Kaladin Shadowheart POV

I knocked on the door to my room and waited for a response, but there was nothing. It was still early in the morning, and I hadn’t passed any of my family on the way to my room. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility for Cerila and Mila to still be asleep.

I slowly and carefully opened my door to reveal an empty room. My bed was barren. Not even a pillow or sheet sat on top of the white top cover. All the blankets lay balled up on the ground, and I thought maybe Mila was rolled up inside one of the many bundles, but I didn’t hear any breathing in the silent room.

I blinked a few times and realized I was staring longingly at my bed. Typically after a morning workout, I felt better than I did when I first woke up for the day, but that feeling was noticeably absent in my mind.

My conversation…or well…I should say it was more of a lecture from Bowen that really drained me both physically and mentally. I wanted nothing more than to crawl into that empty bed and roll myself into the sheets.

“Then why don’t you? Take a nap and have a nice dream. You deserve it for working so hard.”

The hair on the back of my neck stood on end, and my heart lurched in my chest. I looked around the room frantically, trying to identify the source of the voice. It sounded as if they were right behind me, close enough that I should have felt their breath on the back of my neck.

I scrutinized every inch of the room and kicked over blankets, trying to find anything, but after about five minutes, I concluded I was indeed alone. There was nobody in this room. Yet, I had heard the voice of an unfamiliar woman.

Am I going mad? Am I so tired and drained I’ve begun to hallucinate phantom voices? A trick of a tired mind, perhaps? Or a spell…

I fed mana into my Dragon eye and scanned the room once more, but nothing seemed out of place. No spell cores or visible souls. Nothing but the runes in the walls and the faint traces of ambient mana.

“What the hell? Am I hearing voices? And why was it urging me to go to sleep? What…what is wrong with me,” I muttered to myself.

Everything was in order—everything but me. Wait—what is that?

I noticed a small glimmer in the corner of my eye. It was hiding underneath a blanket, and I realized I must have accidentally tossed it when I moved sheets around to look for Mila and the source of the voice. I ran my hands over the worn leather.

My heart sank deeper into my chest but for an entirely different reason. I recognized this leather and this yellow gemstone set in the center. The light brown leather had faded and aged to a dark brown, and I remembered this journal was much smaller than this. Back then…when I first bought it for Cerila, it was around two hundred pages. Now it looked closer to four hundred. So she must have had it rebound at some point.

Should I…I—

Curiosity won me over, and I opened the journal to the first page. Perhaps I may not have done this if Cerila was standing over me or if I wasn’t so tired. Or maybe I’m just making excuses for myself. Either way…

Most of the first page was just scribbles…intelligible lines that meant nothing—lots of wasted ink blotches. Come to think of it…this looks more like Cerila had covered up what she initially wrote. Then, in the latter half of the second page, those symbols began to take the form of actual words.

I should have known you didn’t know. But I’ve decided I don’t care.

This….this should have been around the same she just got the journal. Is she…oh…she’s talking about the choker…huh…it appeared she really did understand what it meant. So now I was even more curious as to what she had written initially.

Well, it’s gone now. Nothing I can do but ask…wait…that’s a terrible idea. I really should stop…but…

I ignored my conscience and flipped to the next few pages. Most of them were about Cerila’s planned birthday celebration and how she was incredibly excited that she was going to share it with my family and me. She even wrote that she hadn’t celebrated a birthday since the death of her mother and father. She also wrote that she planned on…telling me something.

I see…she had planned on telling me how she felt. Cerila had mustered the courage and even set plans. What would I have said to her back then? The same thing I did last night?

If she walked through the door right now…

Fear gripped my heart. I sighed to try and relieve some of the tension, but my jaw tightened. I could feel my teeth grinding against each other.

“I’m pathetic. I can’t even look these people in the eyes…I can’t even make sense of my own damn self, and I’m too damn afraid….afraid—huh? When did I become so scared…I don’t deserve any of their kindness. Someone like me…maybe I always knew that deep down,” I muttered as I ran a hand across my face.

I nearly put down Cerila’s journal, but morbid curiosity consumed me. There was something odd about the following few pages. They were discolored and seemed damaged…

Sure enough, there were about four to seven pages that appeared to have water damage. Of course, the ink had swollen and shifted around—most of the imperfections spread across entire pages and covered the written words. But the more I looked at it, the more I realized the water damage seemed odd.

It doesn’t look like she spilled water on it or that the pages got soaked. If that were the case, the first few pages would also be damaged. So…what caused this?

I turned the pages til I reached some that had legible words, and my heart plunged. I even croaked slightly from the phantom pain in my chest. I cycled through the pages quickly just to see if this one was a fluke, but all of them were the same.

Every sentence from this point on starts and ends with my name…

I’m not sure what the time difference between the last entry and there was, but now those wet pages made sense. Those blotches of water were probably from tears. This stopped being a diary for Cerila around this point as well. Now, it was a journal. To log what she had done during the day. And if the beginning and end sentences were accurate…she did it all for me.

I felt sick to my stomach and closed the journal with a loud thwack of the pages. My stomach growled, and I realized just how tired and hungry I was. It had been a very long day, and I hadn’t eaten a proper meal since yesterday morning.

Or maybe my mind and emotions are consuming me from the inside out…

I stared longingly at my bed for a few extra moments but decided I’d shower first, maybe clear my head a bit in the process. Or get my heart to stop aching. I was probably just going to end up giving myself a heart attack at this rate.

The mighty Dragon Slayer…dies alone in his room…from his own emotions. That ought to make history.

Stepping into the shower revealed that…it had been used. Judging by the wet towels, used bathrobe, and the slight amount of condensation mirrors…Cerila had enjoyed a nice shower in my room instead of hers. Whatever, I guess this isn’t really my room per se, just the one assigned to me.

Sigh.

—

I strode out of my shower feeling somewhat better than I had when I first entered. But the lingering conflict and confusion still swam in my head.

Rumble.

As well as the hunger in my stomach…now…where did the maids put those spare clothes?

With my constant growth spurts, I had no time to purchase any new clothes, spare or otherwise. So I really needed to set a day so that I could shop for myself.

I bent over to rummage around in one of the dressers when my door flung open, smacking against the wall. Of course, nobody I personally knew would just throw the door open on me. Even Sylvia, in the height of her anger, would knock…probably…

When I turned around, a pair of bright swirling blue eyes were taking me in. Her tiny hands were balled into fists and placed on her waist. She slowly craned her neck up and down but didn’t seem the least bit bothered that I was wearing nothing but a wet towel around my body.

“Rosemary? What…what are you doing?” I asked in disbelief.

Rosemary was Bowen’s daughter, and my interactions with her were surprisingly limited. For the most part, she was always cordial and greeted me as Mister Shadowheart or Mila’s Dad. However, those were the only words I ever heard her speak to me. From there, she would instantly pull Mila away, which is where our conversation usually ended.

“You’re late. I’ve come to get you, Mister Shadowheart. It’s time for breakfast,” she said somewhat imperiously.

“Uh…okay…sure. Let me…get dressed?”

I said that hoping she would close the door and wait, but the awkward silence continued. Her attitude was awfully prickly this morning. Was she annoyed with me?

I cleared my throat. “Um, Rosemary, could you please leave while I get dressed?”

I’d prefer it if your father or mother did not see this scene. I’d like to live a little longer if I could help it.

She blinked once and ran off, leaving the door open and me standing there awkwardly. She left as quickly as she came, a little storm…

I made sure to close this door and lock it this time while I finished getting ready. Next, I checked the larger dining hall, but it was vacant, so I made my way to the much smaller dining room. This was more for small meals with family.

I was a bit late, and everyone was already seated with a plate of food in front of them. The only people absent were Cerila, Padraic, and Grandpa. Padraic apparently had a meeting of some sort today, and I realized I hadn’t asked him much about it. Padraic shouldn’t have any acquaintances in Luminar…as far as I knew, anyway.

Does that mean Cerila is with him? Or is she out training?

I took the seat next to Mila. She looked up at me with sleepy eyes and let out one great big yawn. “Good morning, Mila. Did you sleep well?” I asked while rubbing her bed hair.

“Yas…” she mumbled while rubbing her eyes.

“Did you wake up and then go back to sleep?”

“Yes…”

“I caught her wandering around the halls, dragging a blanket, so I put her to sleep in our bed,” my mom said fondly.

“I see. Thank you. Oh, and good morning, Mom.”

Mom smiled somewhat sadly, but she just nodded her head. I’m sure our conversation yesterday still weighed heavily on her mind. Dad finished taking a bite out of some fish when he gave me a concerned look.

“Are you okay, Son? You look drained,” he said softly.

“Just a little tired and hungry,” I said noncommittally.

Dad clearly didn’t like my answer, but he didn’t press the issues either. The concerned looks everyone gave me must have meant that I looked as awful as I felt. My eyes drifted toward Dallin as he quietly ate his breakfast. The second our eyes met, he averted them in fear.

My bloodlust…it must have scared him. Perhaps Mila is less affected because she was used to the bloodlust of the Chapter of Despair. Or maybe her intense feelings for me overrode any negative preconceptions or actions I committed.

Either way, I’d have to be more conscientious in the future.

“I’m sorry I didn’t make breakfast for you this morning, Kal. I tried, but the maids wouldn't let me,” my mom pouted.

“Oh…no…it’s fine, really. All the cooks Bowen employs are top-notch. Even at the school cafeteria,” I said, my voice shaky.

My mom put a finger to her chin and looked up at the ceiling. “Is that so?”

My dad’s wide purple eyes snapped to me. I felt a familiar mental connection to him, and his face told me all I needed: You finally figured out your mother is a terrible cook, haven’t you?

I merely nodded: Yes. I did.

I’m not sure what this telepathic link between us was, but it had been years since I felt it. Perhaps both of us were delusional, but I had a gut feeling that this was indeed some kind of biological link to my father that couldn’t be explained with words. It was simply something we shared, a bond between father and son.

However, my poor mother was cursed when it came to food. Well, making it that is. I myself had inherited that curse. Simply put, if we involved ourselves in the food-making process, no matter how small the step, the outcome would be all the same. The food tasted terrible. Why was it this way? My only guess was Avasta’s magic.

I recall fond memories of comparing my mother’s cooking to nutrient paste. Now that I’ve been in this world for almost fifteen years, I can comfortably say I had no idea what “good” food tasted like. And nutrient paste did not taste good, no matter how many memories I had of eating the stuff.

Thump.

I was drawn out of my recollection by the loud noise of somebody smacking the table followed by an adorable grunt. Rosemary had taken her seat next to Dallin and climbed up while…while using a loaf of bread? What the—

Rosemary ended up squishing the entire loaf of uncut bread as she hoisted herself up into her chair. We watched her in pure confusion, but she barely gave us a passing glance—all of us beside Dallin, who she smiled brightly at.

She ripped a section of the loaf and gave it an exaggerated dunk in a saucer filled with milk. Then she shoveled the entire thing into her mouth…

I’d heard of bread and milk, but…I don’t think it’s supposed to be like this…

Rosemary looked around, and her eyes fell on Dallin again. She ripped another piece off, dipped it in the milk, and held it out. “Whaant soome?” she said while swallowing what was left in her mouth.

Dallin looked concerned for his new friend. “No, thank you, Rosemary…” he said softly.

Rosemary narrowed her blue eyes at Dallin. “Call me Rose. Only old people call me Rosemary.” She shrugged her tiny shoulders, which made her curly brown hair bounce. “And if you say so.” Dallin scratched the back of his head awkwardly and just continued to eat his breakfast in silence.

He looks so much like Dad when he does that…

From there, the conversation drifted from various topics. Mom asked Mila some random questions about me, and Rosemary interjected a few times. But, all in all, it was rather nice to just chat idly like this. It had been over seven years since I’d done something like this with my family.

Of course, our conversation didn’t stay idle forever. We eventually broached the topic of what we would do as a family. The choice was relatively simple, either hop on a boat in the spring and go back to Syn’nari in an attempt to find a new home or stay here in Luminar.

I had put quite a bit of thought into this, and so did my parents. We decided that staying here was for the best. My status as a noble of Luminar afforded my family a certain level of protection they otherwise wouldn’t have. Both of them were technically deserters from their home countries and now had made a grand reentrance. It was doubtful that students would be able to keep their mouths shut. Hiding wasn’t an option for them anymore.

And it wasn’t an option for me either. The Dragon Slayer wouldn’t be able to hide anywhere.

“Ka—”

At this point, it wouldn’t surprise me if the entire world knew about me. And after the recent ceremony, everybody would have at least a name for the Dragon Slayer’s identity in a year or so. Being a mixed Dark and High Elf, my appearance would only serve to identify me even in faraway lands. Even at the height of my parent’s fame or infamy, they didn’t have a global presence as I did. And they were just a High and Dark Elf. They could blend in far easier than I could.

“K?”

It makes me wonder how the rest of the world sees me…do they even care? Does the average person even think about what happened? Am I thinking too highly of myself? Eh…whatever…

There were also Dallin and Mila to consider. Going across the ocean would put not only us but them in danger. Grandpa was also getting old, and he had left his life behind in Syn’nari. And with his age…going on an arduous journey was not in the cards for him.

“Ka!”

Not to mention Dallin and Mila will have better opportunities here than in some backwater village. Bowen is already working on a sort of preschool for younger children, and Mila and Dallin would both be able to attend. In addition, they would have access to higher education, more funding, freedom, and just about anything they wanted due to my status as a noble.

“Daddy!”

I was jolted out of my thoughts suddenly as Mila yanked my arm. It felt like my head was being pressed underwater, and my vision swam slightly. I hadn’t realized my ears were ringing so loudly, but after a few moments, everything equalized.

“I—”

I choked on my words. I realized I was panting as if I had run a marathon. What the hell is wrong with me? Am I sick? Did I hit my head?

Something grabbed the top of my head, and I felt a familiar feeling of warmth spread from my chest and out through my entire body. The feeling washed over me and brought me a certain peace I hadn’t felt in a long time. It was nostalgic more than anything.

I heard him grumble some intelligible words to himself before he spoke to me. “What’s with these scars, boy? Why haven’t you healed them?” Grandpa grumbled.

“A reminder,” I said to him.

Grandpa scoffed. “Sentimental fool. Are your memories that faded that you need to keep these things? Why keep yourself physically marred?” He clicked his tongue. “You’re going to make your mother cry,” he whispered under his breath.

“Softy,” I muttered. He responded with a grunt of annoyance. “And don’t heal them. I want these to be a constant reminder to me for as long as I Iive.”

The warmth receded from my body. “Fine, have it your way, boy.”

“Was there something wrong with me?” I asked. “And why do you keep calling me boy?”

“Yeah, you’ve got a case of the stupid. Unfortunately, I can’t fix it. I tried seven years ago,” he snapped back with a throaty cackle. “And you’ll always be a child to me no matter how long you live. That will never change.”

Grandpa hobbled over to a chair and sat down with a loud groan. He winced slightly and looked over to me with a flicker of concern in his emerald green eyes, but it vanished in an instant.

“Grandpa, you’re late,” Dallin complained.

“Cut me some slack, Dal. It’s hard to get up in the morning. You’ll—well, you’ll never understand, actually,” Grandpa griped.

Dallin tilted his head. “Does it hurt? It sounds like you're hurt. Can’t you just heal yourself?”

Grandpa chuckled to himself, which made him cough. Finally, he finished his fit and shook his head dejectedly. “Only if it were that easy…”

Seeing Grandpa like this really tugged at my heartstrings. No matter what we disagreed on or how much we yelled at each other, I still cared for the sour old man. I owed him more than I could ever hope to repay.

It was just unfortunate that the payment he wanted from me was something I could never give him.