Chapter One — Genesis
[Brimvale Village,Where the Ground Is Always Cold]
Elias was nine years old when he first understood that the world did not belong to everyone equally.
He did not have the words for it then. Only the feeling — sharp and ugly — that settled in his chest whenever he stood beside his brother.
Brimvale was a small village pressed against the earth, its houses built low and close, as if trying to hide from the wind. Children played barefoot in the dirt paths, their laughter echoing between cracked stone walls. Life here was simple, people said. Honest.
Elias never believed that.
Lucien ran ahead of him, light on his feet, chasing a wooden ring with the other children. Someone shouted his name, excited, almost proud.
"Lucien! Show them!"
Elias stopped walking.
He already knew what was coming.
Lucien hesitated, glancing back toward Elias for just a moment — a look that asked permission he never needed to ask. Then he held out his hands.
The air shimmered.
It was faint. Barely more than a glow, like sunlight reflected off water. But the children gasped anyway. A few stumbled backward. Others leaned closer, wide-eyed.
"That's Ruach," someone whispered.
Elias's fingers curled into fists.
Lucien laughed nervously, shaking his hands until the glow faded. "I didn't do it on purpose," he said quickly. "It just… happens sometimes."
The adults noticed now. Murmurs spread like cracks in ice.
Elias turned away before anyone could look at him the way they looked at Lucien — with wonder, with expectation.
He didn't hate his brother.
But he hated the way the world chose favorites.
Later, Elias sat on a low stone wall, swinging his legs while Lucien talked endlessly about the game, about how everyone cheered, about how someone said he might become a hunter one day.
"You were quiet," Lucien said, finally noticing. "Did I do something wrong?"
Elias shrugged. "You never do anything wrong."
Lucien frowned, not understanding.
They parted ways near the edge of the village, where the paths grew narrow and the houses fewer. Elias carried a small cloth bundle tucked under his arm. Bread. Roots. A piece of dried meat his mother had saved.
Harel's home leaned slightly to one side, as if tired of standing.
The door creaked open before Elias knocked.
"You're late," Harel said.
Elias smiled despite himself. "You can't see the sun, old man. How would you know?"
"I can hear your steps," Harel replied calmly. "When you drag your feet, you're thinking too much."
Inside, the air smelled of ash and herbs. Harel sat near the hearth, his eyes pale and unfocused, his hands resting on his knees.
Elias placed the food down carefully. "Mother says you need to eat more."
"She worries too much."
Elias sat cross-legged on the floor. He was quiet for a long moment.
"They like him more," Elias said suddenly.
Harel tilted his head. "Your brother."
Elias nodded. "They always look at him. Like he's… like he's something."
"And you?"
Elias swallowed. "I'm nothing."
Harel reached out slowly, resting a hand on Elias's shoulder. His grip was weak, but steady.
"You remind me of my grandson," he said. "Angry. Always watching."
"What happened to him?" Elias asked.
"He hated injustice more than hunger," Harel replied softly. "That kind of fire either shapes you… or consumes you."
Elias didn't answer.
Days passed.
The village carried on, but something underneath it shifted. Rumors drifted through Brimvale like smoke — talk of evaluations, of children taken to the capital, of laws written far away by people who had never walked these roads.
(Harels house)
The knock came too hard for the hour.
Harel froze mid-step, hand still resting on the table.
Elias felt it immediately — that wrongness that made the air feel thinner.
Another knock. Louder.
"Stay inside," Harel said without turning around.
Elias ignored him.
By the time Harel reached the door, Elias was already standing behind him.
The door opened.
Three guards.
One of them leaned forward slightly, peering past Harel's shoulder, eyes scanning the room like he expected something to crawl out of the walls.
"There you are," the guard said. "Took longer than it should have."
Harel didn't move aside.
"This is a private home," he said. "You have no cause—"
The guard cut him off.
"We questioned him about the boy," the guard continued, almost casually. "The one with the abnormal Ruach response. Lucien, was it?"
Harel's jaw tightened.
"He said he lived alone," the guard went on. "Kept lying. Over and over."
Elias felt something snap inside him.
"There were three of you," Elias muttered, eyes flicking over them.
One of the guards wasn't fully armored. Just a chest plate, helmet hanging loose at his side.
That was the one Elias moved on.
The shackles came down hard around the guard's wrists — metal biting into flesh. Elias didn't think. He kicked upward, full force.
The guard folded with a sound that wasn't human.
The second guard lunged.
Elias swung the shackles like a weapon, smashing them against the man's helmet. The impact rang sharp and hollow. The guard dropped.
The third guard shouted.
Elias was already moving.
"RUN!" Harel roared.
Elias didn't look back.
The Snitch
He didn't take the main road.
He cut through back alleys, mud soaking into his shoes, breath tearing at his throat.
That's when he saw him.
The baker's boy.
Standing at the corner, whispering urgently to a cloaked figure — eyes darting, hands shaking.
Elias didn't need to hear the words.
Everyone knew about Lucien.
Everyone whispered.
Everyone watched.
The boy glanced up and met Elias's eyes.
Guilt flashed — then fear.
Elias turned and ran harder.
Finding Lucien
Lucien was behind the shrine, laughing with two other kids.
Elias grabbed him by the arm.
"Hey— what's wrong with you?" Lucien snapped. "You're hurting me."
"Mother and Father are in danger," Elias said. "Move."
Lucien went still.
"What?"
"No questions," Elias said. "Now."
Lucien noticed the shackles then.
His expression changed.
"Why are you in cuffs?"
"No time."
They ran.
until they arrived at their home,their mother was already packing when they burst in.
Their father stood near the door, calm in a way that terrified Elias.
"They know," Elias said.
His father nodded. "We assumed they would."
Their mother knelt and gripped Lucien's face. "Listen to me."
"Mom—" Lucien started.
"You will go," she said firmly. "Both of you."
Elias shook his head. "We can all leave."
Their father placed a hand on his shoulder.
"No," he said. "We stay."
"Why?" Elias demanded.
"Because if we run," his father said quietly, "they will follow you forever."
The door creaked.
Marcus stepped inside, eyes sharp, already assessing.
"They're moving," he said. "We don't have long."
Lucien looked between their parents. "You're coming with us."
Their mother smiled — soft, broken.
"No," she said. "You are."
She pressed something into Elias's hand. He didn't even look at it.
"I hate them," Elias said, voice shaking.
"I know," his father replied. "But live first."
Marcus grabbed both boys.
"Now."
They didn't stop running.
Marcus didn't let them.
When Lucien stumbled, Marcus hauled him up without slowing. When Elias fell behind, Marcus pulled him close, arm locked tight around his chest.
The village lights faded.
Smoke rose somewhere behind them.
Elias twisted in Marcus's grip. "Let go!"
"If I do," Marcus said, breath steady despite the pace, "you'll die."
Elias stopped fighting.
Hours later, when the village was nothing but memory, Marcus finally slowed.
Lucien collapsed.
Elias stood there, shaking, staring back at the dark.
Something had been taken from him.
Not just people.
Something inside him had been carved out — clean and permanent.
And the world hadn't even noticed.