Chapter Forty-Nine
How cruel this world is, that it sings the praises of uniqueness, yet makes no space for those who dare to be truly different. We are told that our differences make us special but the moment we stray too far from the mold, we are cast out, labelled other. Unwelcome.
Be different, they say, but not too different.
Be unique, but not so much that your existence unsettles theirs.
Ask for help, but never ask too often.
Embrace what sets you apart, but do not let it shine too brightly.
Do not be like everyone else, but heavens forbid you stand out so much that you become a threat.
Tabitha Wysteria
Ash sat beside Adriana and Keir, shoulders heavy with fatigue after a morning spent labouring in the fields, coaxing life from the wounded earth. The warmth of the fire lulled him into a rare moment of stillness, until movement on the horizon drew his attention.
Bryn Wynter emerged from the distance, his silhouette sharp against the pale sky, a small band of wolverians trailing in his wake.
‘Back so soon?’ Adriana called, her voice laced with faint surprise as Bryn motioned for his men to disperse before striding towards them. He accepted the drink she offered, crouching in that fluid hunter’s stance unique to his kind, so poised and ready to spring.
‘Most of da land is ruined,’ Bryn said, his tone clipped but calm. ‘We may set out south in a few days, see what remains worth taking there.’ He pulled a rabbit from the cord at his hip and passed it into Adriana’s waiting hands.
‘Ah, perfect,’ she said brightly. ‘We could make a good stew from this.’
‘I don’t like rabbit,’ Keir muttered, already frowning.
Adriana jabbed him lightly in the ribs. ‘You’ll eat what I make you!’
‘I don’t like it in stew, Adriana! Roast it instead!’
She jabbed him harder this time. ‘There are too many mouths to feed, Keir!’
‘Adriana, you’re not feeding an entire army with one rabbit!’
‘I never said I was!’
‘Then roast it!’
Their bickering unravelled into laughter, warm and easy, until Adriana abruptly brought the rabbit down upon Keir’s head. He yelped and swore under his breath, rubbing the spot as Adriana grinned in triumph, the rabbit dangling limply in her grasp like a war trophy.
Bryn’s gaze lingered on the sword resting at Ash’s side, its edge catching the fading light like a shard of fire.
‘Will ya teach me how to use it?’ he asked, voice earnest, almost boyish despite the weight of war clinging to them all.
Ash’s golden eyes widened, flashing briefly like molten metal, before falling to the blade as if it were a living thing he had long since learnt to fear as much as wield.
‘Kage Blackburn showed a few of us da basics,’ Bryn continued, shrugging as if embarrassed by the confession. ‘We’re good hunters, aye, but swords? We’ve neva held them proper.’
Adriana’s dark eyes lit with a spark of excitement, as quick and fierce as flint striking stone.
‘That’s an excellent idea, Bryn! Ash, you could teach us drakonian techniques. The wolverians should learn to fight with more than just claws and teeth.’
Ash shook his head, slow and firm, shadows crossing his expression.
‘Don’t be difficult,’ Adriana chided, giving his arm a sharp poke.
‘I don’t… I don’t feel comfortable t-teaching,’ he murmured, his voice rough with the weight of unspoken unease.
Adriana’s eyes narrowed, assessing. ‘Didn’t you always train with your soldiers?’
‘That’s not the same as teaching,’ Keir muttered, clearly enjoying the brewing storm between his wife and the prince.
‘Whose side are you on?’ Adriana snapped, her glare darting towards him. Keir raised his hands in mock surrender, wisely turning his face aside.
Adriana returned her attention to Ash, her voice softening only a fraction. ‘Is it because of the stutter?’
Ash hesitated, then nodded.
‘I thought it didn’t bother you anymore.’
Ash sighed, running a hand over his tired eyes, fingers trembling faintly as though smoothing scars no one else could see.
‘I feel c-comfortable with those I know,’ he said, voice low, ‘but with s-strangers… I don’t…
’ The words trailed into silence. He stared down at his hands, calloused and strong yet faltering in ways no sword could fix.
A part of him had learnt to live with the brokenness in his voice, but buried deep, like a splinter lodged too far to reach, was the same gnawing dread, the fear of speaking before those who did not already know his heart.
‘Hey, if anyone so much as looks at you the wrong way…’ Keir cracked his fists together with a threatening smack, his grin wicked and mischievous. ‘We’ll beat them to a pulp.’
Adriana rolled her eyes, exhaling dramatically. ‘You can’t just go around brawling with our own army.’
‘Who says I can’t?’ Keir countered, his smirk infuriatingly smug.
Ash couldn’t help but smile, warmth spreading through his chest like embers catching fire.
In that moment, his thoughts drifted unbidden and tender to his daughter: the curve of her sweet smile, the way her hands moved like poetry when her voice could not bridge the silence of her world.
She had never known fear, never faltered, and the memory of those fearless eyes softened him even now.
‘It’s all right,’ a voice coaxed, pulling Ash back from his reverie. Bryn stood, smiling with quiet assurance as he gave a small nod. ‘It’s all right to be scared. We’ll be there to help ya through it.’
Adriana’s grin stretched, bright and infectious, as she clapped a hand on Ash’s back with unrestrained affection. ‘You hear that, Ash Acheron? No more excuses. We’re going to slaughter every demon that dares torment you.’
‘Adriana—’ Keir began, only to be swiftly silenced.
‘I’m having a moment here, don’t ruin it, husband,’ she snapped, giving him a glare sharp enough to cut steel.
Keir sighed, dragging a hand over his face as he stood, clearly exasperated. ‘I think he could handle any demon thrown his way.’
‘Keir, it’s not that sort of fight!’ Adriana retorted, rising to her feet as well. ‘I was being metaphorical!’
‘You don’t even know what that means!’
Her eyes widened in theatrical offence. ‘What did you say? I’ll show you the meaning right now!’
Ash chuckled under his breath as Adriana took off after Keir, the two of them darting through the fields like unruly children, their shouts dissolving into laughter carried by the wind.
Bryn settled at Ash’s side, dropping gracefully to the earth, his attention drifting again to the long sword lying between them, a silent invitation and unspoken question gleaming in his eyes.
‘I’ll teach you,’ Ash whispered, his voice barely louder than the sigh of wind through grass.
Bryn’s pale eyes widened, surprise softening his sharp features. ‘Truly?’
Ash inclined his head. ‘And your men, too.’
‘Thank ya.’
‘Don’t thank me yet.’
Their words fell into silence as the crunch of approaching footsteps drew their attention.
A group passed by, their voices low, and among them walked Caldwell.
The man’s cold blue eyes found theirs, narrowing with the calculated precision of a predator.
He was everything the wolverian army revered—broad of shoulder, formidable in stance, his hair woven into intricate braids that marked both rank and heritage.
Ash’s gaze drifted to the earth, unable to hold the truth behind that icy stare. ‘You n-need to learn to defend yo-yourself,’ he said, his stammer threading through the quiet. ‘When your father d-dies… Caldwell will try to be rid of you.’
He felt Bryn stiffen at his side, the air between them tightening like a bowstring. ‘I know,’ Bryn muttered. ‘But if I die, I still have me siblings who’ll inherit da throne.’
Ash bit his lip, golden eyes fixed on the dirt beneath his boots. The silence pressed heavier, marked by Bryn’s deepening frown.
‘If I die, Wren will become queen,’ Bryn insisted, his voice almost pleading.
Ash stayed silent, his throat locking tight, unable to meet those searching eyes.
‘Right?’ Bryn pressed, his voice cracking under the weight of dawning fear.
Ash’s chest constricted, his fists curling until the nails bit skin. Against every instinct, against the truth gnawing at his conscience, he looked up into those wide blue eyes and lied.
‘Yes,’ he said softly, almost gently, as though the lie might hurt less if whispered. ‘If you die, Wren will be-become q-queen. But just in case, I’ll teach you h-how to fight.’
The tension eased from Bryn’s shoulders, his expression loosening with reluctant relief. And Ash cursed himself, cursed his weakness, cursed the words he hadn’t spoken.
That Wren Wynter no longer existed.
That most of Bryn’s kin were fated to die.
And that Commander Caldwell would seize that blood-soaked opportunity to rid himself of the last heir to the wolverian throne.
Their fate, Ash knew with bitter certainty, would be a cruel and wretched one.
…
Ash forced himself not to conjure the ghosts of faces long past as he stripped off his tunic and reached for his sword.
Months had passed since he had last wielded it, yet the moment his fingers closed around the hilt, his body remembered.
Muscles coiled, honed by countless years of relentless discipline, a lifetime spent forging strength in flesh because neither his tongue nor his mind had ever been so easily tamed.
He could almost see Hagan across the courtyard, that familiar, disarming smile tugging at his lips.
A smile that had always eased the weight on Ash’s shoulders, that had made the loneliness sting a little less.
And if he turned, he knew Alina would be there, leaning with quiet grace against one of the marble arches, those warm brown eyes holding entire oceans of knowing, and ignorance too.
Beside her, Adara, laughter spilling like sunlight, bright eyes sparkling with innocence untainted by the world’s cruelty.
They had been his world once.
And sometimes, only sometimes, Ash longed to return to those days, when the world had not yet rotted from within. When, for all its harshness, life had been simpler. Before curses and gods and the merciless future that demanded he hurt everyone he held dear.
Even her.
He wrenched his thoughts away from Mal. Thinking of her was a pain too jagged to touch.
She was a goddess, beyond the threads of fate he could weave and read, and yet, fate was a curious cruelty.
It allowed him glimpses of gods, fragments of their truths, shards of their pasts… but never their ends.
He knew Mal’s truth.
Just not the one that mattered most.
The truth of how to save her.
From herself.
Even cursed to love her, his devotion did not belong to Mal alone, it stretched towards someone not yet born. Their daughter. The child who, one day, could be the salvation of them all.
Ash shook his head, raking a hand through his tousled blonde hair as he stood before the assembled wolverians—youthful, uncertain, their pale eyes wide with an almost fragile hope.
They looked at him as though he might shape their future with a single word, and he found himself wishing he felt worthy of such a gaze.
‘Don’t scowl so,’ Adriana said at his side, her voice laced with wry amusement. ‘You’ll frighten them before they’ve even lifted a blade. Not all hope is lost, Ash Acheron.’
His frown deepened, though he turned his head to regard her, the wyverian goddess wrapped in layers of secrets he would never dare to share, secrets that were hers alone to bear.
He let his attention drift back to the gathering.
Keir, gaunt and spectral, his body too frail to house the divinity coiled within, a god of such magnitude that mortal flesh cracked under the strain of holding him.
Bryn, a young prince poised on the edge of kingship, shoulders already bowed by the weight of what was to come.
Cronan, another god whose presence intrigued Ash; protector, shadow, and shield to Keir and Adriana alike.
And Adriana herself…
What a strange, unyielding little constellation fate had drawn around him, these unlikely companions, each with their own burdens, forced to endure him as much as he endured them.
How curious, fate.
Ash drew in a breath, forcing his gaze back to the expectant faces before him.
He opened his mouth to speak only to feel that old, familiar chokehold of fear tightening its grip.
The fear his father had beaten into him long ago, one built from years of sharp tongues and sharper blows.
It curled cold fingers around his spine, whispering of laughter and scorn, of furrowed brows and judging eyes.
Mal had banished that fear once, if only in pieces.
Her presence had been a salve, a small beacon that made this brutal world feel a little less jagged, a little more bearable.
Because of her, he had learnt to stand taller before those he trusted.
But these… strangers? The ghost of old terror clawed back to life.
They were all staring now, wondering why he lingered in silence, why his knuckles whitened around the sword hilt.
Adriana parted her lips, ready to fill the silence for him, when a wolverian stepped forward. Young, no older than Bryn, his face calm yet resolute. The young man lifted his hands, fingers shaping silent words. Bryn watched him and gave a small nod.
‘He says ya ought not to fear,’ Bryn translated softly, glancing at his friend with a curious fondness. ‘He cannot speak either.’
Something hot and tight lodged in Ash’s chest.
The young man signed again, hands moving with steady confidence, and Bryn followed each gesture with quiet reverence.
‘He says not to worry if ya can’t use yer voice like others do. Not all of us can. Don’t force yerself to follow the world’s way.’ Bryn’s lips quirked faintly. ‘Let da world follow yers.’
Ash felt something loosen inside him, a weight uncoiling from his ribs. The ghosts of old cruelty, of ridicule and punishment, receded as though driven back by the warmth of a single flame. For once, he didn’t want to disappear into the safety of memory.
He smiled.
The expression felt strange, unpractised, yet real. Genuine enough to soften even the ache in his chest.
‘Express yerself yer own way,’ Bryn added gently. ‘Don’t mould yerself to da world. Let it mould to ya.’
Ash straightened, sword in hand, and for the first time in a long, long while, he felt free.
And smiling still, he began to teach them how to fight.