The last days of summer hung over the "Old Pine" orphanage like a thick, sultry haze. Even the dust kicked up by the bare feet of the children in the yard seemed lazy and sluggish. It was a time when petty grievances and old arguments, accumulating for months, found their release in sudden, heated clashes. One such spark was the old, forgotten conflict between the four friends and Korval—a lanky teenager whose stubbornness was as firm as the rocks of his native land.
The conflict erupted over a trifle: a spot under the sprawling old oak tree that provided the only dense shade in the entire yard. Korval and his cronies had declared it their "lawful territory," but Kaedan, Ulvia, Gil, and Dur had already settled there, enjoying the relative coolness.
"Get lost, pups, before we tear your rags," Korval growled, hands on his hips. His shadow fell over the four like a threat.
Kaedan rose first, his red hair blazing in the sun. "We were here first, Korval. Find yourself another tree."
"I decide who's first and who's last here," the boy said, shoving Kaedan. Kaedan only staggered, staying on his feet. Ulvia rose behind him, her eyes flashing sparks.
"Don't touch him!"
The argument quickly escalated into a brawl. Korval and two of his friends attacked Kaedan. He fought back desperately, shielding Ulvia and Gil, who tried to pull away the most aggressive bullies. Dur, unwilling to join the fight, hovered on the periphery, trying to calm the rowdies with words: "Stop it! Quit it!"
But it was too late. Korval, enraged by the resistance, saw Dur as the easiest target. He lunged at him, grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, and with unexpected force, dragged him away from the tree—towards the shallow, muddy stream that ran along the edge of the yard.
"Here, go for a swim, you mollusk! Maybe the water will clear your empty head!" he shouted.
Pure, primal terror twisted Dur's face. He didn't resist; his body went limp, paralyzed by an ancient fear. "No... let me go..." His voice was barely a whisper.
Seeing this, Kaedan let out a roar. Not a shout, but a deep, animalistic growl, mixing fury, despair, and a boundless need to protect. He lunged forward, knocking down one of Korval's cronies, but Korval was already at the water's edge, holding Dur over the murky stream.
At that moment, time stopped for Kaedan. He saw only Dur's wide, terrified blue eyes and Korval's gloating smirk. There were no thoughts. Only an all-consuming wave of rage, white and hot as molten metal. He leaped, not thinking of consequences, wanting only to hurl the offender away from his friend with a single blow.
And at that moment, as his fist was raised to strike and his heart was about to burst from his chest, the world changed.
The air around his hands thickened, trembled, filling with a barely audible hum. Dust and light seemed to intertwine into a ghostly haze, which in an instant took on form, density, and color. On his arms, from wrist to elbow, bracers materialized. Not of fabric or leather, but of ghostly, translucent stone, riddled with cracks like an ancient cliff. They were heavy, yet felt like a part of him, armor born of his very rage.
The blow he landed on Korval was no longer just the punch of an angry teenager. It was a strike amplified by an unknown force. A dull sound rang out, like hitting an empty barrel. Korval, his eyes bulging with incomprehension and pain, released Dur and flew back several steps, landing heavily in the dust. Blood trickled from his broken nose.
Everyone froze. The orphanage yard sank into a deathly silence, broken only by Kaedan's heavy breathing. He himself stared at his hands, at the stone bracers that were slowly beginning to lose their form, dissolving into myriad sparkling particles and fading into the air. Not a trace remained, only a strange, pulling sensation throughout his body, as if he had just run many miles without stopping.
No one said a word. Korval's cronies, frightened and bewildered, dragged their leader away. Ulvia and Gil looked at Kaedan not with fear, but with stunned awe. Dur, sitting on the ground by the water, trembling all over, stared at his friend with wide eyes, in which gratitude was mixed with a vague horror at what had just happened.
Kaedan lowered his hands. He felt not victory, but a weight, cold and unfamiliar, settling on his shoulders. For the first time in his life, he felt not just strength, but something else, something not entirely his own. Something that could both protect and destroy.
Their return to the orphanage that day was in oppressive, ringing silence. And Kaedan, for the first time in his life, felt not just like an orphan from the "Old Pine," but like someone else. Someone on whose shoulders the shadow of an unknown gift and a terrible responsibility had fallen.