griven Academy."

"Impressive," Jerad said, almost to himself. "So what brings you here?"

"Servin's a friend of my brother," Silas replied. "I was asked to give him some lessons."

Jerad lifted one brow, just slightly. "Didn't expect that. Good. He has a long way to go. Would be helpful for him to have someone around—especially now. I've been busy lately."

Silas gave a short nod. "I should go. It's almost dinner."

Jerad stepped aside. "Then go."

Without another word, Silas stepped back, his body already shifting. In a blink, feathers overtook him—wings stretched wide—and the boy became a raven, lifting effortlessly into the air.

Jerad watched him disappear into the sky, his expression unreadable.

In raven form, the wind carried him effortlessly above the rooftops. The tension in his chest eased with every flap of his wings.

Jerad didn't suspect anything. That was a relief.

It meant he had a green light to return. To check in on Servin. To help—quietly.

Brightmoor faded beneath him, its brick roads and polished lanterns growing smaller with distance. From here, the orphanage was only minutes away.

But as he swept over the treetops, something below caught his eye.

Figures. Unmoving.

Tucked between shadows where the alley met the back wall—half-hidden, half-watching. They wore dark coats, and their faces were covered.

Owl masks.

They found us already, Silas thought, a sharp chill passing through his feathers.

He dove lower and shifted mid-air, landing behind the orphanage with a roll. His boots hit the dirt, and he was already moving.

No time to waste.

He rushed inside.

"Where are they?" he muttered under his breath, eyes scanning the halls. "Boys—where are you?"

He darted through the back door, footsteps loud against the floorboards.

Eva nearly stumbled into him at the hall.

"Silas? What—what's with you? You look like you saw a ghost."

"Where are the boys?" he asked, voice sharp.

She blinked, caught off guard. "They fell asleep. Library. Upstairs."

Silas didn't wait for another word. He was already bounding up the steps two at a time.

The door creaked open.

There they were—Leon sprawled in a chair, arms crossed over his chest; Harry curled up on the floor with a blanket; Lucian hunched at the table, chin resting on a book, steady breath rising and falling.

Safe.

Silas exhaled.

His back hit the doorway as the tension finally drained from his spine.

"Alright," he muttered, stepping inside.

He knelt and nudged Leon first, then Harry. "Wake up. Come on. Dinner first."

Lucian stirred on his own, rubbing his eyes.

Silas gave a tired smile. "You can pass out after you eat."

The next day, the boys wanted to go out.

Silas didn't answer right away. "I saw someone last night. Owl mask. They know where we are."

Leon folded his arms. "We just want ice cream."

Lucian added, "We'll be back before you even miss us."

Harry grinned. "Please?"

Silas gave in. "Fine. But I'm coming with you."

They walked together through the streets, the sun high, the city lively. But as they neared the usual ice cream stall, the familiar rhythm shifted. The streets got narrower. The buildings here were older, pressed tight together. Cracks in the stone. Shadows that lingered a little too long.

The stall was still there—but the man behind the counter wasn't.

Leon stopped cold. "That's not him."

Silas raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

Leon stepped up. "Where's the old guy?"

The new staff answered with a flat smile. "He resigned. Said it was personal."

The boys deflated.

Silas, sensing the mood drop, waved them forward. "Pick whatever you want. Top shelf. All of it's on me."

Lucian blinked. "Seriously?"

"I'm an elite student," Silas said. "I'm allowed to spoil you."

It worked. Spirits lifted. Minutes later, they were seated on a nearby bench, ice cream in hand. Laughter returned—briefly.

Lucian looked over. "Why do you even stay at the orphanage when you've got the dorm?"

Silas licked his spoon, eyes distant. "Griven's heavy. I go back there, it's pressure and eyes everywhere. Here, it's quiet. People I like."

Harry blushed. "You like me? I knew it. Everyone likes me."

Silas laughed. Lucian just shook his head with a smile.

A breeze rolled through the street—cooler than before. It carried a different kind of silence, like the moment before a question is asked.

The sun dipped behind a passing cloud, casting part of the street in shadow.

Leon didn't speak.

His gaze had drifted—locked on a cloaked figure slipping between the buildings across the street. His expression hardened.

He stood without a word.

Lucian looked up. "Leon?!"

"I'll be right back," he muttered.

Lucian hesitated—then ran after him. "Leon, wait—don't go alone!"

Silas had already stood, heading the other way. "I'm going to grab more for the kids. Stay here."

Harry watched as Leon walked away. He froze.

The alley.

That corner.

That kind of cloak.

He remembered last time.

He didn't follow.

Instead, he turned and ran toward Silas.

"Silas! Leon's following someone. Cloaked. Hat low. He went into the alley."

Silas spun around, already alert.

Meanwhile, Lucian had caught up with Leon, steps quick and voice sharp. "Leon, stop! What are you doing?!"

Leon didn't stop. He raised a hand, signaling him to stay low.

Lucian followed him anyway.

They slipped into the alley.

Tight walls. Broken glass underfoot. The smell of old rain and something faintly metallic.

Leon crouched at the corner and pointed.

Two figures stood at the far end of the block, just past the bend.

One wore an owl mask.

The other…

Leon's voice dropped to a whisper.

"That's the old ice cream vendor."

Lucian's eyes widened.

And then everything around them felt very wrong.