Chapter 27 #2
He tried to quiet his thoughts, but the longer he watched her—the bow heavy in her hands, the faint tremble of strain in her arms—the more something twisted tight inside him. He remembered that weight, the stubborn ache of it. How, once, the bow had felt unforgiving in his own grip too.
He’d been much younger than Reiya was now, crouched low in Tremore’s ancient woods, the earth damp and biting cold against his knees. The canopy above swallowed the daylight, and every lungful of air he took tasted of pine and moss.
One arrow. One chance.
He’d waited for hours, muscles locked rigid from stillness, tracking the doe through the trees. A clean shot meant everything. A clean shot might earn him what he wanted most—a look of approval, a scrap of pride that his mother hoarded like a miser’s gold .
Her voice had curled through his memory even then, soft and merciless.
‘Hesitation is weakness. A true Alpha acts. Always.’
‘Do not fail me more than you already have.’
Alarik had exhaled slowly, bowstring tight against his fingertips, the arrow’s tip aligned perfectly with the doe’s heart. His world had narrowed to a single breath, a single pull?—
—and then Kaelen had stepped into his sightline.
The golden-haired boy moved like he belonged to the forest itself, all unthinking confidence and effortless light. Only six at the time, he didn’t see Alarik, didn’t see the poised arrow aimed just past him. All he saw was the creature standing before him, alert but unafraid.
Kaelen reached out, voice soft, coaxing. And the doe—the one Alarik had tracked so carefully—lowered its head.
It let the boy touch it.
So oblivious. So trusting.
Something inside Alarik wrenched so hard it felt like his chest might split apart.
The bowstring dug into his fingers. His whole body taut, trembling now, not from effort—but from something darker. Rage. Grief. A hollow ache clawing at the inside of his ribs.
He’d spent hours perfecting his stance, his focus, but none of it mattered. Kaelen hadn’t needed to hunt. He’d simply existed, and the world bent for him.
Like it always did.
Alarik’s grip faltered, a tremor running through his fingers.
One breath. One release. At this distance, the arrow wouldn’t miss.
It would strike true—not through the doe’s heart, but through the heart of another.
Someone who had always stood between him and the recognition he hadn’t received for six years.
For the first time, he wondered what it’d feel like to let the string slip.
To claim something for himself, once and for all.
The moment stretched—a single, excruciating minute caught between choice and consequence. His mother’s voice echoed in his ears, drowning his heartbeat, curling around him like poisonous smoke .
‘If only you’d been more.’
His pulse thundered. The bowstring shuddered, his fingers trembled . . .
“Alarik.”
Reiya’s voice cut through the past like a blade, sharp and certain, banishing the ghosts in a single word. He blinked, the sunlit plains of Zohara rushing back into focus.
She turned slightly, soft curls brushing against his cheek as she glanced up at him.
“You went pale,” she said softly. “Are you well?”
He took a step back, releasing her hands as if burned. His arms crossed tightly over his chest, fingers digging into his biceps as if he could force the memories back where they belonged.
“Concentrate on the target,” he said, his voice rougher than he intended. “Let the vision of where you’re aiming guide you.”
Reiya hesitated, watching him for a moment longer, but then she nodded, turning back to the bow.
Her fingers trembled with what he told himself was merely exertion, and Alarik forced himself to focus on her stance instead of the ghosts clawing his mind. He didn’t dare adjust her aim, didn’t dare touch her—not when his hands curled into such a tight fist that his knuckles had turned white.
She exhaled, then released.
The arrow sliced through the air, striking the edge of the target.
Reiya gave a small, triumphant laugh, glancing back at him for approval.
Alarik forced himself to return the smile, pushing the last echoes of the past into silence.
“Better,” he said, the tension in his chest loosening a touch. “Much better. But you’re still pulling to the right. One more time.”
Reiya’s shoulders rose with determination as she reset her stance.
Alarik stepped back, watching as she drew the bowstring taut, her fingers still trembling under the strain—but this time, her focus didn’t waver.
When she released, the arrow flew true, striking just shy of the centre .
Her excited yelp brought a rare, genuine smile to his lips. It didn’t matter if the shot had been a fluke or that her previous arrows had scattered wide before inching closer with each attempt. She was learning, adapting—her determination unwavering.
As the sun dipped lower, casting the plains in molten gold, he nodded. “Good enough for today. You’ve got potential, but it’s still raw. With time, you’ll learn control.”
Reiya lowered the bow, shaking out her arms with a quiet groan of relief.
“Thank you,” she murmured, warmth threading through her exhaustion. “For teaching me.”
He inclined his head, turning to pack away the equipment, his hands moving on instinct as he bundled the arrows and secured the bowstring. The steady rhythm rooted him—gave him a task to focus on other than the scent of her hair teasing his senses, other than the ghosts of unsettled memories.
As he reached for his gauntlet, he caught Reiya’s gaze, but she wasn’t looking at his face. Her attention was fixed on his forearm, where the ink was partially obscured by leather—the jagged rays of a half-sun, etched stark against his skin.
Her voice broke the silence. “Your tattoo . . . It’s not like Kaelen’s.”
His fingers stilled on the strap. He didn’t look at her right away, unsure if he wanted to entertain the question. Yet her tone wasn’t prying—it was quiet, careful. When he finally secured the buckle and straightened, her eyes were still on him, expectant but patient.
“It’s not,” he said simply.
Reiya hesitated, her brows drawing together. “But it’s meant to be a Sunborn mark too, isn’t it?”
His jaw tightened, the old bitterness stirring at the edges of his thoughts. “It was supposed to be.”
She didn’t press, only tilted her head slightly, waiting. That quiet attention—the patience—made him continue.
“The Sunborn Trial is for Alpha children born from an Alpha father and an Omega mother. When ink made from crushed limyerite is mixed with a true Sunborn’s blood, it reacts. It glows. ”
A brief pause. “That’s what makes Kaelen’s mark iridescent. It’s proof of Solthar’s blessing. His right to lead.”
Reiya’s lips parted slightly. “And yours?”
His hand tightened against the strap of his gauntlet.
“My mother insisted I take the trial,” he said, his voice roughening. “She was a Beta. She knew it was impossible for her son to be a Sunborn, but it didn’t matter. She wanted proof I was as precious as Kaelen. That she was as worthy as the queen. Even if it meant setting me up for failure.”
He laughed, but the sound held no amusement.
“The ink touched my blood, and it did nothing. No glow. No reaction. Just this.”
He flicked his fingers at the unfinished sun, the jagged lines harsh against his skin. “Solthar’s acolytes didn’t even deem it worth finishing.”
A breeze stirred, carrying the dry scent of sun-warmed earth between them. Reiya’s curls shifted with it, brushing lightly against his forearm as she leaned in. Her fingers hovered above the tattoo—not touching, but close—and when he finally met her gaze, there was no pity there.
“How old were you?” she asked softly.
“I was ten. Kaelen was six. We took the trial together.”
She shuddered and shook her head. He saw it—the way her expression flickered between horror, grief, and . . . understanding .
“You were only children,” she rasped.
“Both Kaelen and I Awakened early.”
“They say exceptional Alphas and Omegas present early.” A pause. “While I presented at twenty.”
His fingers itched to lift her chin, to hold her still. “You know as well as I—there is no pattern to it. No law to guide it. Some present early, some late. Some never at all. It simply happens.”
Her steady blue eyes shimmered with something unshed.
“Still,” she whispered, “you were just a boy. Neither of you should’ve had to . . .” She broke off, looking away, as if the weight of it was too much to put into words.
His gaze dropped to the unfinished tattoo, but it wasn’t the ink he saw.
It was Kaelen’s tear-streaked face, the way his small arm had trembled under the acolyte’s needle.
Alarik had fared better—older, more stubborn, clenching his jaw against the pain and the humiliation.
Yet, every sting had felt like a condemnation, a reminder of what he wasn’t and would never be.
“When I was older, I realized the trial wasn’t about me at all,” he said, his voice calm, though he couldn’t stop bitterness from seeping through. “It was about my mother. She wanted me to shine, to prove I was more than what she feared I’d always be—a Beta’s son, second to an Omega-born heir.”
His fingers flexed, curling into his palms. “She was so sure there’d been a mistake, that I’d been denied something owed to me. It didn’t matter that it was impossible for me to be Sunborn. She needed to believe I was special too.”
Reiya’s eyes narrowed, quiet outrage flickering across her face. “As if being an Alpha isn’t special already?”
He gave a rough chuckle, hollow at the edges. “It’s hard to feel special when you’re always standing next to a brighter flame.”
Her expression softened. “What happened after?”
“My mother died not long after. Fever.” He swallowed against the familiar, jagged burn of the memory. “Bit by bit, it stripped her down to nothing. Some days . . . I think it wasn’t the fever that killed her. I think it was the disappointment.”