Snow began to fall by afternoon—light at first, then thick and heavy, blanketing the forest in silence. The academy group was forced indoors, huddled around fireplaces scattered throughout Rourke's sprawling old manor. The walls, lined with faded photographs and hunter memorabilia, whispered of a life once lived in glory.
Kaen stood near a frost-covered window, sipping warm cider. He watched the falling snow, crimson eyes unreadable.
"Penny for your thoughts?" Rourke's voice broke the silence.
Kaen gave a half-smile. "You don't carry enough coin."
Rourke chuckled, settling into a creaky chair. "You remind me of my son. Quiet, sharp, always watching everything around him. He never made it back from his last gate."
Kaen said nothing, only lowered his gaze.
Across the room, Zian polished her blade in rhythmic strokes. Mira and Leon were deep in a board game of strategy, while Kyel dozed off, head leaning against a bookshelf.
Lirien leaned against the far wall, watching Kaen. Her mind raced—not with suspicion, but with curiosity. He wasn't like other men. He moved with the confidence of a predator, but cooked like a caretaker. Fought like a god, but lingered like a man who knew what it meant to be alone.
She walked toward him.
"You're always staring at the snow."
Kaen turned slightly. "It's quiet. Like the world forgot to breathe."
"You talk like someone who's been alone a long time," Lirien said.
"I've had lifetimes of silence," Kaen replied softly, "and in all of it, snow never lied."
Lirien stood beside him, folding her arms. "What do you want, Kaen? From this world? From us?"
He was quiet for a long moment. Then, "I want to see who still remembers what they were meant to become."
Lirien blinked, confused. "That's… vague."
"Truth usually is."
Behind them, Zian glanced up, her golden eyes narrowing just slightly. Something about that conversation stirred the half-formed memories clawing at the back of her mind.
Outside, the snowstorm howled louder.
Inside, truths stirred beneath the surface.