BLOOD & SIGILS

Chapter 4: A Spark in the Dark

The night air was crisp against Kael's skin as he stepped onto the balcony of Count Rathmore's estate. Below, the city streets glowed with lantern light, carriages rolling through the cobbled roads as laughter and music spilled from taverns.

But Kael heard none of it.

His hands gripped the cold stone railing, his knuckles white.

Weak.

The word echoed in his mind, over and over again.

He could still feel Cedric's grip on his shoulder, hear the laughter of the gathered nobles.

Rheon had saved him. Again.

Kael clenched his fists.

It was always the same.

Every time someone challenged him, someone else had to step in. His father, his siblings, even the Veyrin name itself—his worth had always been measured by the power of others, never his own.

He hated it.

The sound of footsteps made him tense.

"You're sulking."

Kael turned to see Elira standing behind him, arms crossed, her long black hair catching the moonlight. Unlike Rheon, who carried himself with unshakable confidence, Elira's presence was sharper, quieter, like a dagger hidden beneath silk.

"I'm not sulking," Kael muttered.

Elira arched an eyebrow. "Really? Because standing alone on a balcony while brooding over a lost fight seems very much like sulking."

Kael sighed, turning back to the railing. "I didn't even fight."

"Exactly."

Her voice was calm, but the weight of that single word hit harder than Cedric's mockery.

Kael's jaw tightened. "What was I supposed to do? Let Cedric humiliate me in front of everyone?"

"You think not fighting stopped that?"

Kael flinched.

Elira leaned against the railing beside him, her red eyes glinting with something unreadable. "Rheon did what older brothers do—he protected you. But he also stole your chance to prove yourself."

Kael frowned. "I would have lost."

"Maybe." She shrugged. "But losing isn't the worst thing in the world, Kael. Being too afraid to try is."

Silence stretched between them.

Elira wasn't like Rheon. She didn't shield him from the truth. She forced him to face it.

And the truth was… she was right.

Kael let out a slow breath. "So what? You think I should have fought Cedric anyway? Gotten beaten into the ground?"

Elira studied him for a moment. Then, to his surprise, she smiled. "No. I think you should find a way to win."

Kael blinked.

She turned fully toward him. "You've always trained the Veyrin way. The way of overwhelming power, swordplay, and Crimson Sigil magic. But what if that's not your path?"

Kael hesitated. "...What do you mean?"

Elira's gaze flickered with amusement. "I mean, maybe it's time to stop trying to be Rheon and start being Kael."

Kael's heart pounded.

His whole life, he had trained to be like his father, his siblings, the Veyrins who came before him.

But what if that wasn't his way?

What if his strength lay somewhere else?

A memory stirred.

A book.

Tucked away in the Veyrin family library, buried beneath tomes of war strategies and combat manuals. An old, dust-covered text on forgotten magic—rune inscription, sigils beyond the Crimson Sigil bloodline.

His father had dismissed it as useless knowledge.

But Kael remembered the feeling he had when he first opened it.

The pull. The possibility.

For the first time that night, his hands relaxed at his sides.

Elira watched him, her expression unreadable. "You're thinking about something."

Kael nodded slowly. "Maybe I am."

Elira's smile widened. "Good."

She pushed off the railing. "Come back inside before Rheon comes looking for you. He'll assume you've thrown yourself off the balcony or something."

Kael scoffed. "I'm not that dramatic."

Elira hummed. "Mm. Debatable."

She walked off, leaving him alone once more.

But this time, Kael didn't feel trapped beneath the weight of his weakness.

For the first time, a spark had ignited within him.

One that whispered of change.