The Vermillion household sat on the eastern edge of Millhaven, a modest two-story structure built from dark timber and gray stone. It had been in Astrid's family for three generations, each addition telling a story—the reinforced foundation from her grandfather's time, the expanded armory her father had built, the training yard her mother had insisted on before she died.
Astrid pushed open the heavy wooden door, wincing slightly as the motion pulled at her newly healed shoulder. The familiar scent of weapon oil and leather greeted her, mixed with something savory cooking in the kitchen.
"You're late."
Her father's voice came from the sitting room. Garrick Vermillion sat in his worn armchair, a whetstone in one hand and a hunting knife in the other. He was a broad-shouldered man in his early forties, with the same green eyes as Astrid and hair that had once been auburn but was now streaked with gray. Scars crisscrossed his forearms—a lifetime of hunting and fighting written on his skin.
He didn't look up from his work, but Astrid knew he'd already catalogued everything about her appearance. The dirt on her clothes. The way she favored her left side. The faint smell of blood and healing magic.
"I ran into some trouble in Thornwood," Astrid said, moving to hang her worn leather jacket on its peg by the door.
"What kind of trouble?"
"Razorback Boar."
Now Garrick looked up, his eyes sharp. "You went hunting alone again."
It wasn't a question.
"I can handle—"
"A Razorback." Garrick set down the knife and whetstone with deliberate care. "You tracked a Razorback into its den. Alone. At twelve years old."
"I killed it."
"And nearly got killed yourself, from the look of that shoulder." Garrick stood, crossing the room in three long strides. He was a full foot taller than Astrid, and right now he looked every inch the veteran hunter he was. "Show me."
Astrid hesitated, then pulled aside her vest and shirt to reveal Kaelen's healing work. The wound was closed but still angry-looking, the flesh pink and tender.
Garrick studied it in silence, his jaw tight. Finally, he said, "Kaelen?"
"Found me in the forest."
"Good. At least someone in this village has sense." Garrick moved to the kitchen, returning with a clay jar of salve. "This will help with the scarring. Apply it twice daily."
Astrid took the jar, unscrewed the lid, and began working the salve into her shoulder. The familiar ritual was comforting—how many times had they done this over the years? How many wounds had her father treated, each one a lesson learned the hard way?
"You're too reckless," Garrick said, settling back into his chair. "You fight like you have nothing to lose."
"Maybe I don't."
"Don't." The word was sharp. "Don't talk like that."
Astrid fell silent, focusing on the salve. She knew what her father was thinking—knew he was remembering her mother. Lyanna Vermillion had been a Guild member, a ranger who'd specialized in tracking demons through the wilderness. She'd died when Astrid was six, torn apart by a Void Spawn during what should have been a routine extermination mission.
Astrid barely remembered her—just fragments. Her mother's laugh. The way she'd sharpened her arrows with meticulous care. The lullaby she'd sung about silver moonlight and ancient warriors.
What Astrid did remember, clearly and painfully, was her father's face when he'd received the news. The way something inside him had broken and never quite healed.
"Your mother was reckless too," Garrick said quietly. "Brave, skilled, one of the best rangers the Guild had ever seen. But reckless. She thought she was invincible."
"I don't think I'm invincible."
"No. You think you're expendable. That's worse." Garrick picked up his knife again, but didn't resume sharpening it. "You push yourself like you're trying to prove something. Like you think being magic-less makes you worth less."
"Doesn't it?" The words came out sharper than Astrid intended. "In this world? Where even the lowliest apprentice mage gets more respect than the best non-magical fighter? Where people look at me like I'm broken?"
"You're not broken."
"Then why can't I sense Aether? Why am I the only person in this entire village—in this entire region—who can't feel the magical energy that flows through everything?" Astrid's voice cracked slightly. "Why did I have to be born like this?"
Garrick was quiet for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was gentler than before. "Your mother couldn't sense Aether either. Not at first."
Astrid froze, the jar of salve forgotten in her hands. "What?"
"Lyanna was twelve when her Aether sense awakened. Before that, everyone thought she was magic-less too." Garrick finally looked at her directly, and there was something vulnerable in his eyes that Astrid rarely saw. "She told me once that she'd felt broken, incomplete. That she'd trained herself to fight without magic because she thought that was all she'd ever have."
"But she awakened."
"She did. Late, but powerfully." Garrick leaned forward. "Some people are born with their magical senses open. Others take years to develop them. And some... some never do. But that doesn't make them less, Astrid. Your mother proved that. She was one of the finest warriors I ever knew, with or without magic."
Astrid absorbed this information slowly. Her father rarely spoke about her mother—the loss was still too raw, even six years later. "Did she... did she ever tell you why her awakening came so late?"
"She had a theory. Said that some bloodlines carry what she called 'dormant potential.' Magic that sleeps until the right catalyst awakens it." Garrick's expression darkened slightly. "She was researching it, actually. Going through old records in the Guild archives. Something about ancient warrior families and lost magical arts."
"And?"
"And then she died." The words were flat, final. "Whatever she'd discovered, she took it with her."
Astrid screwed the lid back onto the salve jar, her mind racing. Could it be true? Could she still have a chance at awakening magical abilities? Or was her father just trying to give her hope?
"Don't," Garrick said, reading her expression. "Don't pin your future on maybe developing magic someday. Train for the reality you have now. If magic comes, it comes. If it doesn't, you'll already be strong enough that it won't matter."
"That's what I'm doing."
"No. You're throwing yourself at every monster in Thornwood like you're trying to get yourself killed." Garrick stood again, moving to the window. Outside, the sun was beginning its descent toward the Silverpeaks. "I understand the drive, Astrid. I do. But I can't... I can't lose you too."
The vulnerability in his voice made Astrid's chest tighten. She crossed to him, standing beside her father at the window. "You won't. I'm careful."
"You're really not."
"Fine. I'm careful enough." When Garrick gave her a skeptical look, she added, "And I have Kaelen watching my back."
"Kaelen." Her father's expression shifted into something complicated—respect mixed with concern. "He's leaving for the Academy soon."
"I know."
"And you'll be here alone."
"I can handle it."
"That's what worries me." Garrick turned from the window, studying his daughter's face. "The Ashford boy cares about you. More than he lets on."
Astrid felt her face heat slightly. "We're just friends."
"Are you?"
"Yes. What else would we be?"
Garrick just gave her a knowing look—the kind of look that fathers give when they see something their children don't want to acknowledge. "The way that boy looks at you when he thinks no one's watching... that's not how friends look at each other."
"You're imagining things."
"Am I?" Garrick moved toward the kitchen. "Well, since your friend Kaelen kept you from bleeding out in the woods today, the least we can do is invite him for dinner. Go fetch him. I assume he's still at the training grounds, hovering like a worried nursemaid?"
Astrid wanted to argue, but she knew her father was right. Kaelen probably hadn't moved from that bench. "Fine. But you're wrong about the other thing."
"About Kaelen's feelings?"
"About all of it."
Garrick just smiled—a sad, knowing smile. "If you say so, little flame."
The childhood nickname made Astrid's throat tight. Her mother had called her that, back when Astrid would throw tantrums and demand to learn sword fighting instead of sewing. *My little flame*, Lyanna would say, *burning so bright you'll set the world on fire.*
Astrid headed for the door before her emotions could show on her face. "I'll be back in ten minutes."
"Astrid."
She paused, hand on the doorframe.
"You're not broken," Garrick said quietly. "You're just... forged differently. Like a blade tempered in a different fire. That doesn't make you weaker. It just makes you unique."
Astrid nodded, not trusting her voice, and stepped out into the cooling evening air.
---
The training grounds were bathed in golden light, and sure enough, Kaelen was still there. But he wasn't sitting on the bench anymore. He stood in the center of the clearing, his hands moving through precise patterns as blue-white light gathered around his fingers.
Astrid stopped at the edge of the clearing, watching. She'd seen Kaelen practice magic hundreds of times, but it never stopped being mesmerizing. The way the Aether responded to his will, bending and shaping into whatever form he desired. Right now, it was forming into small crystalline structures—practice for creating ice barriers, probably.
The crystals floated in the air around him, refracting the sunlight into rainbow patterns. Kaelen's expression was one of intense concentration, sweat beading on his forehead despite the coolness of the evening.
Then one of the crystals flickered and shattered.
Kaelen's jaw tightened in frustration. He dismissed the other crystals with a wave of his hand and took a deep breath, clearly preparing to try again.
"You're being too rigid," Astrid called out, stepping into the clearing.
Kaelen turned, surprise flickering across his face before settling back into his usual composed expression. "I thought you'd gone home."
"I did. Now I'm back. My father wants you to stay for dinner."
"Does he?"
"Don't get excited. He just feels obligated because you saved my life or whatever." Astrid moved closer, eyeing the space where the crystals had been. "You're forcing the Aether instead of guiding it. That's why your constructs are unstable."
Kaelen raised an eyebrow. "And how would you know? You can't sense Aether."
"No, but I can see the results. When you make barriers in combat, they're solid. When you practice like this, they're brittle." Astrid circled him, considering. "Master Aldric pushes you to be perfect, so you practice like everything has to be flawless. But magic isn't about perfection. It's about flow, right? At least, that's what I've heard."
Kaelen was quiet for a moment, studying her. Then, unexpectedly, he laughed—a short, genuine sound that Astrid rarely heard from him.
"What?" she asked, defensive.
"Nothing. It's just... you're probably right." Kaelen shook his head. "The girl who can't use magic giving magical advice. There's irony there."
"I'm good at pointing out other people's flaws. It's a gift."
"I've noticed." Kaelen's expression softened slightly. "Your shoulder—how does it feel?"
"Fine. My father gave me some salve. It'll heal clean."
"Good." Kaelen began gathering his practice supplies—a worn leather bag, a notebook filled with magical notation, a small pouch of Aether crystals used for training. "And dinner? Is your father actually inviting me, or are you just being polite?"
"When have I ever been polite?"
"Fair point." Kaelen shouldered his bag. "Then I accept. Lead the way."
They walked back through Millhaven together as the village settled into its evening routine. Smoke rose from chimneys. Children were called in from playing. The tavern's windows glowed warm and inviting.
"My father told me something today," Astrid said suddenly. "About my mother."
Kaelen glanced at her but didn't speak, giving her space to continue.
"Apparently she was magic-less too. Until she was twelve. Then her Aether sense awakened." Astrid kicked at a stone. "He thinks I might be the same. That I might still develop magical abilities."
"That would be... significant."
"That's all you have to say? 'That would be significant'?"
"What do you want me to say?" Kaelen's voice was carefully neutral. "That I hope you awaken magical abilities? That I think you're fine without them? Either way sounds condescending."
Astrid considered this. "I guess that's fair."
"For what it's worth," Kaelen continued, "you're already stronger than most mage apprentices I know. If you did awaken magic on top of your combat skills... you'd be formidable."
Something warm bloomed in Astrid's chest at the compliment, but she pushed it down. "You're just saying that."
"I don't 'just say' anything. You know that."
She did know that. Kaelen was infuriatingly honest, always precise with his words. When he gave praise, he meant it.
They reached the Vermillion house just as the first stars began appearing in the darkening sky. Garrick had set the table—simple fare, but hearty. Venison stew, fresh bread, roasted vegetables from the garden.
"Kaelen," Garrick greeted, clasping the boy's shoulder. "Good to see you. Thank you for looking after my reckless daughter."
"Someone has to," Kaelen replied with a small smile.
"I'm right here," Astrid protested.
"We know," both of them said in unison.
Dinner was comfortable in the way that meals with old friends often are. Garrick asked about Kaelen's training, his upcoming entrance to the Academy. Kaelen asked about Garrick's hunting business, the state of monster activity in the region.
Astrid mostly stayed quiet, content to listen and eat. She liked these moments—when the three of them sat together like this, it almost felt like family. Like the empty space her mother's death had left wasn't quite so vast.
"Your father tells me you're expected at Silverpeak Academy next spring," Garrick said to Kaelen between bites of stew.
"That's Master Aldric's recommendation, yes."
"Early admission. Impressive." Garrick studied Kaelen with those sharp hunter's eyes. "You'll be far from home. From everyone you know."
"The Academy is only a month's travel. I can visit during holidays."
"Will you?" The question hung in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning.
Kaelen set down his spoon carefully. "I... I'd like to. If I'm permitted."
"The Academy is rigorous," Garrick continued. "Most students don't leave the grounds for the first two years. Intensive training, advanced studies. You'll be surrounded by other prodigies, all competing for recognition."
"I'm aware."
"What Father is trying to say," Astrid cut in, "is that we'll miss you. In his own roundabout, emotionally constipated way."
Garrick shot her a look, but didn't deny it. "The boy deserves to know that he'll be missed. That he has people here who care about what happens to him."
Something flickered across Kaelen's face—surprise, gratitude, and something deeper that Astrid couldn't name. "Thank you, sir. That... means a lot."
The rest of dinner passed in companionable conversation, but Astrid noticed how Kaelen kept glancing at her when he thought she wasn't looking. And how her father noticed those glances too, that knowing smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
After dinner, Astrid walked Kaelen to the door. The night air was cool and crisp, carrying the scent of pine from the distant forest.
"Thank you," Kaelen said quietly. "For inviting me. For... everything."
"Don't get sentimental on me, Ashford. It's just dinner."
"Still." Kaelen turned to face her fully, and in the lamplight from inside, his pale blue eyes seemed to glow. "Your father is right, you know. When I leave for the Academy... I will miss this. Miss..."
He trailed off, and Astrid's heart did something complicated in her chest. "Miss what? The village? The boring training sessions?"
"Something like that." Kaelen's lips curved into the smallest smile. "Try not to get yourself killed before I come back to visit. It would be inconvenient."
"Inconvenient," Astrid repeated, fighting down the flutter of disappointment. Of course that's how he'd frame it. As an inconvenience. "I'll do my best."
"Good." Kaelen adjusted his bag on his shoulder. "I'll see you tomorrow? Same training grounds?"
"Where else would I be?"
"Hunting alone in Thornwood, probably."
"Okay, fair."
Kaelen laughed—that rare, genuine sound again—and started down the path toward his own home on the other side of the village. Astrid watched him go, that warm feeling still lingering in her chest.
"You're staring," her father's voice came from behind her.
"Shut up."
"And blushing."
"I am not—" Astrid touched her cheeks and felt the heat there. "It's just warm from dinner."
"If you say so, little flame." Garrick's hand settled on her shoulder—the good one. "He's a good boy. The Ashford family raised him well."
"I barely know anything about his family," Astrid realized suddenly. "He never talks about them."
"That's because there's not much to talk about. The Ashfords are... complicated." Garrick guided her back inside, closing the door against the night. "Old family. Very old. The kind that has secrets and histories they don't share with outsiders."
"What kind of secrets?"
"The kind that are none of our business unless they choose to share them." Garrick moved to clear the table. "But I will say this—that boy carries a weight on his shoulders that has nothing to do with magical training. I've seen it in the way he holds himself. Like he's constantly preparing for something."
Astrid thought about this as she helped wash the dishes. Kaelen did always seem... controlled. Measured. Like every word and action was carefully calculated. She'd always assumed it was just his personality—the perfectionist prodigy who couldn't let himself be anything less than excellent.
But what if there was more to it?
"Get some rest," Garrick said, drying the last plate. "And Astrid? Tomorrow, we're training together. Properly. I want to see what you've learned out there in the woods, risking your neck."
Astrid groaned. "Father—"
"No arguments. If you're going to insist on this path, I'm going to make sure you're actually ready for it. Your mother would have done the same."
The invocation of her mother left no room for protest. "Fine. Dawn?"
"Dawn."
Astrid climbed the stairs to her small room—really just a converted attic space with a bed, a weapons rack, and a window overlooking the village. She changed into sleep clothes, applied more of the salve to her shoulder, and lay down.
But sleep didn't come easily. Her mind kept turning over the day's events. The Razorback fight. Kaelen's healing magic. Her father's revelation about her mother. The way Kaelen had looked at her in the lamplight, like he wanted to say something but couldn't.
*When I leave for the Academy... I will miss this.*
What did that mean? Miss the village? Miss their training sessions? Miss... her?
Astrid rolled onto her side, staring at the wall. It didn't matter what Kaelen meant. He was leaving. He'd go to the Academy, become something great, and she'd stay here, training and fighting and trying to prove she was worth something without magic.
That was reality.
So why did her chest ache at the thought?
Outside her window, the stars wheeled across the sky, ancient and indifferent to the small dramas of human hearts. Somewhere in the darkness, the Silverpeaks rose against the horizon, and beyond them lay a whole world of danger and wonder and possibility.
Astrid closed her eyes and promised herself that one day, she'd see that world. She'd prove that magic wasn't everything. She'd become strong enough that no one would ever look at her with pity again.
And maybe—just maybe—she'd figure out why the thought of Kaelen leaving hurt more than any physical wound ever could.