The Last Winter

Deep in the heart of the Serried Forestland, where few dare to tread, some mysterious force— or person— has disturbed the ward that protects the Winter Grove.  For the first time in a decade, Boragard Winter and his three sons might not be alone out here.

"…And anyway, we're going to scare away whatever pit-spawned creature tore that hole if we keep hacking around the forest like this." Lucien saunters along behind his two older brothers, hands in his pockets, making their diamond formation a sloppy rhombus. The forest is thick with trees and vines, untouched by human hands. They’re dozens of miles from civilization.

"Hm." Garland leads the bunch, gesturing slightly with his hands. He’s manipulating two crescent-shaped blades of energy. The magic easily slices through the leaves and poking branches in their way. "That'd be the best case scenario."

Kane's eyes are glued to his feet, and his teeth worry at a leaf that sticks out of the corner of his mouth. Trudging through the forest like this has a weighted ball of anxiety festering in his chest, but he tries to joke it away. "Pick up the pace, Luce," he laughs  around the leaf.

"Tsk. Gonna scare away our dinner, too," Lucien mutters under his breath.

"You eat nothing but berries anyway," their father, Boragard, chimes in from behind. He chuckles. "You're as thin as cobweb. One blow and you'll float away."

"I'm not a damn herbivore! I eat!" Lucien shoots a glare back at his father. The short twists of his hair roll over his brow.

"Ugh, we've been walking all day!" Kane complains.  "Can we please head back? I gotta eat!" Even his wooden bow and arrows are starting to feel heavy on his back. At least if they head home now, they can have some soup and call it a night.

The boys look back and forth at each other, then look to their father.

"Don't look at me!" Boragard crosses his arms. "You're leading this hunt, Garland. It's your call."

"Well, it is getting late…"

Kane breathes a sigh of relief.

"But what if the assailant is nocturnal?" Boragard retorts.

"Hm…"

"Oh, come on, now." Lucien rolls his eyes. "What use are we if we're all starving and exhausted? What if there's a fight to be had? If it is nocturnal, we could come back out another night."

Kane swooshes his leaf around in his mouth as he speaks: "...another night with a damaged ward. Whatever it is could come back tonight while we sleep. Or whoever."

A sobering thought. Lucien is only fifteen; he wouldn't remember much about what they came from. But for Garland, Kane, and their father, hiding away in this forest hasn't dampened their sense of severity in the slightest. The fires of the old Winter estate lick and lap at each of their memories.

"Another possibility is that there's no assailant at all," Lucien sniffs. "I mean, you are getting old, pops. Maybe your little ward isn't as strong as it was before."

Even without any mysterious assailant, the ward is a necessary protection. The Serried Forestland crawls with magical beasts, from the humble boskrag to the massive gallitode; and many of them metamorphose as they grow, becoming ever more dangerous to humans. Outside the forest, bands of insurrectionist troops march by, savagely murdering anyone who’s not on their side. Or so it’s said.

The slightest crack of a twig makes the three boys flinch. Instinctively, Boragard pushes Lucien behind him as they all brace themselves. Garland gets low, and the others follow suit, creeping closer together.

A single thought lingers in Kane’s mind, but he’s afraid to speak it aloud.

Garland narrows his eyes, spotting the movement of a young doe between the trees. "Just a deer."

Boragard chuckles nervously. "You're all on edge," he grunts, rubbing at the right side of his chest.

"Sure you can keep up, Father?" Lucien jests, but not without a small amount of concern. Kane frowns, watching his father’s fingers twitch with concealed pain.

With another grunt, Boragard gestures ahead with his chin.

"Well…" Lucien looks forward. "Might as well catch it while we're out here." He gathers his magical energy, muttering under his breath. High in the trees far to his right, something moves in response.

"Don't you think we should catch it on our own?" Kane asks, his eyes following the sound.

Lucien sucks his teeth. "You ever heard of a precaution? Contingency plans?"

"We need to get closer," Garland whispers. "Follow me and stay quiet."

They creep through the forest, keeping the roaming deer in sight. The forest floor is thick with litter; Kane sidesteps a pile of crunchy leaves only to step on a stick. It cracks beneath his foot.

The deer bounds off, spooked. Even through its fear, it watches its footfalls, making sure to land on dirt and not the suspicious-looking roots that twirl around each other. It knows to avoid the sleeping beasts of the forest, for they are no mere animals.

Ever on the lookout, deer tend to have a heightened sense of danger. This is how it keeps itself alive. But the boys are hungry. Other than the supplies they receive every few months, when their father’s old friend Harney makes the long and dangerous trek out here, they must grow or hunt for every bite they eat. One way or another, that deer will make its way into their bellies.

In the cleft between two thick trees, Lucien leans to get a better look. The deer pauses in its grazing, lifting its head in caution.

"There it is," Kane whispers. He salivates, crouched low in the grass, willing his stomach not to growl too loudly. "We're gonna eat good tonight."

Garland holds up a fist, silently instructing everyone to hold their positions. He motions for Kane to take his side.

Kane slowly raises and draws his bow. Slow wind this evening.

He shoots— and misses. The arrow impales a thick root on the ground; the deer perks up and rears away..

How could I miss that?

"Tsk. Dammit, Kane!" Lucien snaps, raising his right hand. It stretches unnaturally, then tightens into four sharp claws. "There's no way it'll escape me. Watch and learn, big brother."

"Lucien, hold," Garland tries.

"Luce, wait," Kane hisses. He reaches out toward him, but grabs only air as Lucien steps forward. Up in the canopy of trees, there’s a swift sound of rustling.

"We'll be eating well ton— ARGGHH!"

A root— the same one that was struck by Kane's arrow— bunches up and lashes at Lucien's ankles. It moves too quickly for him to react. Ripping themselves out of the dirt, the hidden roots slither around Lucien's legs, sweeping him off his feet.

The roots wrap all around him, entangling his limbs completely, and Lucien falls hard to the forest floor. The deer scurries away through the trees.

"Aw, shit!" The color drains from Kane's skin, leaving it a pale, ashy brown. His knees lock as he watches his brother, consumed by the roots.

It's a nar'lurr. You don't find them as much along the edges, but the roots of these hungry stumps spread like veins through the heart of the forest. No matter how much you hack away at them, they only grow back. If you're unlucky— or foolish— enough to step on one, it'll entangle you and squeeze the life right out of you, consuming your innards. And this is just its immature form; if it's allowed to keep growing, it'll become a fearsome walking tree.

The tendrils push themselves under Lucien's fingernails, cracking them and tearing the delicate flesh beneath. He clenches his fists around those he can reach, but however hard he pulls, his physical strength isn't enough to pry them away. As much as he wishes to scream, he knows they'll take advantage of the given passage down his throat.  He feels his magical focus slipping as he devotes all his energy to keeping himself alive.

Lucien squeezes his eyes shut, but the roots press hard, forcing their way in. His nostrils, too, are invaded. It won’t take long for them to reach his brain.

Garland stiffens. The scene before him juts him backwards to ten years ago…

Lucien, bound on an altar, his little body squirming silently. Their mother's lanky form, like a spider over him, scalpel in hand. A blood-curdling scream. Lucien lurching. 

Blood.

"Quickly, now." Boragard takes command. "Garland, sever the roots! Kane, look for the core. We'll have to dig it out!"

Look for the core. Kane hears his father’s words, but they barely register.  If I could just grasp any amount of energy… "Kane…" Boragard tries.

He wouldn't even know what to do with it once he had it. Seventeen years old and I haven't moved past the magic every kid knows. Gods, it's like I'm still using my fingers to count.

Impulsively, Kane reaches out, grabbing and pulling at empty space.

He tries and tries, but fails and fails. It fizzles out each time.

With a cry of frustration, he lets it go. He’ll have to resort to using his telekinesis. He may not have discovered his magical application yet, but even he can do something as basic as that.

The roots tug and stretch beneath the telekinetic force, shedding bits of withered bark. It only seems to pull them tighter around Lucien, who squirms in discomfort. His necklace, a single chain link on a length of cord, is pressed painfully against his throat.

He’s trying to use his own telekinesis to break free, but he can’t quite manage it. For a split second, the root wrapped around his throat eases up— then it snaps back into place, even tighter, and Lucien gasps.

"It’s not working!" Kane shouts, rushing over to his little brother. If I use my hands…

The thick root pulls tight around Lucien's throat, the dark brown flesh turning deep purple. Kane squeezes his eyes shut and wraps his hands around it, then pulls with all his might. With his physical strength added to his telekinetic force, maybe it’ll be enough—

Suddenly, Kane's skin prickles with the warm buzz of magical energy. His eyes spring open. "Am I doing it?" he whispers, breathless.

The scintillating energy gathers before him. It forms into a trio of spinning blades, sparking with an earthy green color.

Garland's energy.

Kane looks over his shoulder and watches Garland’s hands gyrating, controlling the energy. He sighs as the blades carefully slice the root to pieces.

Lucien lies supine on the ground, choking and coughing as he pulls bits of root from his face. Some of the long tendrils managed to reach down his throat and got lodged there; luckily for him, they didn’t reach his belly. As he pulls them out, his eyes water; his belly warms and saliva pools in his mouth. Don’t throw up.

Garland lifts his hand, calling forth his tri-bladed energy. It hovers through the air and into his grip. He palms at it, reshaping it into a long rope that weaves its way around the remaining roots. They've already begun to grow back, almost reaching their original length, but his energy rope binds them safely together.

With singular focus, he grabs hold of the bundle and lassos it around the branches of the nearest tree. The beast hangs there, suspended.

Lucien pushes himself up on his arms, his eyes red as the sun. Don’t throw up, he orders himself again, but it’s no use; bile surges up from his stomach. Blood drips from his eyes and nose as he gasps for air.

As soon as he can gather the strength, Lucien pulls himself up to his shaking knees, trying not to think about how pathetic he must look to his brothers. He looks up to find Garland hovering over his cut-up face, grabbing his arm to pull him up.

Surprising no one, Lucien snatches his arm away. “I got it!”

"Shit… Luce? You…" Kane spits out his chewed-up leaf, shaken. He forces Lucien into a tight embrace, which Lucien quickly squirms out of." Can't believe you can stand after all that."

Lucien waves Kane off, wiping the blood from beneath his nose. "I'm fine, sharpshooter."

Kane doesn't take the bait. His little brother was nearly turned into an empty husk for the forest to feed on. Because of me. There's no way in the pit of souls he'll allow something like that to happen again, snide remarks be damned.

He stares at Lucien, willing him to open up for once. But just like his attempt to use his magic, it fizzles out. Lucien doesn’t say another word.

Boragard smiles warmly at the three of them. He beckons them over.

 Still maintaining the energy that traps the beast, Garland steps heavily through the broken bits of root without looking back. "Kane, let’s go. We need to find the core." His voice is as decisive and strong as his stride.

There’s nothing else Kane can do. He squeezes his eyes shut and turns toward their waiting father.

Gritting his teeth against the pain, Lucien stomps ahead to meet Garland and their father. Kane drags his feet behind him, holding his belly in an attempt to silence its growling. His hunger belies his concern for his brother.

As Lucien walks by, Boragard squeezes his shoulder, taking in the moment. Reassuring himself of his son’s safety. He sure has grown since when he was obsessed with ripping off his little diaper and running around naked. Lucien picks up his chin and stands as tall as his shaking legs will allow.

Boragard takes the hint and lets him go. They continue walking until they come upon a mangled tree. He strokes the twin twists of his beard, examining it.

The tree’s base is tattered and scarred as if struck by lightning long ago. Long, tangled roots snake out from the bottom.

Kane stops in front of the thing, dazed. This thing almost killed Lucien.

Slowly, he takes it in, processing it all. He remembers the night they fled for the Serried Forestland. He had only been seven years old, but he remembers Garland’s voice shaking as he recounted what he’d seen. What happened to Lucien now was far too similar.

Boragard glances over at him. He takes a deep breath. "Kane," he calls, gently pulling him from the depths.

"Yeah," Kane croaks.  

"He’ll be all right."

He nods, but the thought lingers in his mind: Will he?

The nar’lurr twitches violently against Garland's energy rope. It dangles in place, shaking the tree branch that it hangs from.

"Here the sucker is, boys." Boragard bends down, placing a hand in the dirt. "Now, you could go hacking away at its roots until the moon turns black. No, we don't want that."

He looks around, waiting for an answer from his sons, but they all seem to be lost in their own thoughts. Kane is the first to look up, sensing the awkward silence.

"Yeah," he breathes, lifting his chin and hoping his spirit follows. "We'll need to pop that squishy thing, right?"

"Tsk. It's a sap cluster." Lucien rolls his eyes.

Kane lets him have his eye-roll. For Lucien's sake, he’ll suffer most of his jibes.

Boragard crosses his arms, evaluating Garland's ability. "This guy doesn't want to go. Son, can you hold a bit longer?"

If the beast gets loose, he'll have to step in to help. In decades past, the Winter family benefited from generations of magical tutoring and careful breeding, creating some of the most powerful magi on this side of the Eupiric Sea. But these boys have grown up out here, isolated from the world. Eventually, they’ll have to leave this forest, but they’re nowhere near ready. Boragard won’t risk their lives.

"N… not much longer, Father." Garland is sweating; his muscles ache as his energy depletes. Small tears proliferate throughout the rope. He’s starting to lose his grip on the beast.

Boragard nods. "Lucien, Kane! Come rip this guy from the ground." He snaps his fingers, taking a step back. "Hold that rope, Garland. Just a bit longer. Honesty in one's own limitations can be what saves one's life."

He strokes the twin twists that hang from his chin, analyzing the boys' movements. Garland's stance is wide and assured. He's never had an issue with confidence, but never shows off. The sweat on his brow is the only outward sign of the immense power he’s wielding.

There could be a benefit in flexing a little. Sometimes a leader has to demonstrate his power. However, he could also learn to rely on his brothers more. Lucien is becoming a powerful magus in his own right. And Kane… well, he’ll discover his own application soon enough. He has to.

On either side of the nar’lurr, the two youngest brothers face each other. Lucien's furrowed eyebrows evince deep thought. They plant their feet into the ground.

Kane focuses his telekinesis, pulling up on one side while Lucien takes the other. Sweat drips down the sides of his neck and dots Lucien's forehead. It trickles down, mixing with the blood smeared over his eyes. Neither one of them was prepared for how heavy the beast actually is.

"Use those knees, boys! Like you're lifting a heavy crate. Telekinesis is the mind's extension of the body."

The nar’lurr tears from the ground, its tentacles scattering clumps of dark earth as they whip ever harder against Garland's rope. He struggles to keep them out of the way.

"Lift! Almost there. Come on!"

They strain and twist, tossing the beast's body to the side. It topples over, and its fleshy sac is exposed to the evening wind, kicking up the stench of bloodied amber. Lucien and Kane both fall to their knees, panting with exertion.

"It's so big," Lucien huffs.

"Yeah," Kane agrees, still catching his breath. "At a size like that, I'm surprised it hasn't hit its mature phase yet." Kind of like me, he thinks, wincing.

"They all are different sizes," Garland grunts. "Mature or not."

With all three of his sons having expended the best of their energy, Boragard steps in and places a hand on the sticky sap cluster. The nar’lurr’s blood is brown and viscous, but it carries a similar metallic odor to human blood. He feels around with his magic, coaxing out its life force.

"Father, wait!" Lucien pushes himself to his feet.

"Hold that thought, boy. Come here so I can heal your wounds."

"Don't kill it!" Lucien pleads, staggering over to his father. "This thing almost killed me. The least I can do is a live study. Let me try to replicate its form." Even as he protests, he tilts his head and lets his father place his hands near his cut-up face. 

The familiar feeling of Boragard’s healing magic washes through him. The sore spots on his neck and arms shrink to nothing, and his wounds close with a tingle; the feeling is pleasant, but he shakes it off.

Boragard sighs. "Hold still, or it'll scar. This nar’lurr is too strong for you as you are, Luce. And it's getting late. We'll have to turn back before the other beasts begin to stir."

Lucien pushes his father's hand away and steps back, restless. "I’ve been getting stronger! I can handle it. Just let me take it to my lab." He looks from his father to the beast, clenching his fists and shifting his feet. With every second that passes, his chance to study it is slipping away.

"Father," Garland says. "I have enough strength to carry it." He's winded, but he carefully controls his breathing. He won't falter in front of his little brothers.

"I don't need your help, Garland!" Lucien barks, desperately trying to regain what little control he might've had. But Boragard nods and moves on to Garland, gathering all the life energy he's obtained thus far around his fingers.

He raises his hands and hovers them over Garland's head, and the deep red mist seeps into him. Garland's silent, uneven breathing slows to a normal rhythm.

"Honesty in one's own limitations can save one's life," Boragard says gently. "Many a great magus has been led to their downfall by arrogance."

"Thank you, Father." Feeling refreshed, Garland straightens his stance and manipulates his rope around the roots. It changes shape, binding them so they can’t grow further. The beast falls to the dirt with a loud thump, scaring away those birds that had been so brave as to stick around in the trees.

This sudden movement shakes the branches, causing a shower of leaves to flutter around them. Most of them land on Kane. He plucks one from his shoulder and frowns at it.

The energy rope condenses, then stretches into a translucent orb. Garland wraps it around the nar’lurr’s main body as he prunes the remaining roots. He lifts the limbless beast into the air just over his head, carrying it telekinetically as they resume their walk through the forest.

Unbeknownst to the rest of the group, Kane is quietly studying the leaf. He places it between his lips and blows, but no sound comes out. As they walk on, he fiddles with it, intermittently pouring his magic’s color into it.

His belly rumbles, interrupting his experimentations. "I wish we at least caught something," Kane groans. "What are we gonna eat tonight? The deer got away."

Lucien opens his eyes, and the single chain link on his neck glows and wanes. He shoves his hands in the pockets of his woolen coat. "Don't be so oblivious, Kane. I've sent Thrall after the deer. We'll eat just fine."

"By the way, Lucien," Boragard cuts in. "What was your plan?"

Lucien tenses. "What do you mean?"

"Well, you leapt into action quickly enough. I assume you had a plan for how exactly you were going to catch the deer."

"Tsk. Yes, go ahead and blame me for almost getting killed tonight. Bet you wish it drained my life away," Lucien grumbles, kicking up some forest floor.

"Throw it to the pit!" White hot anger rushes through Boragard. He swings Lucien around by the shoulder— more roughly than he intended to, but he has a point to make. "Don’t you ever say some shit like that again."

Angry buzzing itches throughout his entire body as hot tears threaten to fall. Before they do, he presses Lucien close enough to press him inside himself. It’s the second time he’s been so close to losing his son.

Lucien can’t draw in a full breath, but the whiplash of the sudden affection keeps him from worrying about it. It’s one of those rare moments where his mind went blank. When he comes to, he lightly pushes himself away from his father, turns awkwardly and continues walking.

He takes the moment of silence to recuperate his thought process. That’s right. His father had asked him a question.

"I… I would've caught up to it." Lucien refuses to lower his chin again.

"M-hm." Boragard nods, smiling at Lucien's back. "And then what? I saw you had your claws out. Were you planning on using those? Tearing our dinner to pieces before it’s even cooked?"

Lucien sucks his teeth. Boragard considers what he’d said to Garland about arrogance. In truth, Lucien is the one who needs that lesson most— but Boragard lets him ruminate in his thoughts as they press on.

* * *

As they approach the very edge of Boragard’s protection of their homestead, a barely-visible layer of energy shimmers before them. Boragard stops, scratching at his chin hairs.

"What's the matter, Father?" Kane asks, following his gaze.

With closer examination, it becomes clear. They'd spotted this anomaly earlier, but it seems to have spread. Boragard feels his way around the bruise; it warps and shimmers at his touch.

"Hm. It's gotten bigger." Garland strokes his chin. A single twist hangs from it, almost as long as his father’s beard.

The ward is attuned to the auras of the Winter family; it admits them easily, and they begin to scale the tall hill that stands before their home. Lucien speeds his pace, taking up the head of the group.

As they crest the hill, the silhouette of their log cabin reveals itself. The stone-lined sparring pit sits empty on the front lawn, scuffs and streaks in the dirt telling its history of long battles between the brothers. Kane trembles at the memories of being beaten; both of his brothers have flattened him on the ground time and time again. He’s gotten good with a wooden staff, but it’s no match for their magic. At least Garland pulls his punches.

Breaking him from his train of thought, his father speaks up. "Tell me, boys. What types of beasts live in this forest?"

Kane quickly answers: "Well, lots of different kinds. The nar’lurr we just fought, for one. They're all over, but they’re pretty weak—"

"Yet you boys still have trouble with them," Boragard laughs. He slaps Kane on the back. "Continue, boy."

Garland grunts a sound that might be a laugh.

Kane stretches out the pain in his back, trying to pretend he wasn't stung by both his father's palm and his words. "Well, there's way more here than around the edges of the forest, but there's also Lucien's thrall, and the gallitode, which—"

"My thrall should be waiting behind the house. With our dinner," Lucien declares.

"Wish I could control magic beasts..." Kane laments.

"And what would you even do with them? Can you comprehend how much constant mental power it costs just to control a beast for more than five minutes? Not to speak of the magical energy spent," Lucien prattles, without looking back. "Tsk. The initial catch alone is draining enough."

Garland grunts, prompting Lucien to peek over his shoulder. Kane is walking on with his head down, looking pitiful.

"But… anyway," Lucien sighs. "You'll find your own application." He looks forward again.

"Drained after five minutes, huh?" Boragard booms.

Lucien turns to walk backwards, trying not to flinch. "I can control a beast for about an hour now."

"Last time we sparred, your transformation fell apart within thirty minutes. And you lost control of the dekatode."

"Tsk. Well, Garland, I wouldn't expect you to understand the absurd concentration needed to compartmentalize two separate applications and have the foresight to predict your opponent's next move! Not only that, but to counter after finding an opening…"

As Lucien speaks, Kane silently moves his lips in a mockery of his long-winded speech. Boragard chuckles; he pats Garland on the back, and even he cracks a smile.

"Be that as it may," Boragard says, as Lucien concludes his rant. "The beasts you named, Kane. Do any of you boys think they could have caused this anomaly?"

"Well, there’s nar’lurrs all over the forest, but I haven’t seen any close to us."

"They have no means to rupture a ward." Garland chimes in.

Kane ponders this, fingering a twist in his hair. "Dekatodes are in abundance, but…"

"I doubt they have the intelligence to pull it off. And they love their swamp too much to travel this far," Boragard says.

Kane scratches at his scalp more aggressively. His frustration is taking over. "What about—"

"Tsk. None of those beasts have the ability to do something like this. Like I said, Father’s just getting old." Lucien throws his hands in his pockets and fumes toward the house, disappearing behind it.

Kane watches Lucien as he goes, stricken with worry. "Well, what if it’s… Mother? I know what you’re gonna say, but— we can’t really put it past her, can we?" He looks desperately at his brother and father.

Garland finds it difficult to make eye contact. It’s a fear that he himself didn’t wish to acknowledge.

Kane continues. "The way she had Lucien hooked up… Father, she cut him open! What will we do if she finds us?"

These are the moments Boragard was afraid of. His sons are still too young to understand a pain this great. But he’s right. We can’t stay in these woods forever. 

They can’t run forever, either. And what would that teach his boys?

"If not her… if not Mother, then, what about the insurgents?" Kane tries once more to pry into the solidity of their safety.

Garland grunts, vaguely considering Kane’s allegation. "Would they come this far?"

"No, I can’t say that it’s them." Boragard says, brows furrowed in deep thought.

"What do you mean? We don’t know who or what it is. For all we know, they didn’t get their fill in the city."

When they fled Ennopolis and made their home in the forest, there was no time for Boragard to come up with a long-term plan. He just needed to get his kids away from the immediate danger of the insurrection— and their own mother. But where else could they go? The violence has spread way too far. What started as pocketed incidents had quickly flared up into a revolution and destroyed the homes of countless noble families.

"It’s not like that."

"How is it not like that? We’ve spent the last ten years hiding out from those murderers. Father, when can we… go back home?"

The question trails off Kane’s lips. Deep down, he knows there is no home to go back to. But the idea of living alone in this forest for another year is unbearable. The last concert he’d been to, he was too young to remember. He’d never get a chance to attend one now. Nor would he have his cook’s king crab with butter sauce, or his favorite— fresh poached cod and pineapple chutney. But what he really longed for was to meet other people his own age. A girl, even.

After a while, Boragard says, "It’s not as simple as just calling them murderers."

"They burned down our house!"

"As far as we saw, everyone made it out." Garland says matter-of-factly.

Boragard cuts in. "Kane, they’re not mindless savages. They have a cause. Something they believe in so dearly they are ready to throw their lives away to achieve that goal.”

"And to throw away innocent lives too. Why do you defend them?"

"Nothing in life is that black and white, Kane. You’ll understand this—"

"What when I’m older? Hopefully, when that day comes, we won’t be stuck out here."

Even as he speaks the words, he knows there’s nothing they can do about it. His father and older brother always have a way of making him feel childish.

Kane takes a slow and deep breath, trying to let it all go. For now at least. If I’m weak, all I have to do is get strong. Then things will be different. Very different. If he could just get his application down, he and his family could be the powerhouse they should be. With that power, he had no doubt about getting them out of this damned forest. He takes all his anger, all his frustration and pours it into his leaf. He’s onto something and he knows it.

Lucien finds Thrall, sitting in a high branch of a big tree behind the house, hunched over its work. The beast is a dekatode, a bony-headed, frog-like thing with deadly claws. Despite its low intelligence, it’s surprisingly tricky to dominate it mentally.

The dead deer lies in the grass, its hind legs spread on a triangular frame. Thrall’s short, scuttling legs are wrapped around the branch as its clawed fingers work with unexpected precision. It throws down a hook that swings from the branch.

Lucien can feel his thrall's exhaustion. It jumps down from the tree, and he kneels down, helping to lift the deer and hook it onto a thick branch. The deer sways and bumps into his shoulder, knocking him to the side. There's still some lingering nausea from before, but he holds down the squelching in his belly.

His father praised him once today, so he's got to keep up the momentum. He may be the last born, but he won't be losing to his brothers in this.

Lucien was only five years old when they fled to the Serried Forestland and hid themselves from the war. He can scarcely remember their mother's face, or any face other than the ones he sees every day. And despite that— no, because of that— he's going to prove he's the strongest of his brothers. Strong enough to put an end to their isolation.

Not only has he been controlling Thrall for longer periods of time, he's been working on getting it to perform more complicated tasks without direct supervision. Could Kane or Garland hold on to this much potential? Lucien would bet on his life that they couldn't.

Father praises Garland for his leadership skills, but the man can barely speak more than two words and a grunt. No charisma. Who would follow him if they had a choice?

Lucien watches Thrall hold the deer still, keeping it from swaying further. It shakes its head.

I could do that. I could be a leader— but humans are hardly worth leading, anyway. It'd be better to control an army of beasts than a single human.

"Shit!" Lucien had let his own mind get carried away, lost in thought. Thrall has broken out of his mental hold.

The thick, bony crest of its head rams into the tree. It slashes its four-fingered claws at the trunk and the empty air around it. It shrieks, and smashes, and slices the head clean off the hanging deer. The lifeless carcass swings upside-down from the tree.

"Thrall, stop—"

Thrall lunges at Lucien, knocking him on his back. All the wind is forced out of his chest. He crosses his arms to guard his face and his vitals, along with the chain link that dangles around his neck. Swiping relentlessly, Thrall’s claws tear at the flesh just above his eye.

With a strained cry, Lucien draws his magic into his fingers, transforming them into claws that match Thrall's. His blood rushes in his ears. Thrall pins his arms down and opens its mouth wide. Lucien squirms helplessly under the beast. Balls of yellow energy are charging at its stretched jaw, joining into one large, dangerous orb—

A sound like thunder on the ground. Lucien can't tell if it's his heart pounding, or the sound of the others approaching.

"Shit!" Garland and Boragard both exclaim as they hoof it toward the back of the house. "Lucien!" Kane hollers along with them.

They find Lucien pinned to the ground, fighting for his life for the second time today.

Boragard scans the area. Jutting from the ground near his feet, there’s a stone that’s just large enough to kick. Thinking quickly, he sends it flying toward the beast's temple.

It's not nearly enough to harm even a weaker beast like Thrall, but it does scratch the skin. That's all he needs. With an outstretched hand, he forces the life energy from the beast so thoroughly— and with such intensity— that the beast bursts with a pop from all sides. Its guts are strewn over the grass like chunks of wet melon.

With a look of horror and disgust, Lucien pushes himself up to a sitting position. Thrall's blood and chunks drip from his outstretched hands and his face.

Hot bile rises from his stomach. Before he can stop it, he throws up stomach acid.

"What happened?!" Boragard shouts as he barrels across the yard. He extends an arm to help Lucien up, but Lucien flinches away, standing on his own.

Kane gapes at the scene before him. All this destruction in just a few seconds. Chunks of tree bark litter the backyard, and the severed head of the deer lies near the fire pit, its tongue hanging to the side. "Luce, are you okay? What happened?"

"He lost control of it," Garland says.

"Yes, I lost control of it, Garland!" Lucien wipes the vomit from his mouth.

"Lucien," Boragard cuts in, his heart pounding. He looks sharply between his sons, commanding the attention of each one. "Keeping control is important, but knowing your limits—"

"I know my limits!"

The air holds the awkward silence like a baby, cradling it. Kane reaches out toward Lucien, as if he'd like to say something. Garland pulls him back with a quick hand on his shoulder.

Lucien shoulders past his father, never meeting his eyes.

"Lucien," Boragard calls.

"I'm not hungry."

"So you make a mess and expect the rest of us to pick up after you." He feels horrible for scolding Lucien at a time like this, but… what will he do when I’m gone? He has to learn. "That may have worked when you were a kid, but you're fifteen now."

It hits Lucien like the demand it is, leaving him stuck. Surely, his brothers will remember this blunder for ages to come. His specialty is control, and now he's lost it.

His one escape stands, tall and efficient, in front of him. They'd all had a hand in building it together: their home. Even Lucien, at the tender age of five, had been called upon to pass a hammer or sweep some sawdust. This was their refuge after their mother turned on them all.

Not that Lucien would know. He'd only been told stories by the fire. They would fill the gaps about his lost home by the sea. Cobbled streets led down to the boardwalk, the only place where outsiders mingled with the high families. All just to be burned to the ground by the insurgents.

Lucien tries to form a picture of their old life in his mind, but it's all gray concepts. At some point, he has to question whether the memories he does have are even his own— or are they fastened together from the stories he's been told?

Carefully, Boragard and Garland hang the deer up again, this time on a different tree. Kane guts the carcass as Garland meticulously skins it with a hooked blade of magical energy.

Boragard heads inside to grab a handful of jarred spices, then sets about making a fire. Garland wraps up the deerskin and sets it aside to be tanned. He moseys on into the house, thinking the venison would go great with some dark red wine, and the baby tomatoes he grew himself. Oh, and some nicely seasoned vegetable soup.

Pretty soon, they have their usual campfire set up in the backyard. Kane pours out a healthy portion of wine, then passes the bottle to Garland. They watch Lucien skulk around, muttering to himself as he cleans up the gory mess he made.

"At least the meat didn't get ruined," Kane says, mouth full of venison.

"There's not a mangled deer in the world that I can't prepare," their father gloats. His guffaw sends a nervous squirrel sprinting into the woods.

"Only the head was cut off. Can I sit down now?" Lucien says, exhausted. The moonlight reveals sweat glittering across his brown skin.

"Have you gotten all of Thrall out of the gutter? The flowerbed and the garden?"

"Yes, Father." Lucien drags his arm over his forehead. The night is cool, but the cleanup was hot work.

"Ah, come over here and eat, son. But wash your hands first."

Lucien rinses his hands in the small, flowing fountain near the back of the house, then slogs over to the empty seat in between his brothers.

"Quick work, Lucien. At least Thrall didn't blow a hole in the ground like that gallitode did." Kane smacks his lips as he tears into his venison.

Lucien scoffs, reaching for the wine. "Thrall was weak. And that hole in the ground turned out to be pretty useful."

He picks up his bowl of soup, and he catches Garland giving him the look of anticipation he makes after he fixes a meal. Lucien grins as he takes a sip.

It's been a long time, but he remembers it well. At eight years old, Lucien let his hubris get one over on him. He set himself out deep in the forest, into the swamplands, in search of the gallitode he'd read about in his father's library: a toad-like beast that burps up corrosive acid at its prey. It could be more than useful to learn how to transform himself and gain its power. Sure, he'd only just mastered the form of the lowly boskrag, but he couldn't wait to move past that.

What he found was well beyond his expectations. Far bigger than the pages had depicted, far more fierce than they could ever convey. It made Lucien feel like an ant at the feet of an astronomical being. A fish to a whale.

It could, Lucien imagined, invoke strict obedience with a simple gaze. And it smelled. The swamp itself held that rotten-egg smell, but it cut through even that. It was as if by some disgrace of Songavaar, the swamp had mated with a pile of gunpowder.  Still, he crouched in the shrubbery, not yet daring to enter the beast’s domain. There wasn't much to the boskrag— so he thought, obviously, it'd be just as easy to acquire the form of this hulking beast.

His knapsack shifted on his back, and the sound made the big beast stir. Lucien squeezed it to his chest, trying his best to keep the thing inside quiet. Just until the right moment.

The gallitode relaxed, and little Lucien carefully placed his bag on the ground and released the scurrying little boskrag. If he wanted to transform into the gallitode and use its power, he'd need to see that power in action.

He watched as the boskrag scurried away, right toward the gallitode. The hulking beast turned to face the furry critter. Lucien felt his skin buzz with the excitement of new knowledge— too much excitement. Without realizing, he stepped from the shrubs. The gallitode's attention was on the boskrag, so surely…

With one flick of its tongue, the gallitode seized the boskrag and gulped it down. Its eyes refocused, landing on Lucien.

All conscious thought left him. By brazen instinct alone, he raised his arms, releasing his magical energy to shroud the beast's head. If he could just will it to not eat him…

The gallitode swatted away Lucien's attempt like a mosquito. It rose from the swamp, foul water dripping from its heaving sides. The sheer pungent odor of the thing sent Lucien into a fit of vomiting. He wiped his mouth and lifted his heavy head, craning his neck at the sheer height as the gallitode loomed overhead.

Lucien, pale as a ghost, remained frozen— even as the beast slammed its long fingers into the ground, its thumb gripping the damp dirt beneath him.

Next thing Lucien knew, he was at home. A deep hole was left in the ground behind their house. His father had slain the beast right at his feet.

Boragard chugs his wine. "Bah ha! I had to mingle its blood with my own just to bring that thing to heel. It burped up so much damn acid, it melted a hole in the backyard." He gestures behind him at the trapdoor on the ground.

"Bring it to heel? It exploded!" Kane slaps his knee with mirth.

That hole is now, after years of collecting magical beast specimens and their parts, Lucien's lab. His hideaway. At the time, he'd bristled at his father's order to "make something of it," but he has to admit: the thing he made out of his failure is the best tool he has to shape himself into a great magus.

Garland lifts his arm, showing an old patch of burned skin on his forearm. "I'll never forget the sting."

"I don't even know how he made it all the way back," Boragard laughs. "Fainted right in my arms, though, and that gallitode burst right through the ward. You must've pissed that thing off somethin' fierce, son!" He laughs raucously.

"What did you say you were doing out there? Wanted it as a pet or something?" Kane asks.

Lucien pops a baby tomato, letting its sweetness burst in his mouth. He takes a last swig of wine, then places his dishes to the side. "It was an experiment…" he mumbles, blushing and chucking stray bark into the fire. He’d been way over his head back then. "At least I have an application."

"Yeah, yeah. Anyway, I think I might be getting somewhere. Look, I've been practicing." Kane reaches down and snatches a leaf from the ground.

His audience watches intently as he pinches the leaf between his fingers. Nothing happens.

This only makes Kane focus harder. It's no surprise that his father and Garland watch on with supportive patience, but even Lucien looks up from picking at the last bits of his venison.

Slowly, the leaf begins to glow. It lights up in a delicate shade of mint green; Kane's own unique color.

He lets his excitement get the better of him. "Ha!"

The leaf explodes into a hundred slivers. The sound pops and squeals in everyone's ears. Each of them howls at the sting.

"What in the Gods' name was that, Kane?" Lucien presses both palms to his ears.

"You’ll need to work on this more," Garland grunts, thumbing the pain away in his ear.

Boragard leans forward. He crosses his fingers over his lap. "Question for you, Kane." 

Kane looks up, meeting his father's eyes through the pain of embarrassment.

"What was the reason for this failure?"

The weight of the silence that follows threatens to send Kane plummeting through the earth. His father's hard brown eyes tear through him, searching for the answer he already knows.

Kane racks his brain, trying to figure out where he went wrong. Unfortunately, Boragard Winter is a patient man. Very patient. He's not getting out of this.

"I don't know..." Kane whispers.

His father's gaze hardens. He should know better than to give that cop-out of an answer.

"I, uh, maybe I put too much power behind it. But I guess..."

Boragard's gaze softens, his smile widening. It truly makes his heart warm to watch his sons improve, but even more to see them put in an effort. That resilience could be what helps them survive on their own once he's dead and gone.

Lucien nibbles the last of the meat off his bone. He throws it in the fire and stands up. "I'm gonna go take a bath."

As he walks away, Boragard turns his attention back to Kane. He sighs. "Well, I'm proud of you, son. This might be the last time I get to see a Winter coming into their own… ah." He trails off, clutching at his chest.

"Father? Here, wash it down with wine." Kane hands Boragard his mug, but his fingers only graze the handle as he leans backwards.

Garland rushes from his seat and catches Boragard as he topples over. Kane jumps up from his log.

"Let's get him to bed," Garland grunts, with a hand on his father's shoulder.  He wraps his father's arm around his neck, and Kane helps to carry him inside.

* * *

The sun shines through their log house and across the field, illuminating a gloomy morning. Kane roams the length of their property, tracing his fingers along the ward. He releases tiny bits of his own energy into it, leaving a shimmering trail.

The health of his father weighs heavy on his mind. His grandfather— Boragard's father— died of the same ailment. A generational curse on the Winter family ever since they shored on the continent. “Bullshit,” Kane spits. Every disease should have a cure. Sonagavaar doesn't have time to curse an entire bloodline.

The days go by, yet he shows no sign of recovery. Kane hates seeing his father this way, but there's nothing he can do. Boragard's own healing can't even alleviate the pain. If it really is a curse…

Focus. Kane finds himself climbing up to the rarely-used attic. He clambers up the ladder and into a wide space. A plume of thick dust, covering a faint smell of frankincense, lodges in his throat. He chokes on it as he plants his hands on the ledge and hoists himself inside. The attic is cluttered with furniture and boxes covered by blankets of dust.

Wobbles of sound sneak through the solitary window. Kane peeks through it to find his eldest brother, diligently training his application of his magic.

Garland's veins bulge as he launches mass after mass of magical energy. He stands some distance from a tree, launching his orbs at it. He misses a few times; more than he normally would. When he finally hits it, his orbs burst into dust against the tree.

He sweats and heaves ragged breaths. He throws another orb; just before hitting the tree, it squishes and churns into the shape of his tri-blade, but that, too, disintegrates when it lands. Garland starts throwing his forms rapid-fire; everything he has in his arsenal. Orb. Tri-blade. Javelin. Shot-put. The last one, finally, crunches the trunk of the tree.

Kane watches as he takes a moment's break, running his arm over his eyes before calmly continuing his training. If he could use Garland's magic, how would he apply it? What would he— no, could he do with it?

He muses around the attic, imagining transforming his legs into the swift legs of an eastern briskhorn, and his arms into the arms of a grizilla. He's tickled at the chimeric image of himself. But in order to accomplish those transformations, Lucien has to coop himself up, experimenting on the magic beasts he finds. He doesn't let anyone else into his lab when he's working. For all Kane knows, Lucien's digging through beast innards in there.

At that thought, Kane gags. He leans on a massive object, then jolts at the jarring gong emitted from it.

Tentatively, he removes the large black sheet covering the thing. The movement kicks up a plume of dust, and he chokes on it. But it's only a momentary distraction before the keys call to him.

Kane takes in the sight, then drags over a sturdy-looking shape covered by a heavy sheet and sits down to play the grand piano. He doesn't have to think about it, he just lets his fingers dance around the keys and the music finds him. Each note takes him further and further away from himself.

His mind becomes clearer with each melody. He first bounces through a series of playful chords, then allows his fingers to lay heavily on a single chord with his left hand. Then another. His right hand flits across the mid-to-high keys. The progression falls into a melodic warmth, deeper and more melodic as he finds a smooth rhythm.

Music travels fluidly throughout the house, penetrating Boragard’s room. Though it’s muffled by the thick oak door, Boragard soaks it in, feeling warmth prickle to life in his chest. Before he knows it, he’s drifted off to sleep.

Down in the bunker, Lucien is annoyed by the pitter-patter, the constant banging of notes that distracts him from his work. Reading about them is one thing, but if he wants to truly understand the essence of each and every magic beast, he will need to get into the nitty-gritty bits. All this noise makes his head throb.

He sucks his teeth, deciding to take the distraction as another form of training. Yet as Kane's melody plays on, he can't help but notice the relaxing sensations spreading throughout his body and mind. The usual nausea that accompanies dissection is somewhat relieved. Carefully, he cuts into the rootbeast that lays before him on a slab, its body writhing.

Garland stares up at the lit attic window from the front yard. The music made him put a pause on his training. The knowledge that his father lies inside, sick in bed, makes it difficult to fully devote himself to the task at hand. He finds himself wiping tears from his eyes between each movement.

He feels the music begin to flow through him. Garland closes his eyes and breathes in deeply, allowing the melody to clear his mind. He exhales, and his body moves on its own towards the music.

Inside the attic, the music fills the room completely. The very dust itself seems to respond to it as it dances. Swirling around the place, it greets Garland like a new babe in a cloth. He finds a silent place behind his brother.

Kane, in the zone, sways and hums his way through to the end of his song. As the dust settles, he takes a breath, astonished at what just took hold of him. It felt as though he was sifting through himself. Sorting through each piece of himself, then locking them into place like a snap puzzle.

He turns in his seat with a start. "Garland, I didn't know you were— how long have you been there?"

Kane watches his older brother's eyes. They watch him back, hard and steady.

"I'm sorry— did I disturb your training?"

"The music is not unwelcome." Garland's voice is heavy in the dust. He places a stern hand on Kane's shoulder. "You should think about applying it to your training." It's as much affection as he knows how to show. As he turns to leave the attic, Garland leaves Kane to ponder this with his famous "Hm."

Garland… the last time we spoke like this, I had just about given up on magic. It was stupid, but Kane was just thirteen at the time. He wouldn't lift a finger to use his magic, and he let it build up inside his body until he was teetering on the edge of energy retention sickness.

They had finally completed building their new home; the Winter Grove, a secluded forest clearing with a narrow and rough-hewn log cabin at its center. As much as Boragard prodded his sons to train and hone their magic, there was nothing left for Kane to distract himself from the harrowing images of…

Our old home burning… and the thought of what Garland must have seen in the basement. He never said exactly what he saw, but I knew it was real.

Even so, Kane wanted to believe that Pella wouldn't have… couldn't have done such a thing to Lucien. But seeing what it'd done to Garland— and to Lucien, though he was too young to remember a thing— Kane's love for his mother bumrushed out of his heart.

It was Garland who nursed Kane back to health after he stopped using his magic. "If you don't apply your magic, Kane, you'll die. Use it for yourself, not for her." Then he patted Kane on the back, and drowned himself in his own training.

With Garland being the oldest, it goes without saying that he will be Father's heir. When Boragard dies, his magic will pass along to Garland. Kane always knew that Garland would’ve donned a blue cape and led the Winter Knights had he been left with the chance.

My very own magical application! If Pella could see me now… no, Garland was right. This isn't for her.

Kane taps joyfully on the edge of the piano, and he feels his elation expanding throughout his chest. His heart follows the beat of his drumming.

It's for me!

* * *

Garland sits on a log by the fire pit, watching his brother move about and fiddle with his leaf. Something about him has changed. Kane, the suffering kid who wouldn't go near his own magic, is now brimming with the joy of practicing an application. All in the blink of an eye.

Garland hasn't seen him lit this bright since the first time he himself had produced a stable orb. He held it out before Kane, and Kane's big, bright eyes sparkled for him. Now, Garland is feeling that same pride for his little brother.

Come to think of it, though, Garland did see this glow on Kane's face— when Lucien was born. Garland would never admit it out loud, but… more than happiness, he felt overwhelmed by jealousy on that day. From the moment Kane was born he'd instantly fallen in love. Growing up, his role fell to him like a soldier in a lineup. His role was clear as day; he was meant to be a big brother. A role model and a protector.

Garland couldn't possibly put words to it at three years old, but he understands it now. He'd steeled in his mind, from that moment, that he would become a leader. He would be worthy of admiration. Not just from Kane, but from everyone.

Lucien stomps down the hill. "What are you doing out of bed, old man?"

Boragard, wrapped in warming blankets, sits on his log. "Kane's on his way to mastering a new application." He forces it all out through the wheezing. "No way I'd miss witnessing the fruits of his labor. The Gods couldn't keep me away."

"But Father—"

"How's that patch in the ward coming?" Boragard watches Lucien change color. "Bah, forget it. Later, later. Go on, boy."

Kane pinches the leaf and focuses on it. The only sound is a hawk screeching above them as he devotes his attention to one point.

"Cover your ears, fellas!" Lucien makes a show of protecting his ears.

"No worries, little brother. This time—" Kane's leaf illuminates in green, far more stable than the first time— "I've perfected it."

His energy shows no sign of wavering. He stands with dumb pride all over his face.

As his gaze pans over his father and brothers, he watches the confusion begin to settle. This does not perturb him. With a raised brow and crooked smile, he puts the leaf to his lips and blows.

The tone starts out high-pitched, like a dog toy from the pit of souls, then smooths out into a moderate frequency. At first the vibrations aggravate the boys, but as they fade, they’re left with the feeling of a fresh bath from the river.

Garland allows his pride in Kane to plaster itself all over his face. Boragard takes a clear, much-needed breath without the tightness and pain swelling in his chest, which he more than appreciates. The ease lasts only a moment, but he sees the potential this power possesses in Kane's hands.

"Very nice," Lucien smirks. "Started out rough there, Kane. So you were the one making all that noise the other night. But, practically speaking, how could you use this, say, if you were caught alone with a magic beast?"

Kane's grin grows to his ears. "Good question, Luce."

He takes the leaf, flimsy in the wind, and chops at the log next to him with it. Little pieces of wood are flung in the air and land on his thigh; he swipes them off.

"Not only that, but watch this!"

He stomps the ground, and the sound is nothing but his boot hitting dirt, but Kane’s grin doesn’t falter. He tries twice more, and then the thumping turns to thunder. 

The Winters sit in awe as Kane gleefully dances around the backyard, tapping on tree trunks, melodically stomping about, clapping like an idiot drunk on joy. Each mistake he makes pushes him to make the next tone that much more vibrant. Fireworks of chimes and tones fill a wide dome, shrouding them all. It crackles from his fingertips to his feet, through everything he touches.

"Did you see that?" he laughs, giddy, struggling to catch his breath. "The vibrations! They can turn a leaf as hard as steel!"

"Atta boy!" Boragard whistles. "Kane, you've truly taken a big step."

"Hm. Very nice, Kane," Garland says.

"Manipulating objects— and emotional manipulation through sound. Phew! You may be on the verge of the same line of understanding as the great musician, Campen Drall. This was before your time, but when I was a boy, I remember blocked roads and endless detours just to get to the market and back. Our knights had to break up plenty of fights started by mages trying to catch a glimpse. All because of him! Keep it up, son."

Kane allows the music to die down. The high of success is still radiating from him. "Luce, you don't look convinced."

"How ‘bout a spar, then?" Boragard stands, allowing his blanket to fall from his shoulders.

"Come on, now, Father. You really need to get back to bed."

"Ah, don't treat me like an old man yet, Luce. I'm still young! I'll go back to that stuffy old room after. Square up! Luce, you take him on first."

"First?"

* * *

The boys follow their father around the side of the house. Lucien steps into the stone sparring pit on the front lawn, and Kane follows.

"Nervous, big brother?" His grin is filled with the sharp teeth of a boskrag. A trick he'd learned early on as a child.

Kane still remembers the many nights he'd wet the bed in fear because of his baby brother's mischief. He steels his nerves against Lucien's taunts and equips his leaf to his lips.

Without warning, Lucien attacks. He swings his fist, lashing out with a frontal assault. Kane, understanding Lucien's underestimation of him, anticipates this attack. He pivots left and blows on the leaf.

Garland flinches, but Kane has learned to control the angry tune. The biting sound funnels itself to Lucien's ears alone, leaving him disoriented.

Lucien covers his ears, muffling the pain. Through his spinning vision, he taunts: "What now, brother? You have me vulnerable to attack. Pick up a stick." He pulls himself up and grins through the dull knocking in his head.

Stuck, Kane's eyes dart around, hopelessly searching for something to defend himself with. The beat of his heart rocks his chest with each step Lucien takes toward him.

Lucien's arm morphs into the form of the nar’lurr he'd been studying. A pale imitation, but enough to make Kane sweat.

Garland kicks a long stick just within Kane's reach. When it comes to Lucien, Garland already knows his baby brother is more than capable of defending himself. He doesn't need to worry. But it's different with Kane.

Kane looks back at Garland, shocked. The leaf leaves his lips.

"Keep your eyes on your opponent, big brother!" Lucien lashes his root-arm at Kane, but he rolls under it, taking the stick with him. He whistles the stick into steel and swings with his eyes squeezed shut. The blow sends Lucien's arm flying back and throws him off balance. 

The vibration of the impact seems to affect the root. It sucks back up into itself, reforming into Lucien's own right arm.

Kane opens his eyes, his mouth gaping gleefully.

"Tsk. Needs more time in the oven," Lucien laments. Without looking at Kane, he reforms the root and lashes it at his legs, dragging him to the ground and pinning him there.

Kane digs his fingers into Lucien's root arm, but it's like trying to lift a tree off his own chest. His lips blow out nothing but raspy air as his chest is crushed under the root's weight.

Lucien finally looks at Kane, watching his last effort to— limp and helpless, crushed under my roots—

He clenches his jaw, willing the image away. He didn’t know if he could actually kill his brother, but he knew it would be as easy as snapping a pup's neck.

 "You… can stop your wriggling. Tap out."

Kane lets his arms fall to his sides and mumbles his admission of defeat.

Lucien lets him up. His arm shrinks back to normal. "Seems even with a weak constitution, the nar’lurr proves to be a strong asset." He turns away, dripping with victory.

"He almost got you." Garland helps Kane to his feet.

"Tsk. Let's get you back inside, Father." Lucien puts his father's arm around his shoulder and disappears into the house while his brothers begin to spar.

* * *

Lucien helps lay his father back into his bed. A dark red dekatode waddles in with a cup of tea. From the plume of steam rising into the air, it appears to be scalding hot.

Boragard reaches out and takes the cup. "I'd been meaning to ask you, when did you grab yourself another... little helper? Do you have a cache of magic beasts down there?"

Lucien shrugs. "These things are nothing to get. Step out a few paces north and there they are, bumbling in every bush and clearing, eating anything they can get their stupid claws on."

Boragard watches Lucien in great fear.

"What?"

"By yourself?" Boragard blurts out.

Lucien spits out a laugh. "Father, I’m not a little child anymore. I can walk two feet from the ward without dying."

"And what will you do if…"

"If what? What is everyone so afraid of? If I so much as scrape a knee, all of you act like I’ll retract into myself like some delicate flower. Is that it? You all see me as weak?" Lucien mutters, as if the very word tasted of sour grime.

"You know it has nothing to do with how strong you are. Who will you have to watch your back if—"

"I have Thrall." Lucien shrugs.

Boragard lets out an exasperated breath. "Lucien, you have no idea what’s out there."

"Sure I do. Magical beasts, regular beasts… You killed the only gallitode for miles! Nothing else enters this forest. Unless you think those poor rebel mages would dare. No?"

He watches his father’s expression closely, hoping for a hint.

"Is it that woman? It is, isn’t it. Whatever she was cutting me open for that night— afraid she’ll come back to finish the job?"

Boragard slams his mouth shut. Instead of answering, he opts to take a sip from his mug.

“That’s what I thought,” Lucien gloats.

The tea scalds Boragard’s lips. “ARRGHH!”

Startled, Lucien sneers at his beast and raises a foot, cursing at the thing. 

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Calm, Lucien. Calm."

Lucien lowers his foot, but shoots the beast a threatening glare. It shrinks past him and retreats out the door.

"Why protect it? It made your drink boiling hot. Needs to be punished. Nothing wrong with a little reprimand."

Boragard sits himself up, resting his head on the wall. "He is a life."

"It is my servant."

"Lucien—"

"What? It's a magic beast. You just blew one up today. Isn't that what we train for?"

"I train you boys to protect yourselves. To be independent. And to be responsible. The creatures you command— both of your applications are powerful. I know you are strong…"

"Tsk. But..." Lucien scowls, arms folded as he leans on the wall behind him.

Boragard takes a deep breath and rests his head on the headboard. "But the beasts you command are your responsibility. How will you lead them? What will you do with them?" His breath rattles as he inhales and he massages his chest. "They’re under your care."

"Care… what's the point of it, anyway? Strength. Leadership. Any of it!" Lucien explodes from the wall. "I'm not Garland! I'm no leader. These magic beasts are nothing more than that— beasts. You don't need to be kind to them. You turn your back for a second, let your guard down for a moment, and they're back to being the wild, empty-brained beasts they are."

"Trust, Lucien. Trust is how you know you are protected. If you can't trust the creatures under your command, then what is the point? What do you have?"

"And what do you know about trust? You couldn’t even trust your own wife!" As soon as the words leave Lucien’s lips, a cold stab of regret pierces between his shoulder blades.

Boragard keels over in grunting pain, fist to chest.

Lucien grits his teeth and clenches his fist, waiting for his father’s pain to pass. Just another thing to make him feel useless. How does he think I feel, having to watch this all these years and never being able to do anything about it? Maybe if he were to allow us to leave…

"Lucien, why are you so angry? Where did all this come from?" Boragard faces his son, but Lucien won't meet his eyes. "You know you boys can always talk to me. About anything. Look at me."

Lucien does. His eyes hold frustrated tears. He starts to speak, but it's hard to force the words out.

His voice hoarse, he finally chokes it out: "Every day, I fight for your approval, but you only ever coddle me. Like I’m some weak, useless child."

Lucien shakes, dragging his arm over his eyes. He watches his father sit up in his bed, silent.

Boragard doesn't break eye contact. It hurts his heart to know this about his youngest son. "Lucien—"

Lucien looks away, unable to keep the tears from falling.

"Lucien, look at me," Boragard tries again, and Lucien meets his eyes. "I'm so sorry. I had no idea you felt this way."

"‘Cause you don’t see me. You don’t see what I can do. Just what was done to me.” He clenches his fists. “Your support? Your pride? Garland and Kane get all that. All you give me is fear. Because of this.” He yanks his shirt up, revealing a clean-cut diagonal scar just below the right of his ribcage.

The sight of it repels Boragard’s eyes. He expels a hot breath, unable to face his greatest failure as a father.

"What she did to you…” He huffs and creases his brow, unable to finish the thought. “Lucien, your… your mental fortitude is like no magus I’ve ever met. When you developed your application so quickly, I knew you were going to be something else. But… I won’t apologize for protecting you. There isn’t a father in the world who wouldn’t want to protect their child.”

Lucien huffs a humorless laugh as tears well up in his eyes. “You don’t get it.” If this is a father’s protection, then what was Pella doing? No, what Boragard is doing is stunting his growth. Smothering him.

—Boragard choking on his own bile, heaving his last breath—

He shakes the thought away and rakes his fingers through the fuzz of his beard, stewing in his emotions. "You never answered my question about Pella."

Boragard huffs, exasperated. There's no way he can do this on his own. He shudders at the image of Reggie, the boys’ nanny and long-time friend of the family— laid out on the ground, his neck twisted unnaturally. Just another person he left behind. Failed.

His heart panged for his wife, knowing what she was. Knowing it was he who had run from her like a coward. As his estate crumbled around him, his knights fought and died for him— and what does he now have to show for their sacrifice? Only loyal captain Harney, still making the dangerous trek out here to visit the scraps of the Winter family.

He looks over at Lucien, almost as tall as himself now. Just let him grow out a beard and it’ll be like looking in a mirror. Boragard squeezes his eyes shut, hiding his tears behind closed lids.

"Tsk. I need to get back to my work." Lucien turns away from his father.

Boragard nods, sending the boy off. Once he heals, he'll be sure to pick up where he'd been slacking.

* * *

When the family’s all together, Garland feels unstoppable, like a band of brigadiers storming the rocky shores of Uthawon. He can't help but think of how powerful they’ll be once Kane unlocks his full potential. They'll be a real unit. Spending time with his little brother felt good; Garland had been meaning to do something with just the two of them.

"What's got you in such high spirits, Garland?" Lucien says, reaching for a high branch with his root arm and breaking it. He transforms his other arm into a dekatode claw and splits the branch in half, then grabs another.

Garland watches him as they walk along. Misinterpreting his close watch, Lucien feels the need to defend his actions. "Now that I've grasped the rootbeast, I'd like to reduce my transformation time. Like any muscle in the body, this ability must be worked to exhaustion." When Garland doesn't respond, Lucien breaks the awkwardness, along with another branch. "You'd know all about that, though, wouldn't you, big guy?"

"This is true. My orbs get heavier depending on what they're holding. Even when they hover."

"Whoa-ho-ho, three whole sentences. Don't hurt yourself. You must really enjoy your application in depth." Lucien splits another branch.

"Hm." Garland sounds pleased.

"Well, don't stop there, big brother. Tell me more. Lead me into more knowledge, oh, you exemplary leader, you."

Garland hesitates, unsure how to take Lucien's tone. He brushes it off. "Are you really interested?"

"Of course! Why wouldn't I want to learn all I can about Daddy's favorite Winter?"

"Hm."

"Oh, now he's shutting down. Not very leader-like."

"You've been upset lately."

Lucien hides his surprise with an exaggerated reach for another branch. "So you've noticed. You people pay more attention than I gave credit for," he says, mostly to himself.

"I am the oldest. It’s my job to know what’s going on with my brothers. Part of being a good leader is being a good listener."

"Hm…" Lucien raises an eyebrow, goading Garland with a sidelong glance. "Hm."

"Why are you pushing?"

"What?"

"You're constantly pushing everyone away. You're always being so mean and spiteful. What are you fighting?" Garland strokes the single twist in his beard. "Never mind. You clearly don't even know."

He thinks back to that time he saw… what he saw, all those years ago in that basement. Maybe he went too far, snapping at Lucien like that. There's no way he could remember what Pella did to him, but maybe the scar still remains.

Lucien feels a pang in his chest and a numbness in his cheeks. He sucks his teeth and looks off pensively, unable to meet his brother's eyes. "No, what's clear is that Father only clings to you because you look like your mother. Kane may resemble her a bit, but he's weak. If it weren't for you, I'd be the favorite." He flicks Garland's cheek with the tip of his root arm. "So why don't you do me a favor and just die already?"

"You don't mean that." Garland sighs.

Lucien comes to a halt. He tosses the remainder of his broken branches over his shoulder, abandoning them. "The part about your mother?" He smirks devilishly.

Garland stops, facing Lucien. "She's your mother too."

"She's not around. Do you even know if she's alive?"

"That's not the point." Garland tenses his jaw. "You're more like her than you could possibly know."

Lucien reverts both his arms back to normal, clenching his fists. "The pit of souls does that mean?!"

Garland stares at his youngest brother, fuming. Lucien may not look as much like their mother, but he does portray the worst of her traits to a T. The rage he's had to keep down all these years boils close to the brim. If this keeps up, he might put his hands on his brother.

He huffs and turns to walk away.

Lucien pulls Garland back by his shoulder. "What, you wanna hit me? Because of her? You're the one who's just like her. Look at you! Walking away when it gets hard. Look at me!"

Garland faces Lucien. He pities his brother's plea for attention. His narrow eyes, dark and serious, are akin to Boragard's, even down to the bags underneath them. Lucien doesn't have Boragard's stocky build, but stand them side-by-side and they could be twins.

Father spoke about the dark magics Mother was practicing. Was that what she was trying to do to him? What if Father didn't make it in time to stop her?

"How am I like her?" Lucien's eyes become desperate. "Don't just stand there, answer me! Why do none of you ever answer me?" He plants his hands on Garland's wide chest and shoves him. It takes his whole body weight just to move him a little.

Garland catches Lucien's wrists before he can push him again. "Lucien, stop."

Lucien jerks out of his older brother's grasp. His heart rumbles in his chest, and he yells as he punches his older brother solid across the face.

Boragard stands there for a moment, in shock. It wasn't the strongest punch ever dealt, but the intention behind it stings.

Lucien hops lithely in place, on his toes with his fists up. "What's our sparring score now? Sixty-forty? Pretty sure I can take you this time." 

He swings another attack at Garland, but he easily evades it.

"Fight back!" Lucien sends a flurry of punches at Garland, aiming at his face and his gut, but Garland doesn't let him land a single one.

Aggravated, he transforms one arm into the claws of a dekatode. He slashes at Garland's face, leaving three deep gashes from forehead to chin. Garland stumbles backwards with a grunt, holding his bloodied face.

Lucien chuckles at him, shifting his weight back and forth.

Garland stands tall and sturdy; his reservations are no longer a priority. He steps forward, prepared to hand his little brother the beating he should've gotten long ago.

Lucien peeps the sincerity in Garland's eyes. Oh shit. He grins as his other arm splits into three layers, thickening into dark brown roots.

Behind Lucien, an eclipse of white-winged moths catches the scent of the expulsion of energy. They begin to knot up on the patch where the ward is thin and feed on the magic energy, widening the weakened space. Their little proboscises flick back and forth, sucking it up.

As the hole grows wider, they condense into a point and burst through to the other side.

The vibrating sound finally catches his attention. Lucien turns, but it's too late to react before he is engulfed. He begins to suffocate in the fluttering mass.

"Lucien!" Garland watches, helpless as his baby brother disappears beneath the mass. It's as though a wet rag has covered his airway. His mind spins; the edges of his world begin to blur as he wheezes for air.

Like a whisper, the understanding of what he needs to do comes to him, his body moving before he can articulate the thought.

Air finds its way throughout Lucien's lungs, and the burning of suffocation subsides. He watches as the moths struggle against some yellow force widening around him. He loses his footing on the ground, but finds that his balance is intact.

He never thought he'd ever find himself caught in one of Garland's bubble traps. It's as if he's no object at all.

Garland forces Lucien from the moths, pulling him toward himself, tossing him past his shoulder. He overshoots more than intended, but as the moths swarm him, he thinks— at least Lucien is safe. 

Lucien looks on at the swarm from his yellow-filmed trap. His studies had shown the volis to be freshwater creatures. It doesn’t make sense to find them miles from the Aise River. Unless… are they close to maturation?

He can't help but think about how useful it would be to have it in his repertoire. Would it be like controlling a hundred tiny brains at once, or would their hivemind feel the same as controlling one beast? And their transformation is another thing altogether! Should he harness the moth form, could he then innately control its matured, two-headed form? Would he gain the ability to burst into a gust of moths?

The bottom line is— he needs to get his hands on this beast and dissect it.

"Get out of here!" It's one of the few times Garland has raised his voice in his life. The moths are consuming each burst of green energy he produces before he can form them into weapons. He swats helplessly as they overpower him.

Lucien watches, and in his mind he sees— Countless bloody holes dotting Garland from head to toe. A moth chewing its way out from his abdomen—

Garland manages to surface for a moment, haggard and out of breath, to find Lucien— finger and thumb to his chin, deep in thought. His own clothes are half-eaten, blood trailing from his body as his baby brother watches analytically. They make eye contact, and Garland freezes; Lucien's expression never changes.

"They eat energy and flesh," Lucien thinks out loud. "I suppose, were you to die here, the inheritance would have to pass to either myself or—"

The eclipse of moths flies right at him. Unable to bear seeing his brother mauled, Garland raises a hand and allows his magic orb to disperse, releasing Lucien from his trap just before he collapses on the ground.

"Hm." Lucien takes a step back from the residue of Garland's magic as it precipitates onto the ground. The moths immediately begin consuming it. Inquisitive, Lucien transforms an arm into a root and cracks it above the eclipse. They've already all but finished their energy snack.

Immediately, the moths turn on Lucien, flapping their wings furiously.

"Shit. Highly aggressive!" Lucien breathes, sprinting away. His thighs burn as he races up the hill with them nipping at his heels.

* * *

A heavy panting drowns out the sweet melody of Kane's leaf as he lies supine on the grass in front of their house. He jumps up, leaf crushed in hand. "Lucien?"

Lucien dashes toward him. "Get out of here, big brother! They killed Garland."

Kane watches the cloud of moths boiling up just behind Lucien, yet those words linger in his ears.

Killed… Garland?

His gut tells him to act, but his mouth can't utter a single sound. He raises two shaking fingers to his lips, too late; the horde is already upon him. Nothing but his scream can penetrate the mass.

I'm going to die beneath these moths. They nibble at his flesh and suck it away; biting his arms, his chest, his belly, until they find the sweet nectar hidden beneath his abdomen. They're targeting the magic bladder, where the fuel for his magic is drawn from.

They're normally a passive creature in this form. He tries every note, every scale, every riff in every pitch he knows. Until it dawns on him: They can't hear at this frequency.

* * *

Boragard is startled awake by the screaming outside his window.

He peels his body from his bed, weighed down by his heavy chest, and stumbles through the hall. Each step sends lightning surging through his head. He'd hoped this sickness wouldn't accelerate so quickly, but it seems the curse is determined to take him out.

He lurches out the front door, only to find a cloud of volis moths knotted around a screaming Kane.

Lucien is standing before him, claws out, face twisted in deep thought. In the near distance, Garland is dragging himself from the forest. Blood drips from his chin down to his bare chest, his dark brown skin ashen with fear.

The scene ahead of Garland is nothing less than horrendous, a macabre painting. He doesn't know what to do, but his body is certain. It's telling him to stop Lucien.

Lucien could take the shot easily. With Kane distracted by the munching moths, his sights are clear. Exactly when this plan formed in his mind, he can't say; but every fiber of his being suggests that this is the way to go. This serendipitous moment might be the only way to secure what he deserves.

Boragard makes a mad dash toward Kane. He doesn't yet know what he'll do, but he'll be damned if he just stands there while his boy is eaten alive.

With nothing left but desperation and mere seconds to act, Kane pours all of his energy into his scream. It rips out of his throat as a low growl, jagged and raw. He infuses his dripping blood into it, transitioning his voice into a deep guttural rumble.

Boragard stumbles, too stunned to move any further. In all his years, he's never heard anything like this. The harsh rasp of Kane's screaming bangs at his eardrums.

The moths twist and jerk in anxiety. They drop from Kane's abdomen and swirl around each other, kicking up a cloud of dust. The individual moths disappear as they form a pulsating mass.

"What did you do?!" Lucien yells from the ground, his voice drowned out by the wailing. Garland stands on his knees beside him. He kneels there, agape; both amazed and terrified at what his brother is doing. They all watch as the mass of moths splits in two.

The beast rages, its metamorphosis forcefully induced and years too early. Its conjoined body, stretched to about ten feet tall, splits evenly at the neck. Heavy white fur shimmers with an iridescent sheen, covering its entire body from its heads to its rear. Its back has lost its wings and instead long jagged trapezoidal scar blazes glowing faintly maroon. Their proboscis shriveled up into a useless dangle of coil. Two huge, bumpy eyes blare black out of both heads.

Kane hunches over, pressing hard on the gash on his belly. He's not done just yet, but there's blood dripping between his fingers. He struggles to catch his breath, taking a step forward to keep himself from falling over. Even in the open air, the growl of his magic still echoes.

Gradually, the sound fades to nothing; as the beast cries out in short, bursting squeals, Boragard catches Kane and throws his arm over his shoulder. He shivers at the amount of blood dripping from Kane's wounds.

A bivolis! When did Kane learn such a spell? He must know the dangers of forcing maturity.

Even Boragard hasn't encountered a mage with such powers until now, but he's read about it in his studies. Forcing a magical beast into their mature form too early makes them erratic and frays their nerves. It's like stretching a baby to the size of an adult; their minds can't keep up with the sudden shift.

The boys need my help. The disease that plagues our bloodline picked the worst time to strike. I can't fight that thing like this. But… no. Kane needs my help. So much blood… Let's get this boy to sit down.

Boragard hobbles over to their porch with Kane under his arm. He sits him down and kneels to take a look at his wound.

Upon closer inspection, he can see that the moths had not managed to chew into Kane's flesh deeply enough to reach his magic bladder. Healing him should be no issue. But— as he looks over the rest of Kane's body, his breath catches and his boiling body grows cold. It looks like the moths chewed tiny patches on his left breast and his right rib, and there's a hole in his pants over his right thigh.

He looks Kane in the eye with dread in his heart. But before he can form the words to speak, a heavy thud sounds behind him.

Boragard turns and watches helplessly as the bivolis sets its sights on his other two sons. It slams its fists into the ground, then rears up and paws at the dirt, raging. Its arms flail wildly in the air, slashing aimlessly.

Inside the open mouth of the right head, white light begins to gather, with a violet sheen where it mixes with the moonlight.

Garland throws up a half-moon orb, protecting himself and Lucien. The blast shoots from the beast's mouth with a piercing kick like the buzz of metal on metal. It slams into his improvised shield.

It's too heavy for Garland to hold; he digs his feet in the dirt, but it still pushes him backwards.

Lucien looks to his side, at the sweat beads dripping from Garland's body. If they don't do something, he'll be disintegrated right along with his brother, and he'll never get a hold of Garland's inheritance. "Redirection!" he barks.

Garland understands immediately. He flexes his energy around the blast, engulfing it in a full sphere as Lucien wraps his roots around it. With their combined strength, they swing it around and release it, sending it hurtling at the twins.

It hits the beast with a fiery explosion, sending a shockwave of heat that rakes their skin. The impact sends up a plume of billowing smoke, swallowing up the three of them.

Lucien and Garland are flung backwards and hit the ground hard. They gasp, trying desperately to refill their lungs.

The twins screech, their heads breaking through the smoke. The right head took the most damage; its jaw hangs, unhinged and bloody. The left head is intact, but angry and singed. Despite the carnage, it rears up to attack again.

"Boys!" Boragard chokes through the smoke as it trickles toward the house.

As the dust settles, Garland kneels in the dirt. His body won't move; he's lost too much blood, his deep brown skin turned ashen. He wheezes ragged breaths as his vision blurs.

Lucien peels himself off the ground, but that's all his strength will allow. He faces the beast, chin up, then looks back at the dark forest. Nowhere to run. His only option is to stand and fight.

In one swift movement, Kane shoulders past his father and places two fingers at his lips. He whistles, and the deafening sound ravages the beast inside and out. Each note crashes through its nerves, bursting them.

The beast howls with pain, beating the ground with its legs. It spits blood from its mouth and sets its sights on Kane. With a screech, it charges toward him.

Kane doesn't flinch. He squares his stance and prepares for another attack, but his father pushes him to the side.

He hits the ground. It all happens in a blink. He tries to stand up again, but the force of the beast speeding past him knocks him back onto the ground.

Boragard grits his teeth. Nothing that Kane can do with his music is going to slow it down; not when the boy's only just learning the application of his magic.

He steps into the path of the beast, taking it on in full force. The impact reverberates through his viscera, but he manages to grapple the beast, his shoulder thrust into its collarbone. The beast rages on; it rams him into the front door, knocking it down with a crash. The wood splinters instantly.

Kane wrenches himself to his knees. Bang. Thud. Crash. He flinches at each sound as parts of the house cave in around his father— and the beast that Kane created.

I'm such a fool! I never should have— no, there's no time for that. If my music can't destroy it, what else can I do?

Boragard's back hits the wall, knocking down picture frames of the smiling Winter family. Fragments of glass litter the floor around him.

The beast swipes at his head, slashing his temple, but Boragard rolls out of the way. He makes it halfway up the stairs before the bivolis slams down on his ankle. It would've broken if not for the steps giving way under him.

The bivolis looms over Boragard, its giant stature blocking out all light. The two twists of his beard hang heavy with sweat. He watches the dark steps illuminate before him as the beast rears its heads, gathering wisps of white light in both its mouths.

Boragard braces his upper body against the stairs as they collapse beneath his legs. The heat from the beast's gathered light burns his back at this close range. With all the strength that one sickly old man can muster, he rolls on his back and stares death in the face.

He tries to slide himself down the ruined stairs, but the beast wraps its long, slender forelegs around his torso, pinning him in place. Its wiry hairs pinch at his body.

With nowhere else to run, Boragard raises a shaking hand to the beast's head. The position he's in makes it difficult to aim, to say nothing of the agonizing pain. But with a target this large, precision isn't a priority. What he does consider is the fact that he is running out of the strength needed to take this beast down. He had hoped to not have to use this, but for his sons, he would do anything.

He has to pour every last scrap of energy in his body into this one attack.

Kane, I'll be leaving you behind. You'll have to suffer the curse on your own from here on out.

I'm sorry.

Boragard takes his other hand to the gash on his temple and tears it open further. Pain floods through his skull, but he bites it back. There's no time for gentleness. He coaxes the blood from his wound and congeals as much of it as he can muster.

Both of the beast's faces are weeping blood, heavily wounded. Weaving in and out of consciousness, Boragard wraps his own blood with the beast's. He works his fingers, tightly mashing them together in his palms, willing the blood to condense further. It's only enough to target one of them; with both heads aimed right at him, Boragard chooses the left. He shoves the bloody ball forward into it, forcing the light bomb down its throat.

The heat of its own attack burns it from the inside. Once it reaches the pit of its belly, the tightly packed mass of blood ruptures under the overwhelming pressure. It splits the beast's abdomen like a budding flower.

Boragard throws up his hands to protect himself from the blast, but it's futile. His arms are seared by the superheated blood. The right head, knocked off balance, releases its light. It singes the side of Boragard's skull.

Though it was a glancing blow, Boragard can smell his own brain. The logs that make up the walls of the house are breaking apart. All the hard work of the Winter family, just to build the tomb of Boragard Quannus Winter.

The ceiling collapses on top of him and the beast. The contents of the attic crash all around them: boxes, crates, Pella's grand piano.

Lucien's stalks over to Kane, leaving Garland behind. It’s as if nothing in his periphery exists. Only Kane stands sharp in his vision. With every step closer to his brother, he can feel an itch bubbling within him. It could be so easy. The thought first crept in his mind as a whisper that he'd shoved down. But now his muscles ache with it. It's like a cloud hovering over his head that he can't shake. As he steps up to his brother, the sorry look on Kane's face reaches a part of his chest that he thought was gone, but the cloud remains. Lucien turns to look in the direction Kane is.

Kane wails, watching as his home crumbles into broken timber on top of his father. In his mind's eye, all he can see is Boragard's mangled body. All because he couldn't master his magic, it turned a docile beast into a two-headed monster.

In the breathless silence, their home becomes a blank space. Lucien is shaking him by the shoulders. He's saying something, screaming. But Kane can only hear the ringing in his ears.

Lucien grunts and thrusts Kane to the side, leaving him behind on the porch. It's the only recognizable thing left standing. The thick smell of blood settles in the back of their noses.

Kane follows behind Lucien, his mind blank. He stops in the middle of what used to be the foyer and falls to his knees, searching the rubble and flinching at each piece of debris sticking out from the ground, afraid to see what he's looking for. Every broken log is an arm. Every blanket covers a body.

Swaying where he kneels, Kane watches his little brother sift through the fallen walls.

He's so calm. He's just stomping around the house.

He watches Lucien lift their chair and drop it. It crashes on the rubble.

That's Father's favorite chair. You need to be careful with that. The spring is broken on the recliner.

Lucien kicks around the stones that used to be their fireplace. Right here, in front of it, was where they were both scolded after Kane had convinced Lucien to pop tiny magic frogs into the fire. He'd thought their magical fluids would spark up like fireworks.

"Luce… please stop."

Lucien doesn't even turn to acknowledge Kane. From the rubble, he picks up a painting, its frame stained with blood.

All five Winters. This was a gift, created by Pella's twin brother, their uncle Morro. Lucien had just been a little kid at the time.

There's Pella next to Boragard in the back of the lineup. Garland holds Lucien; his curious eyes stare down the beholder, while Kane sports a snaggle toothed grin. The painting is accented throughout with swirls of the Winter family's blue-and-white.

Lucien tosses the portrait to the side without a second thought.

Before Kane can protest, a sickeningly familiar shape is revealed where the painting just was. Lucien moves faster, peeling away the blood-drenched fragments of wood surrounding it.

The night wind rushes past Kane's ears, bringing sound back to his world.

It's Boragard. It's his father.

The sight of his torn body drains the life right out of Kane. He crawls toward his father, toward the consequence of what he has done. A wail escapes, sharp and raw, straight from his gut.

Lucien kneels next to his father's corpse. Patiently, he waits for the devastation to hit. He examines Boragard's dim eyes, his broken body, his powerful hands. There's his beaded bracelet— four beads, each representing a member of their family.

He clenches his jaw as he places his hand in Boragard's. It's more rough than he remembers, and it's already turning cold. He can't quite recall the weight of his father's hand on his shoulder, and that disturbs him, but…

Lucien stands and exhales. Garland was in pretty bad shape. He wanders off to find him, wondering if he's bled out.

* * *

Sure enough, he lies on the open field just past the disarray of the sparring pit, succumbing to his wounds. Garland watches Lucien as he stalks over.

"Kane's trick with that bivolis sure did a number on you, huh?"

Garland's eyes shine. He watches his baby brother searching his eyes, full of spiteful intent. Why?

"Kane didn't send the moths."

One thing's for certain: he should've been a better brother to Lucien. Should've sat with him more. Maybe he could have caught the moment his heart turned cold.

"Luce! Garland!" There's Kane's voice, coming from the wreckage of the house as he makes his way toward his brothers.

Lucien scowls as Kane gets closer. He kneels down. "Why'd you do it, huh?"

Garland cocks his bloodied head.

Lucien checks over his shoulder. "Don't act like you don't know. Why did you shield me from the bivolis? I left you to die with the moths."

"Garland!" Kane rushes over, crouching beside Lucien. Lucien backs away, watching silently over Kane's shoulder. The image of his father, indistinguishable from the rubble, is seared into his mind.

Kane's arms tremble, hovering. He scans Garland's body; it's utterly covered in blood.

Garland coughs, spitting a wad of bloody phlegm on the ground beside him. "Is he…"

Kane can't bring himself to speak. He answers with a single nod.

"There's so much I wanted to tell you." Garland speaks through the blood bubbling in his throat. He knows he's out of time. At the very least, he was able to see his brothers together one last time.

He inhales a deep, rattling breath, gathering all his energy. There's one thing he can give Kane before he goes.

"Kane— I've never heard a roar like that before. That really came out of you? It was such a fantastic attack. I'm so proud of you. Just a week since you've learned your application, and you've already honed it to this extent. Even I wasn't able to progress that quickly." He grins, revealing blood-covered teeth. Kane is unable to hold back the flood of tears from streaming down. "If anyone can rebuild the Winter house, it's you.

"Lucien, I don't know what your intentions are and— I don't think you do either. I can only hope you find a way to reconcile with what's left of us. You two are the last Winters." Garland chokes. His head is light, but he forces himself to continue. To give his brothers what he should've for the past twenty-five years. "You're extremely powerful, Lucien, and you have an even stronger mind. I can't imagine a wall strong enough to hold you back.

"And Lucien, you know why I did it. You are my brother. Nothing you could do will ever change that."

Lucien grits his teeth. There's a dull sensation in his chest. It feels like a knock at a faraway door.

"I love you. Both of you."

Kane squeezes his eyes shut. His knuckles rest in his lap, losing color.

Garland lifts a shaking hand and places it on Kane's cheek. His blood drips from his fingers.

Kane holds Garland's heavy hand, but he still can't look. He can't watch his older brother pass away.

I did this. The thought replays in his head like a broken record.

Lucien watches his remaining brother crouched, crumpled over Garland and can't help but laugh an evil laugh. It couldn't have been better if he'd actually planned it. A twinge of something sharp strikes his chest, but he swallows it whole. Instead, he lets another chuckle roll.

Kane wipes his tears away and looks back at Lucien. Seeing the smug look plastered all over his little brother's face, Kane's body trembles as he steps forward toward him. Lucien's grin only widens. He lifts his chin, daring his brother to say anything to him.

Kane, blinded by sudden rage, punches Lucien in that grin. Lucien is clearly unprepared; the impact splits his lip and knocks him down. He rubs at his bloodied mouth.

"What's funny?" It comes out hoarse. His fists are clenched at his sides, shaking with the urge to strike again. Something dark creeps in the back of his mind, itching at his nerves. The look in Lucien's eyes is something he's never seen before. Or maybe it's something that he didn't want to see. Just how long has his little brother been this conniving?

He sucks in a deep breath and closes his eyes. Slowly, he lets it go, smooth and steady. I need to control myself. More important things to do.

Clearly his baby brother needs some help, and he's the only one who's up to the task. He reaches out toward Lucien.

Lucien stands, completely ignoring Kane's outstretched hand. "Now there's nothing in my way," he mutters, chewing on a knuckle.

"Come on, Luce," Kane pleads, watching Lucien pace from side to side. "We're brothers. I don't want to have to hurt you. We need to figure out what we're going to do," he says, hardly daring to glance in the directions of the two corpses.

"Can't believe it was this easy. Some chest pains. Bit of nausea, but that's to be expected. Considering."

 His mumbling sends shivers throughout Kane's body, like spiders crawling around in his veins. The feeling makes him cold. He tries again to reach out to his brother, but Lucien slaps him away. 

"Lucien, what are you doing?" Concern bites through anger.

"We know it definitely won't go to a weakling like you."

"The hell is your problem?"

"Don't try to buck up now, Kane. Father and Garland are both dead. There's no one left to coddle you. Tsk. The Winters. As if that's a name to be proud of. A little push, and they all turn to dust. The legacy I'll build will eclipse anything your stupid family ever accomplished. You can come along too, if you would like." Lucien eyes the ripped holes in Kane's shirt and pants. "Your condition is a handicap just like our father, but maybe eventually you could become a mage worthy of respect."

"Luce, our family is dead! The first thing you bring up is this bullshit?"

"Never call me Luce again."

Kane watches over Lucien's shoulder. From the wreckage of their home, a glowing object rises into the air— an orb of white light, then another, then two more. Four orbs, hanging in the air.

A powerful swirl and shimmer sweeps overhead, hovering weightless in the sky. It surrounds the four levitating orbs— the beads from Boragard's wrist.

The boys watch as text begins to form in the air, projected from each bead. Lucien is stricken, and Kane wells up as the voice of their father speaks the suspended text.

"Upon my death, all the magic power within myself, Boragard Quannus Winter, will be passed on to my eldest son, Garland Pellan Winter."

One of the beads rises higher, glowing a brighter white. The boys turn to see Garland's lifeless body illuminated in the deep green of his magic. But the color quickly dissipates, and the orb dims, still radiating a soft light.

The voice continues. "If, for any reason, Garland is incapable or refuses my power, then my power will be split evenly to be shared between my next two sons, Kanerous Boragard Winter and Lucien Winter. If, for any reason, either Kanerous or Lucien are incapable or refuse my power, then it should be passed to the willing party. If both are incapable or refuse my power, then it must return to Songavaar, God of the West."

The remaining two orbs emit a brighter light. Kane's body glows in the light green of his magical essence; Lucien's, in his bronze.

Lucien inspects his arm as it radiates a shimmering, coppery light in the night. It only holds his attention for a moment. A burst of energy, like the crackle of slow lightning, surges through his body; but he ignores it.

"You see, Luce— Lucien? You've been granted inheritance. A piece of father. You got what you wanted." Kane clenches his fists, feeling the power diffuse through his body as the glow dissipates. "So, please. Come help me bury him and our brother. Lucien, come on."

I just want this night to end. His eyes are heavy and burning. His brother just stands there, hanging his head.

He thinks of Garland, always putting aside his own feelings to lead his younger brothers on the right path. I need to be strong. Garland would look past his anger. At least for tonight.

There's only one route out of this blood-drenched night. He places a tentative hand on Lucien's shoulder.

 Lucien just stands there, stewing in the night. The orbs burst, scattering shimmering dust into the air.

He looks up to watch them explode, and something in him boils over. Lucien draws on his power. His right arm bulks up as it hardens into a thick, twisting tree trunk.

Before Kane can blink, Lucien pushes him with all his might, sending him flying through the air and into what's left of their house. The trunk grows at a supernatural pace, following the arc of his movement, never releasing him from its grip.

All the wind is knocked out of Kane, leaving him with empty, burning lungs. He grinds his teeth in pain.

Lucien strides across the yard. He smirks as he analyzes Kane's wheezing, ever the scientist. "Gods! Will you always be this pathetic?" Lucien laughs maniacally. "And this is who I have to share power with?! Sharing the same blood already pisses me off."

Kane scratches, pulls and kicks. He struggles to fight back, but Lucien's grip is tight around his throat. He's pinned to a broken wall, and all he can smell is the blood in the air.

A glimmer of hope: There's his savior, poking out of Lucien's transformed arm. He darts out a hand and plucks a leaf from it, taking it between his lips. He readies his musical magic—

"To think I'm forever tied to a mundane wretch like you." Lucien rips the glowing leaf out of Kane's mouth, crushing it in his hand. "One that thinks leaves and sticks will save him."

Kane chokes as Lucien raises him from his feet, squeezing the life out of him.

"Your stupid piano's destroyed." He gestures with his chin toward the loose black and white keys that litter the ground."What will you do now, Kanerous? I can make music out of anything!" Lucien mocks, smiling. "Hey, you think if I kill you, Father's power will fully come to me? Let's test the theory."

Kane looks around for something else to use as an instrument. Anything.

Lucien lifts him just high enough to keep his toes from tapping on the ground. His sinister smile grows as he takes a step back, preventing Kane's fingers from tapping on the broken wall. 

With no other way of making sound, Kane's eyes roll back. Lucien chuckles deeply.

Consider applying it to your training. The memory of Garland's encouraging words gives Kane strength. He raises a shaking hand.

Lucien looks on with genuine curiosity. What could Kane possibly do to him in this state, within an inch of his life?

Kane places two fingers on his throat. He allows his magic to flow into it, strengthening it. "Do!"

His raspy voice sends out tremors that reverberate dangerously through Lucien. The trunk loosens from around Kane's throat, granting him relief like he's never felt before.

Kane falls to his knees, coughing. "Lucien," he scrapes out. "I'm done with your shit." He wipes his mouth. "If you wanna go, let's do it."

This new confidence in Kane's voice irks Lucien in a way he can't fathom. He clenches his fist, gaining control of himself. "Get that bass out your voice, big brother. Don't let that little trick you pulled with the bivolis get to your head. I will gut you." With a flick of his wrist, a razor-sharp set of claws emerges from his left hand.

Lucien swipes at Kane's face but Kane ducks the attack. His claws tear straight through the log wall like water. From beneath him, Kane shouts again: "Do!"

"Agh!" Lucien doesn't let up. He raises his trunk-hand and brings it swooping down toward Kane's head, but Kane rolls to the side just in time. Instead, he catches the back of Kane's ripped-up shirt. It stops his momentum, and he falls on his back with a thud.

Lucien raises a clawed hand to deal a finishing blow.

Kane coughs out: "Re!"

The solfège hits Lucien like a brick— square in the face. The force wrenches his neck backwards, and he drops like a log.

His head cracks onto the ground; the sky opens up, and booms with a powerful thunderclap. Tiny white flecks of light cloud his vision.

Kane looms over Lucien, and all Lucien can see is the torrential rain smothering him. At each lightning strike, his brother's face is illuminated.

Kane heaves steadily. "Lucien—"

Lucien flashes his fangs and growls. The chain link hanging from his neck glows, and a dekatode bursts through the door of his underground lab in a shower of dirt and splintered wood.

Kane gasps. The dekatode barrels into him from the side, slashing deep into his neck. Blood gushes between his clenched fingers. 

Lightning strikes behind Lucien as he stands, bloody-faced and dark. His face is already beginning to bruise. "Get up!"

Kane watches his brother's dark figure approaching. "Re—"  he begins, but he's interrupted by a fit of coughing as he chokes on his own blood. This new Thrall rams him in the stomach and into the dirt.

He lies flat on his back, bleeding out from the neck. Kane heaves out a ragged breath as he looks at his blood-drenched hands. He can't sing like this, can't eke out a single note.

"Now do you understand, Kane?" Lucien stalks Kane through the grass. "You. You're all alone now. Weak and pathetic. Me? At least I'll always have my thralls."

Lucien gestures, ordering the dekatode to slash Kane's left arm.

Kane spits out soundless agony. Desperately, he bangs his right fist on the ground, and— it splashes into a puddle of his own blood.

He watches in awe as the bouncing drops of blood hang in stasis, forming thin strands in the air. Curious, he plucks one of the strings, and—

Kane watches in horror as his little brother contorts in pain. The shin of his right leg twists at an unnatural angle; his foot leaves a gash in the dirt. Lucien clutches his right leg and howls, gasping for breath. He falls flat on his back, the rain mingling with his tears.

Kane doesn't know what he did, but he shudders to imagine himself using that power again. The blood magic he inherited from his father. What will Lucien do with his share?

They both lie on the ground, exhausted and heavily wounded. Lucien stamps his left foot, clenches his fists. His jaw pops from the strain as he lets out a frustrated groan.

He'd been a prodigy since the day he understood what magical energy was. He'd been found his application. He'd been honing it for years.

Kane only just now discovered how to channel his energy through sound. How could he possibly be on the same level?

It's all too much for Lucien. He himself is the weak one; that much is evident now. Being trapped here in this forest is what's holding him back. Keeping him stagnant.

With his last remaining strength, he spits: "I renounce it! You hear me?! I renounce it. I refuse to accept Father's scraps. If he truly loved me, he would've given me all."

Lucien pushes himself to his feet. Kane doesn't move to help him. He just lies there, shielding his eyes in the crook of his arm.

"So take it! I'll cultivate my own power and destroy you with it. I renounce the Winter name. Know this, Kanerous. You are the last Winter, and I will snuff you out."

A fine mist, the burgundy color of Boragard's magic, begins to seep out of Lucien. It gathers into a ball and drives into Kane.

The familiar buzz of power rushes through him, but he can't feel a thing. He's too exhausted to care.

He can do nothing. Kane can only watch as his last brother limps down the hill, disappearing from their father's homestead and into the Serried Forestland alone.