Chapter 13
“Hey! Wait up.”
Fallon’s friend from the ring—Doryan, I’d learned—was jogging toward me with something in his hand.
For someone tied to Fallon, he wore no malice on his face.
He towered over me, casting a shadow that blocked the sun from my eyes.
When he held out a piece of parchment, I noticed the burn scars on the back of his hand disappearing beneath the cuff of his winter jacket.
I couldn’t find the energy to ask what it was or who it was from, but I managed to take the folded parchment. He must have sensed there was nothing he could say to make me feel better, because he only offered a quiet nod before turning to leave.
My hands trembled as I unfolded the letter. My chest hollowed when I saw who it was from.
Scar,
There is nothing I could do to ever right my wrongs.
No apology will ever be enough to earn your forgiveness.
But there’s something else I need to tell you.
That night, when we roasted cracker-less s’mores, you asked me about my relationship with my brother.
I didn’t know it then, but the answer I gave wasn’t really about Rhodes at all. It was about me.
At the time, the words felt strange. But I’ve thought about them every day since.
The truth is, I wasn’t speaking about my brother.
My heart was trying to speak about my relationship with myself.
Somewhere along the way, I lost who I was.
I don’t even know when it happened. All I know is, I’ve felt broken for a long, long time.
It wasn’t Rhodes making choices I couldn’t live with—it was me. A buried part of my soul tried to fight back, to steer me away from the road I was heading down. But I didn’t listen. I pushed that part of me down, over and over, until one day… I gave up on myself.
I don’t recognize who I am anymore. And I hate it. I miss the person I used to be. I miss the brother I once was. I don’t know how to find my way back—but I swear, I’ll spend the rest of my life trying.
Shayde
I wiped the warm tears from my cheeks with the back of my hand. With the other, I crushed the letter into my palm and kept walking.
“Where are you going?”
Lakota had been circling overhead since I stormed out of the dungeons, his wings beating like rolling thunder against the sky.
I didn’t answer. I kept moving, my steps quick and restless, tearing through the village streets as if I could outrun the pain.
But this place stretched for miles. There was no escaping it.
Pain followed me like a shadow, sinking its claws deep.
My heart twisted, my lungs burned, and my chest felt seconds away from collapse.
The lump in my throat had grown so thick I wondered how I was still standing—how I could even breathe when it was choking the air from my body.
My skin burned hotter with every step, my fire element coiling beneath the surface, desperate for release.
I was going to combust.
“I need—I need somewhere to release it,” I rasped, my voice raw. “If I hold it in any longer, it’ll burn me from the inside out.”
“Straight past two huts, take a left, then run the last half mile.”
Lakota veered in that direction, his wings cutting through the wind. I bolted after him.
Villagers scrambled out of my way as I tore through the streets, heat rolling off me in waves. Sparks flared from my boots, sizzling against the ground with every step. But I didn’t slow down.
Lakota perched on a cliff above, waiting. He’d led me to a secluded hollow in the rock face—an empty pocket surrounded by stone, far from the village, from the huts, from anything flammable.
I barely made it inside before my knees hit the ground.
And then I screamed.
Flames exploded outward in a violent surge, crashing against the stone walls in all directions.
The release of my fire element drained the pressure from my chest, and I greedily sucked in a breath, my lungs finally unchained. Sitting back on my heels, I took in the aftermath—the blackened stone, the deep soot stains. Scars. Just like mine.
“Feel better?” Lakota twisted his head in a smooth, serpentine motion.
I let out a hollow laugh. “I don’t think I’ll ever feel better.”
Lakota’s gaze flicked past me. “The Wylder boy arrives.”
The second he said it, I heard the rhythmic beat of another pair of wings overhead and the crunch of boots on gravel behind me.
I glanced over my shoulder.
Rhodes leaned casually against a soot-darkened stone wall, arms crossed, one ankle resting over the other. But he wasn’t acknowledging the destruction I’d caused. There was no judgment in his gaze, no hint of repulsion.
He was only looking at me.
His calm, steady eyes held a quiet softness, a kind of understanding that sank beneath my skin. He saw me—past the fire, past the wreckage, past the weight I couldn’t seem to shake. But there was something else lingering in his expression, something I couldn’t decipher.
I rose from the ground.
“What’s next?” Rhodes asked.
A slow, sharp smile tugged at my lips. Anger and retribution burned in my chest, fueling every ounce of my resolve.
“On to the next one who abandoned me.”
The afternoon breeze lifted the loose tendrils of hair around my face. I reached through the marekem, tracing the last place Fallon had seen him. The process felt eerily similar to my bond with Lakota—a tether, a pull.
The rush of magic was unlike anything I’d ever felt before. But it led me straight to him.
Our father.
Guards lined the steps to the entrance while clusters of military men conversed in the open space ahead. We ascended the steps, my eyes locked on the door. A guard moved to block our path but hesitated the moment I flashed my crimson gaze. He quickly stepped aside.
Rhodes scoffed, his arrogance practically radiating off him, and I couldn’t help but smirk.
The inaudible murmur of scattered conversations died the second we stepped through the wooden doors. Heads turned. Eyebrows rose.
I scanned the room. It was circular, like the huts, but much larger. A heavy table dominated the center, while one side of the space was lined with cabinets, the other with a personal armory. Blades, bows, and axes gleamed under the dim torchlight.
The crowd parted, revealing a man at the center, authority radiating from every inch of his stance. His stern expression dropped the moment his eyes locked on mine. A rush of recognition came from Lakota, as if a piece of his memory had just been unlocked.
My heart sank, but I refused to show any weakness.
“Everyone out,” he commanded, his voice cold and unyielding.
Men and women filed out without question, the heavy thud of their boots echoing off the walls. Along the back, a large silver wolf rose from the floor, eyes tracking our arrival. Fallon leaned casually against the wall beside it, her expression blank and indifferent.
The General glanced at her, rolling his eyes but saying nothing. The door closed, leaving only us in the room.
My chest tightened.
He straightened, holding his hands behind his back. He was tall, with broad shoulders. His jaw was sharp and covered in rough stubble. The lines on his face showed his age and his devotion to leading Hollow Summit.
Nobody said a word.
All at once, something surged through my veins—an emotion foreign to my body, as if it belonged to someone else. But not Lakota. Someone different.
The General cleared his throat. “Hello, Scarlet.”
I locked onto his hazel eyes, suddenly more grateful for my own crimson ones.
But I couldn’t speak. Words crashed through my mind, desperate to escape, but my lips refused to part.
My knees felt cemented in place, my body numb.
The only sound in the room was my breathing—ragged, uneven, my chest rising and falling too fast.
This was him.
“Did you know about me?”
The voice cut through the silence. It took me a second to realize it was mine.
My father blinked. “Yes.”
A sharp burn prickled behind my eyes. My breath grew shallow.
“The whole time?” My voice wavered. “Did you know I was alive?”
He didn’t flinch. “Yes. Your mother—”
“Not my mother. I had a mother.”
His jaw tightened. “She ran away with you for reasons that would take time to explain. I’m happy to answer any questions you may have—”
“Why didn’t you come after me?” The words tore from my throat, brittle and cracked. I forced the emotion down, but it curled at the edges of my voice.
He stepped around the table, moving slowly toward Rhodes and me. His chin dipped. His gaze locked onto mine, unwavering.
“It was all for a greater purpose,” he said, voice steady. “Bigger than any of us in this room. You’ll understand soon enough.”
“You’ve had twenty-one years to explain.”
My heart plummeted. My anger didn’t spark like the familiar fire under my skin—it boiled, scalding, like molten water coursing through my veins. My eyes flicked to Fallon, standing rigid, her expression carved from stone, her gaze fixed on our father.
Then she looked at me. And I realized—this wasn’t my anger.
I was feeling hers.
The General continued, “For now, we need you and Cadet Wylder to work with our team to infiltrate Mageia War College. An artifact has been missing since the Battle for Mareki—one that rightfully belongs to the Hollow. Since the two of you already know how it works internally, you are valuable assets to this mission.”
I let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “So let me get this straight—you left me to fend for myself for twenty-one years, fighting just to stay alive, and now that we’re finally face-to-face, the first thing you want is to send me back to the one place that will kill me on sight?
” I took a step forward, heat curling in my chest. “I don’t even know your name. ”
His expression remained unreadable. “I am General Fitzroy.”
“Your fucking name,” I snapped.
A flicker of surprise rippled through the marekem, and I steeled myself not to look over at Fallon.
His nostrils flared, and for a moment, he was silent, as if chasing a calm he wasn’t capable of.
Finally, he spoke. “Arrow Fitzroy.” His voice was clipped, controlled. “There will be a strategy meeting conducted this evening in the war room. You will attend.”
I clenched my fists, my jaw tightening. My eyes locked onto his, searching for something—anything—that would make this feel less like a command from a stranger and more like a father’s words.
I found nothing.
This time, the anger burning through my skin felt like sparks.
“Do not let him get the best of you,” Lakota growled.
I let out an incredulous scoff, smirking as I stepped back. Shaking my head, I turned on my heel and made for the exit, Rhodes trailing close behind.
Just before reaching the door, I stopped.
Without looking back, I spoke. “Oh, and Arrow? I have two conditions.”
Silence stretched between us. I could feel his attention locked on me.
“The Hollow will welcome my friends from Mageia with hospitality. And you will let Shayde Wylder out of his cell,” I said, glancing over my shoulder. “Find some use for him—anywhere—but let him go.” I held his gaze, letting the weight of my words settle. “Do that, and I’ll join your mission.”
“Fine to the cadets. But absolutely not to Wylder.” Arrow’s face turned molten red. “Not when we don’t know where his loyalties lie.”
I shrugged, exaggerating a pout. “Then Lakota and I will leave.”
At the mention of Lakota’s name, his expression faltered—just for a second.
“You’ll have nowhere to go,” he said, voice tight. “Mageia won’t take you back in.”
I smirked. “You don’t know me very well.” I turned toward the door, my tone light but laced with steel. “Starting over from nothing? That’s kind of my specialty. Suit yourself.”
Rhodes pulled the door open, and as it swung shut behind us, Arrow’s voice cut through the space.
“Done.”