The Forsaken Heir

The days blended together in a blur of training, meditation, and determination. Lorian pushed himself harder with each passing day, driven by a singular focus to master the techniques that Aric had taught him. The routine became his anchor—channel mana, strike, meditate, recover, and repeat. His muscles ached, his knuckles throbbed, but each day brought small improvements, fueling his resolve.

Every morning, before anyone else awoke, Lorian would leave the estate, making his way to the familiar training fields. He avoided his family as much as possible, preferring the solitude and focus the fields provided. The routine had become his escape, his way of coping with everything that had happened. Each night, he would wait until everyone was asleep before quietly returning to the estate, slipping into bed unseen. It was easier this way—no awkward conversations, no strained silences, no reminders of the life he was supposed to lead but no longer wanted.

The wooden post that had been his constant opponent was now marred with cracks, evidence of the countless hours he had spent honing his skills. His breath came in steady, controlled bursts as he centered himself, drawing on the mana that flowed through him.

Today felt different. There was an electricity in the air, a sense of anticipation that thrummed in his veins. He knew he was close—closer than he had ever been. His hand clenched into a fist as he focused on the flow of mana, guiding it with a precision that had eluded him in the past. The energy coursed through him, filling his arm with a familiar warmth that quickly intensified.

He shifted his stance, planting his feet firmly in the dirt. The world around him seemed to fade away, leaving only the post and the surge of power he felt growing within him. This was it—everything he had worked for, all the frustration, all the anger, all the hours of training—boiled down to this moment.

With a deep breath, Lorian let the mana flow into his fist, focusing it into a single, explosive strike. He released the energy with a powerful shout, his fist connecting with the post in a blur of motion.

The impact was immediate and violent. The wooden post didn’t just crack—it shattered. Splinters flew in all directions, the sound echoing across the training field as the once sturdy target was reduced to a pile of broken wood at Lorian’s feet. He stood there, breathing heavily, his chest heaving as the adrenaline surged through him.

For a moment, Lorian simply stared at the remains of the post, hardly believing what he had just done. A wave of triumph washed over him, followed by a deep sense of satisfaction. He had done it—he had finally mastered the technique. The power he had worked so hard to control was now his to command.

As he caught his breath, Lorian flexed his fingers, feeling the familiar tingling sensation of mana coursing through the established channels in his arms. The pathways he had painstakingly carved through days of relentless practice were now more than just concepts; they were a part of him, woven into the very fabric of his body. He could feel the energy humming just beneath the surface, ready to be unleashed at a moment’s notice. Mana channeling, as Aric had called it, was now his to wield.

Aric, who had been observing from a short distance, approached with an approving nod. “Not bad, Lorian,” he said, his tone a mix of pride and encouragement. “But don’t let up just because you’ve shattered the post. Channeling is about control, not just power. When you start feeling that surge of mana, you need to guide it—don’t let it guide you.”

Lorian sighed, his tone carrying a hint of exasperation. “Yes, yes, I know—guide it, don’t let it guide me,” he muttered, echoing Aric’s words with a roll of his eyes. He knew the advice was sound, but after hearing it so many times, he couldn’t help but feel a bit impatient.

Aric chuckled at Lorian’s reaction. “It might sound repetitive, but it’s the most important thing you’ll ever learn about controlling your mana. Without control, all the power in the world is useless.”

Lorian nodded, soaking in Aric’s words despite his earlier complaint. He clenched his fist again, feeling the mana pulse in response. There was no reason he couldn’t replicate this technique elsewhere. If he could strengthen his legs in the same way, he could increase his speed, his agility, his ability to strike from any angle with devastating power. The possibilities seemed endless.

But he knew it wouldn’t be easy. Just as it had taken time to master the channels in his arms, it would require just as much effort—if not more—to establish and refine these pathways throughout the rest of his body. The challenge was daunting, but Lorian welcomed it. After all, what was another few weeks—or months—of training if it meant becoming the warrior he aspired to be?

Aric must have sensed his determination because he clapped Lorian on the shoulder and said, “You’ve come a long way, but there’s still a lot more to learn. When you start working on your legs, remember that the key is balance. Power without balance will just send you sprawling on the ground.”

“And then I’ll be back to square one,” Lorian quipped, earning a chuckle from Aric.

“Exactly,” Aric replied, “but you’re not going to let that happen. Take it slow, just like with your arms. Build the pathways little by little. You’ll get there.”

As they moved on to the next phase of training, Aric introduced something new. “Before we dive into more channeling, there’s something else we need to focus on—flexibility.” Aric demonstrated a series of stretches, his movements fluid and practiced.

Lorian watched, his brow furrowing. “You want me to do… that?” he asked, a hint of disbelief in his voice.

Aric chuckled again at Lorian’s reaction. “I know it looks a little ridiculous, but trust me, flexibility is just as important as strength and power. You want to be nimble on your feet, able to dodge and weave, not just stand there like a brick wall.”

Lorian hesitated, feeling slightly foolish as he attempted to mimic Aric’s movements. The stretches were more challenging than they appeared, his muscles protesting as he pushed them beyond their usual limits. “I don’t see how this is going to help me in a fight,” he muttered.

“Think about it,” Aric said, straightening from one of the stretches. “If you can move more freely, you’ll be able to react faster, dodge blows that would otherwise land, and strike from unexpected angles. Flexibility isn’t just about making your body limber—it’s about giving you more options in a fight.”

Lorian slowly began to see the wisdom in Aric’s words. The stretches, while awkward at first, began to loosen his muscles, making him feel lighter, more agile. As the days passed, he incorporated the stretches into his routine, feeling the difference as his movements became smoother and more fluid.

In addition to honing his mana channeling, Lorian had begun to incorporate weight training into his routine. Lifting heavy stones and makeshift weights he found around the training grounds, he pushed his physical limits, knowing that a stronger body would better support the flow of mana through his pathways. The combination of physical and magical training was grueling, but Lorian welcomed the challenge. Each lift, each drop of sweat, was another step toward becoming the warrior he envisioned.

Aric offered pointers here and there, adjusting Lorian’s stance or correcting his form. “Don’t just lift with your arms—use your whole body. Let the mana flow into your core, not just your limbs,” he advised one day as Lorian struggled with a particularly heavy stone.

The advice worked. Gradually, Lorian felt his strength increase, not just in his arms but throughout his entire body. The mana channeling became more fluid, more natural. Still, he didn’t allow himself to get complacent. He’d spend his days training relentlessly, and then he’d wait till late at night and return after everyone went to bed.

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the training grounds, Lorian moved through a series of stretches that Aric had shown him, his muscles straining as he pushed them beyond their usual limits.

Just as he was settling into a particularly challenging stretch, a familiar voice cut through the quiet. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’ve taken up dancing, Lorian. Should I be worried?”

Lorian looked up to see Caelan Blackwood leaning casually against a tree at the edge of the field, a smirk playing on his lips. His friend’s easygoing demeanor was a stark contrast to the intensity that had consumed Lorian over the past several weeks.

“Caelan,” Lorian replied with a small grin, easing out of the stretch. “You know, you could try it sometime. Might help you loosen up those stiff blacksmith shoulders of yours.”

Caelan chuckled as he pushed off from the tree and walked over to join Lorian. “I’ll leave the contortions to you, thanks. I prefer my shoulders just the way they are—solid as an anvil.”

Lorian rolled his eyes, but there was a warmth in his expression. It had been weeks since he had seen Caelan, and he hadn’t realized how much he had missed his friend’s company until now. The routine of training had consumed him, leaving little room for anything else, but seeing Caelan here brought a small measure of normalcy back into his life.

“I was starting to think you’d become a ghost,” Caelan said, his tone only half-joking as he looked Lorian over. “You’ve been holed up here for weeks. What’s going on?”

Lorian hesitated, unsure of how much to say. The events of the night he wasn’t declared heir still weighed heavily on his mind, and though Caelan was his closest friend, there were some things he wasn’t ready to talk about. “Just… trying to keep myself busy,” Lorian replied, shrugging it off. “You know how it is.”

Caelan’s expression softened, his usual smirk fading into something more serious. “Lorian, I was there, remember? At the party. I saw what happened—how your father declared Elara the heir, and the King confirmed it. Then you just… disappeared before anyone could stop you.”

Lorian looked away, the memory of that night still raw. “I couldn’t stay,” he admitted quietly. “Not after… everything.”

Caelan sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I figured as much. You left, and the whole place felt like it was holding its breath. Elara tried to keep things together, but it was clear she was worried about you. And your father? Well, he put on a good show, but anyone could tell he was furious. Not that he showed it outright, of course—just that cold, controlled anger he does so well.”

Lorian’s gaze flicked back to Caelan, a mix of curiosity and dread gnawing at him. “What happened after I left?”

Caelan took a deep breath, as if trying to find the right words. “Once you were gone, the party went on, but it was like the air had been sucked out of the room. People tried to act like it was business as usual—dancing, drinking—but everyone was just going through the motions. Your mother left shortly after you did, and Elara… well, she did her best, but she wasn’t fooling anyone. It was like everyone was pretending not to notice the empty space where you should’ve been.”

Lorian clenched his fists, feeling a surge of anger. He could picture it clearly—his father insisting on continuing the ceremony, as if nothing was wrong, as if his absence didn’t matter at all.

Caelan placed a hand on Lorian’s shoulder, pulling him out of his thoughts. “Look, I’m not here to drag all that up again. I just wanted to see how you were doing, and from the looks of it, you’ve been working yourself to the bone.”

Lorian forced a small smile. “It’s the only thing that makes sense right now.”

Caelan nodded, understanding in his eyes. “Well, how about taking a break? We could head into the city, grab a drink or two. Clear your head.”

Lorian hesitated, the idea of leaving the training grounds feeling almost foreign to him. “I don’t know, Caelan. I’ve got a lot to work on here.”

“Come on,” Caelan urged, his tone light but insistent. “You’re going to drive yourself crazy out here. A few hours won’t hurt. Besides, I’m not taking no for an answer. You’ve been through a lot, and you deserve to unwind a bit. You’re old enough to drink now, Lorian, so let’s get to it and enjoy it!”

Lorian looked into Caelan’s earnest eyes and felt some of the tension in his shoulders ease. Maybe he was right. Maybe he did need a break—if only for a little while. “Alright,” Lorian finally agreed. “But just a couple of drinks.”

Caelan grinned, clapping him on the back again. “That’s the spirit! Let’s get out of here before you change your mind.”

The streets of Aelshire bustled with life as Lorian and Caelan made their way through the cobblestone paths. The city, under the governance of Lorian’s family, was vibrant and full of energy even as the evening deepened. The warm glow of lanterns flickered to life as the last rays of the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a golden hue over the city’s stone buildings.

Aelshire was a city of tradition, its architecture a blend of old-world charm and modern elegance. The streets were lined with merchant stalls, their owners calling out to potential customers with promises of fine wares and exotic goods. Lorian had walked these streets many times before, but tonight felt different. The usual weight of expectations seemed to lift with each step, replaced by the anticipation of a night away from the burdens of his title.

“We’ll have to make this night memorable,” Caelan said with a grin as they approached their destination. “Let’s celebrate your coming of age properly tonight, Lorian. You’re officially old enough to drink, so let’s get to it!”

Lorian couldn’t help but smile at Caelan’s enthusiasm. “I suppose it’s about time,” he replied, trying to let go of the tension that had built up over the past few weeks. He still couldn’t fully shake the events of the night he wasn’t declared heir, but the thought of losing himself in the lively atmosphere of Aelshire was tempting.

Their destination, The Gilded Lantern, was one of the most well-known taverns in Aelshire. Located near the heart of the city, it was famous for its lively atmosphere, good ale, and the occasional brawl. The sign above the door was etched with the image of a glowing lantern, gilded in gold leaf, which caught the light from the street lamps, making it shine in the growing darkness.

The tavern’s interior was just as inviting as its exterior, with warm, flickering candlelight casting long shadows over the wooden tables and stone walls. The air was thick with the scent of roasting meat, freshly baked bread, and the distinct aroma of ale. A fire crackled in the large hearth, adding to the cozy atmosphere.

Lorian and Caelan found a table near the back, away from the rowdier groups clustered closer to the bar. As they sat down, a serving maid approached with a smile, taking their order for a round of drinks.

As they waited, Caelan leaned back in his chair, taking in the surroundings. “This place never changes,” he said, his tone relaxed. “You can always count on The Gilded Lantern for a good time.”

Lorian nodded, glancing around. The tavern was filled with a mix of patrons—merchants, travelers, and locals all mingling together. It was a stark contrast to the formal gatherings he was used to attending, and the change of pace was more than welcome.

The drinks arrived quickly, two frothy mugs of ale placed before them. Caelan raised his mug in a toast. “To your first drink as a man of Aelshire, Lorian. May it be the first of many more to come!”

Lorian chuckled, raising his mug to meet Caelan’s. “To the first of many,” he echoed before taking a deep drink. The ale was strong, with a rich flavor that warmed him from the inside out.

As they drank, the tension that had been lingering around Lorian’s shoulders slowly began to fade. The noise of the tavern, the laughter, and the clinking of mugs created a comforting background hum that helped drown out the thoughts that had plagued him for weeks. For the first time in what felt like forever, Lorian allowed himself to relax.

“So,” Caelan said after a while, leaning in slightly. “Are you going to tell me what’s been going on, or are we just going to drink in silence all night?”

Lorian hesitated, his fingers tracing the rim of his mug. He hadn’t talked to anyone about what had happened after he left the hall that night—not even Caelan, his oldest friend. But as he sat there, the weight of keeping it all bottled up started to feel like too much.

“I just… I can’t stop thinking about everything,” Lorian began, his voice low. “About what happened with my father, about not being named heir. It’s like… like I’ve been cast aside, and no matter what I do, it’ll never be enough.”

Caelan listened quietly, his usual lighthearted demeanor replaced with a rare seriousness. “You know,” he said after a moment, “I never thought your father’s decision was fair. But I also know that there’s more to you than just a title, Lorian. You’ve got potential—more than you give yourself credit for.”

Lorian sighed, taking another drink. “Maybe, but it doesn’t feel that way. It feels like I’m just… lost.”

Caelan shook his head. “You’re not lost. You’re figuring things out. And honestly, I think that’s the hardest part of growing up—realizing that life doesn’t always go the way you planned. But that doesn’t mean you give up.”

Lorian looked up, meeting Caelan’s gaze. “You always know what to say.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” Caelan said with a grin. “Now, let’s not dwell on the past too much. Tonight, we drink, we laugh, and maybe we even find someone to warm your bed tonight, eh?”

Lorian rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Trouble, huh? You always were good at finding that.”

Caelan raised his mug again. “And tonight, it’s my mission to remind you how to have some fun. So, let’s get to it.”

The hours slipped by as Lorian and Caelan continued to drink, the weight of the world slowly melting away with each mug of ale. The Gilded Lantern’s atmosphere grew livelier as the night deepened, with laughter and the clinking of glasses filling the air. With each sip, Lorian felt the burdens of his title and the expectations that had been thrust upon him gradually fade.

Caelan, always the life of the party, kept Lorian entertained with stories of his recent conquests. “So there I was,” Caelan recounted with a mischievous grin, “thinking it was just another quiet night, when this fiery redhead turns around and—get this—throws a whole pitcher of ale right in my face! Turns out, she wasn’t too keen on hearing about how my muscles were ‘forged in the fires of the forge.’ But hey, by the end of the night, she couldn’t keep her hands off me.” He leaned in closer, waggling his eyebrows. “She said she was just making sure I was as solid as I claimed.”

Lorian chuckled, shaking his head at his friend’s antics. “I’m surprised you didn’t end up with more than just ale on your face.”

“You and me both,” Caelan laughed. “But I’m telling you, Lorian, these muscles are my ticket to the ladies’ hearts—or at least to their beds.”

Just as Caelan was about to launch into another exaggerated tale, Lorian’s attention drifted toward a corner of the tavern where a group of rough-looking men were huddled together, speaking in hushed tones. He noticed one of them discreetly slip something into a woman’s drink while she was distracted by her friend. The act was quick, almost imperceptible, but Lorian’s sharp eyes caught it.

Lorian’s expression darkened instantly. Without a word, he stood up, his focus entirely on the group.

“Hey, Lorian, where are you going?” Caelan called after him, confused. “I’m getting to the best part!”

But Lorian didn’t respond. His mood had soured in an instant, and he made his way through the crowd toward the men. As he reached them, he grabbed the spiked drink from the unsuspecting woman’s hand and splashed it directly into the face of the man who had spiked it.

“What the hell? Who do you think you are, kid?” the scarred man snarled, wiping the drink from his face, his eyes narrowing in anger.

Lorian met his gaze with icy resolve. “Someone who doesn’t need to spike drinks to charm a woman, you bald-headed mongrel,” he replied, his voice dripping with contempt.

The man’s sneer deepened, his expression twisted with fury. “Big mistake, kid,” he growled.

Before Lorian could react, the man swung a punch at him. Lorian dodged the blow with instinctual speed, but as he reached for his sword, he realized with a sinking feeling that he had left it behind at the training grounds. That brief moment of distraction was all it took for another thug to seize the opportunity, shoving Lorian hard and sending him crashing into a nearby table.

As Lorian struggled to regain his footing, the man who had shoved him advanced, ready to kick him while he was down. But before he could, Caelan barreled into him from the side, tackling him into another table with a resounding crash.

“Damn it, Lorian! Stirring trouble was supposed to be my job tonight!” Caelan quipped, a grin on his face despite the chaos erupting around them.

The tavern exploded into an all-out brawl, tables and chairs overturned as patrons scrambled to get out of the way. Lorian and Caelan found themselves in the thick of it, fending off blows from all sides. Lorian’s training kicked in, but without his sword, he relied on his fists and whatever objects he could grab.

As the fight raged on, Lorian found himself facing the scarred man once again. The man’s expression was murderous as he pulled out a knife, the blade glinting ominously in the dim light of the tavern.

Caelan, grappling with another attacker, didn’t see the scarred man advancing on him. Time seemed to slow as Lorian’s eyes locked onto the knife, his heart pounding in his chest. He knew he wouldn’t reach Caelan in time to stop the blade.

But then, something deep inside him surged—a raw, desperate instinct. Mana channeled through his body, just as Aric had taught him, but this time it felt different. It was raw, unrefined, driven by the need to protect his friend. Lorian’s legs kicked off the ground leaving cracks in the wooden floor while his fist shot out, connecting with a resounding thud into the scarred man’s chest, the energy he had built up exploded.

The impact was immediate and devastating. The scarred man’s eyes widened in shock as the force of the punch lifted him off his feet and sent him crashing into a nearby wall. The wall cracked under the pressure, and the man slumped to the floor, unconscious and more than likely, seriously injured.

The room went silent as everyone, including Lorian, stared at the aftermath of the blow. The men who had been attacking them froze, their aggression replaced by fear as they realized what had just happened.

Caelan, breathing heavily and sporting a fresh bruise on his cheek, looked at Lorian with a mix of shock and concern. “Lorian… what did you just do?”

A sudden burst of the tavern’s doors quickly grabbed everyone’s attention.

The city watch, stern and unyielding, quickly took control of the chaotic scene at The Gilded Lantern. As Lorian, Caelan, and the group of men were rounded up, it became clear that this wasn’t going to be resolved quietly.

“Everyone involved is coming with us,” the captain of the watch ordered, his voice leaving no room for argument. He pointed at the injured man with the scar, who was still groaning on the floor. “Get him to the healer’s immediately,” he commanded two of his men. The watchmen quickly moved to lift the injured man, his groans of pain echoing through the now-silent tavern as they carried him out.

Lorian’s eyes darted around the room, searching for the woman he had tried to help, hoping she might step forward to support his side of the story. But she was nowhere to be seen. The patrons of the tavern, many of whom had been too busy enjoying their drinks to notice the details of what had happened, either avoided his gaze or simply didn’t care enough to get involved. The few who had seen the spiked drink exchanged uneasy glances but remained silent, not wanting to draw the attention of the watch.

The tavern owner, clearly irritated by the disruption, didn’t offer any defense for Lorian either. To him, it was just another night of trouble in his establishment—one that he wanted resolved as quickly as possible.

With no one to speak on his behalf, Lorian felt a sinking sensation in his gut. The situation was rapidly spiraling out of control, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Caelan, standing beside him with a mix of frustration and resignation on his face, seemed to realize the same thing.

“Captain, we didn’t start this—” Lorian began, but the captain of the watch cut him off with a sharp glare.

“You’ll have your chance to explain at the jail,” the captain said curtly. “But for now, everyone’s coming with us until we sort this out.”

Lorian clenched his jaw, realizing that arguing would only make things worse. The watchmen quickly secured the rough-looking men who had started the brawl, along with Lorian and Caelan. The group was marched out of the tavern and into the streets of Aelshire, where curious onlookers peered out of windows and doorways, whispering among themselves.

The city’s jail was not far from The Gilded Lantern, and it wasn’t long before they arrived at the imposing stone building. The watchmen led them inside, where they were separated and placed into individual cells to await questioning.

As Lorian sat on the cold, hard bench in his cell, the adrenaline from the fight finally began to wear off, leaving him with a dull ache in his body and an even sharper one in his mind. He tried to piece together the events of the night, but his thoughts were interrupted by Caelan’s voice from the next cell.

“Lorian,” Caelan called out, his tone curious and a bit apprehensive. “What the hell was that back there?”

Lorian didn’t respond immediately. His mind was still racing from the events that had just unfolded, the weight of what had happened pressing down on him. The cold stone walls of the jail were a harsh contrast to the adrenaline-fueled chaos of the fight. He sat on the hard bench, replaying the brawl in his head, particularly that final, decisive moment.

Lorian tried to make sense of it all, but before he could settle his thoughts, Caelan’s voice broke the silence from the next cell again. “Lorian,” he called, his voice a mix of excitement and awe, “what the hell was that back there?” He repeated.

Lorian blinked, pulled from his thoughts by the question. “What do you mean?” he replied, though he had a feeling he knew exactly what Caelan was referring to.

“You know damn well what I mean,” Caelan continued, his tone almost giddy. “That punch you threw! I’ve never seen anything like it. You practically flattened that guy. Seriously, I thought he was done for!”

Lorian let out a slow breath, leaning back against the cold stone wall. The moment replayed in his mind: the knife flashing in the dim light, the rush of energy, and then the explosive force behind his fist. It had all happened so quickly, almost without conscious thought.

“I don’t know,” Lorian said finally, his voice low and uncertain. “It just… happened. I saw the knife, and I reacted. I didn’t even think.”

Caelan laughed, a genuine, relieved sound. “Well, whatever it was, it was incredible. You saved my skin back there. If you hadn’t stepped in when you did, who knows what would’ve happened. So, thanks for that, Lorian. I owe you one.”

Lorian managed a small smile despite everything. “I’m just glad you’re okay,” he replied, the knot in his stomach loosening slightly. “But I’m sorry, Caelan. I didn’t mean for us to end up here. I let things get out of hand.”

Caelan waved it off with a chuckle. “Ah, don’t sweat it. We’ve been in worse scrapes before. Besides, this makes for one hell of a story, doesn’t it? You can’t deny it was a memorable night.”

Lorian couldn’t help but chuckle too, the tension easing a bit more. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Definitely not a night I’ll forget anytime soon.”

“Exactly,” Caelan said, his tone light and cheerful. “And hey, what’s a night out without a little bit of trouble? We’ll get through this, and then we’ll have an even better story to tell.”

Lorian nodded, even though Caelan couldn’t see him. “Thanks, Caelan. I’m glad you’re here.”

“Always, my friend,” Caelan replied warmly. “Now, let’s just hope they don’t keep us locked up too long. I’m getting thirsty again.”

Lorian chuckled softly, the weight of the night’s events beginning to fade as fatigue set in. The cold stone walls of the cell felt less oppressive with Caelan’s lightheartedness cutting through the tension. Despite everything, there was comfort in knowing he wasn’t alone in this.

Before long, the exhaustion from the brawl and the alcohol began to take its toll. Caelan stretched out on the narrow bench in his cell, letting out a long yawn. “You know,” he said, his voice trailing off as sleep crept in, “this might just be the most memorable night we’ve had in a while.”

Lorian nodded, his own eyelids growing heavy. “Yeah… memorable,” he murmured, barely able to keep his eyes open.

The quiet of the jail enveloped them, and soon, both young men drifted off to sleep, the events of the night slipping away into the darkness. The silence of the cell block was only broken by the occasional shuffle of the guards outside, the clink of metal against stone, and the soft sounds of their breathing.

It felt like only moments had passed when Lorian was jolted awake by the loud creak of the heavy metal door swinging open. The sound echoed through the dimly lit corridor, causing his heart to skip a beat. He blinked, disoriented, as the remnants of sleep clung to him.

Caelan stirred beside him, rubbing his eyes as he slowly sat up. “What’s going on?” he mumbled, still half-asleep.

But Lorian’s attention was already fixed on the tall figure that had just entered the cell block. The familiar, imposing presence sent a chill down his spine. His father, Lord Thaddeus, stood just beyond the bars, his face a mask of cold, barely restrained fury.

“Lorian,” Thaddeus’s voice was as sharp as a blade, slicing through the quiet of the jail. “What have you done?”

Lorian’s blood ran cold as he met his father’s steely gaze. The weight of the night’s reckless decisions came crashing down on him, and any remnants of sleep were instantly wiped away.

Before Lorian could muster a response, the metal door clanged shut behind Lord Thaddeus, the sound echoing ominously through the cell block, marking the beginning of a reckoning that Lorian knew he couldn’t avoid.