~ Broken Forest, Silver's Shadow, 9846, Clader ~
The blindfold dug into Calder's bruised cheekbone with every step the guards dragged him through the corridor. His ears still rang from the beating—a steady, muffled hum that made the world tilt in and out of focus. He could feel the dried blood cracking on his lips, his ribs shifting wrong when he breathed, his wings dragging limp behind him in the narrow hall.
All because he stepped between a guard's boot and a halfbreed boy barely old enough to have fledgling feathers.
He'd do it again.
A guard jerked him forward. Calder stumbled, chains biting deeper into his wrists as they shoved him up a flight of stairs. The air changed as they moved—less mildew, more cold stone and open space. Higher levels. Not the throne hall. Not the public execution grounds. Somewhere…quieter.
Somewhere meant for things that didn't need witnesses.
He heard a heavy door open, heavy iron, clinking. The guards slammed him to his knees. His wings jolted painfully, feathers scattering across the floor.
"Stay," one of them sneered.
The blindfold was ripped off.
Light stabbed his eyes, turning the world into a smear of gold and white until his vision slowly aligned. He blinked hard, breath catching in his teeth.
Someone stood before him. No, not someone. The someone. The king.
Calder froze, his heart lurched, a violent, startled beat that made his wings puff instinctively before the chains forced them back down.
The room was empty. No guards. No advisors. Just stone walls, an open window, and the king. He was standing utterly still, hands clasped behind him, six vast wings folded with precision behind his back.
Calder hadn't heard him enter. Hadn't heard him shift, hadn't even felt the air move. Had he been standing there already? Or did he move in silence, like something the world didn't dare acknowledge until it chose to be seen?
The king watched him with an expression carved from ice, not anger nor curiosity, something older, heavier. His eyes, the same ice blue as Calder's, reflected no warmth.
"Calder," the king said, voice quiet and unhurried.
That was worse than shouting.
Calder swallowed, throat raw. His wings twitched again, cramped and uneasy. "If you're here to finish what your guards started—"
The king lifted one hand, and Calder fell silent instantly. Not from fear, from instinct. Something in the air tightened, like invisible strings tugging the oxygen from his lungs.
"It seems," the king said softly, "you still haven't learnt restraint."
Calder hated the shiver that bolted down his spine, hated that he didn't know if the king had just arrived…or had been waiting for him all along.
The king exhaled softly, almost a sigh, and flicked two fingers in the air. A gesture dismissing Calder's comment entirely, as though pain, insolence, and threat meant nothing in his presence.
"That's not what I'm interested in," the king murmured.
Calder was still on his knees because the guards had forced him there, but when the king stepped closer, he realized that wouldn't have helped. The king towered above him, wings casting a massive shadow that swallowed the space between them. Calder had seen tall Winged before, but this was different. This man, this height, was the height used like a weapon.
Calder felt it in his spine. Felt it in how his wings curled reflexively downward, trying to make him smaller.
"Your name," the king repeated, calm and cold.
Calder tipped his head up, neck straining to meet the king's eyes. "You already know it."
"Say it," the king snapped.
Calder felt ridiculous, kneeling in front of a man who could snap him in half with one hand, but he forced his voice steady. "Calder."
A noncommittal hum. The king took one measured step forward, close enough that Calder could feel the shift in air from those six colossal wings. His own wings tensed automatically, feathers lifting in a defensive bristle he couldn't stop. The king's gaze flicked down to the motion, not amused nor irritated. Observant.
"Family name," the king continued.
"Don't use one."
"You were given one," the king corrected, "Citrine Agapov, your mother, no?"
The sound of his mother's name hollowed him out. His wings snapped tightly against his back, trembling as emotion surged through him. He hated that the king saw it, hated that the king catalogued the reaction like it was data.
"So you know mine." His voice wavered only slightly. "Then…what's your name?"
For the first time, the king went still in a way that was not natural, like something older had just paused behind his eyes. He looked down at Calder, the height difference turning his stare into something crushing. Cold radiated from him, sharp and precise, as though the question itself were an offense.
A long silence stretched. Then:
"Erebus," he said, the syllables striking the air with controlled weight. "Erebus Vlakyri."
He squatted down, enough that Calder could see the faint reflection of his own battered face in the king's eyes. "Or King Erebus," he added, voice dropping a notch, "to you."
Calder's jaw tightened. His wings tucked in so sharply they ached more than before, instinct curling through his bones. He didn't look away; he couldn't, but he felt the tremor beneath his sternum. Some primal part of him recognized the danger, the authority, the wrongness of speaking to this man as an equal.
Shadowtouched may have been cursed, but some say they found another source of power, and none of the other tribes know what it was.
Erebus studied him for a moment longer, as though assessing whether Calder understood the weight of the exchange.
Then his voice shifted back to that unsettling calm. "Now," the king continued. "Answer my question." His shadow fell over Calder like an eclipse. "Why did you intervene for that boy?"
Calder lifted his chin, trying to look unfazed despite the silent room pressing in around him. There's no Citrine beside him, not the warmth of her simple smile or her cherry red eyes. It was just the cold stone, and the king staring him down like he was something small and foolish.
"Fine," Calder said, forcing casualness into his voice. "You wanna know why I did it?"
Erebus doesn't move. His wings were massive even while folded, casting a long, jagged shadow over the floor.
Calder shrugged, "Because it was a boy," he said. "That's it. No prophecy. No omen. I just saw a kid in danger."
Silence from the king, it was thick, heavy, and judging.
Erebus repeated the words like it's foreign. "A boy."
Calder nods, throat tight but pretending it's fine. "Yup." He rolled his head to the side. It was risky trying to act like he didn't care, especially when he had no clue what this man could do to him. The cold stare could cut through diamonds.
Erebus narrows his eyes, the thin gold chains that adorned all his wings caught the light as he moved them down into a relaxed position. "You risked your life," he began, "for a stranger you did not know. A halfbreed you had no reason to save."
Calder gives a crooked grin that's all bravado. "For a boy? Guess so."
Erebus studies him, something unreadable flashed on the man's face. "You are either brave," the king's face twisted in a scowl, "or profoundly foolish."
"Probably," Calder looked up, feigning thoughtfulness. "Little bit of both, honestly."
Erebus's gaze softened. "Yes," he spoke quietly, "I can see that."
The shift is so small Calder almost missed it; it was just a faint easing around the eyes, the slightest gentling of a man who looks carved from obsidian. But he does see it, and it unsettles him more than the cold stare ever did.
Calder swallows. "...Okay," he mutters. "Cool. Glad we understand each other."
Erebus doesn't answer, but he stands, and his wings flex once as he did then draws back in. He began to circle Calder once, it was slow, deliberate—like the way a predator might circle something it still hasn't decided whether to spare or devour their prey. This made Calder feel even more vulnerable on his knees, his jaw going tight again as he tried not to flinch when the wind from the king's wings moving behind him whisked by his ear.
"Calder," Erebus said finally. "That is your name?"
"Yeah, thought we made that clear."
"You are young." Erebus stopped moving, still behind him…still out of view. "You are reckless."
Calder bristled a little, his feathers rising in defense. "You asked for honesty, I gave it."
"Yes." Erebus stepped forward again, coming back into Calder's line of sight. "You did."
He studied Calder's face like he was searching for something beneath the bruises, something beyond the lopsided bravado.
"You saved a boy," the king repeated, only softer now. "A halfbreed child."
Calder's pulse stuttered. He didn't look away.
"You had nothing to gain," Erebus continues. "No status, no reward. Only punishment."
"Didn't need a reward," Calder mutters.
For the first time since the blindfold came off, Erebus's wings shifted, yet it wasn't in anger, but contemplatively. His feathers loosened instead of bristling.
"I can see," he murmured, "that your actions were not born of defiance."
"And what—you're actually believing me now?" Calder asked, his voice was tired, defensive, and maybe a little hopeful, though he hated that it was.
Erebus tilted his head, expression unreadable again but in a gentler way. "I believe," he said, "that you are not lying."
Calder let out a slow breath.
Erebus then adds, almost to himself, "and I believe you do not yet understand why that matters." He stepped away, but Calder could still feel the cool sweep of his shadow from those enormous wings.
"Tell me," Erebus asked, "what else would you risk your life for?"
Calder huffs, rolling his sore shoulders. "I dunno. Didn't think I'd need a whole list." Calder rolled his head to look down.
But Erebus watches him with an intensity that makes Calder shift uncomfortably on his knees. "Family?" the king asked.
Calder snorts before he can stop himself. "Don't have any, thanks to you. Before I had my mom and uncle."
Something flickered across Erebus's face, gone as soon as it formed, but Calder doesn't notice; he's looking at the floor, jaw tight.
"I see," Erebus murmured. He circled again, but this time it wasn't predatory but studying. "Friends?"
Calder shrugs. "I mean…sure."
Erebus stops at Calder's side, gaze angled down. "You stand alone," he said quietly. "Yet you protect as though you have something to lose."
Calder bristles, annoyed at how exposed he suddenly feels. "Look, I didn't exactly think it through. It was a boy, a fledgling. He needed help."
"Yes," Erebus said, more to himself than to Calder. "You act first. You break rules without hesitation, and throw yourself between danger and the helpless…" His voice lowers. "...even when no one would do the same for you."
Calder lifted his head, scowling. "You trying to psychoanalyze me now?"
Erebus was staring at Calder, something creeping up behind his eyes. "No," he said. "I am merely trying to understand you."
Calder frowns. "Why?"
For a heartbeat, the king froze. Thoughts seemed to rush through his head. Instead, Erebus inhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders tightening beneath the weight of years he had never spoken.
"Because," he said, choosing his words with deliberate care, "you are…unusual."
Calder huffs. "Gee. Thanks."
Erebus suppressed a reaction that might've been a laugh; it was hard to tell. He stepped in front of Calder, lowering himself just enough for Calder to catch the strange softness in his gaze again.
"Tell me, Calder," he said. "When you were young…did anyone ever teach you how to control those six wings of yours? Or were you left to learn alone?"
Calder froze, and his breath stuttered. "...I wasn't alone," Calder muttered.
Erebus's brow lifted a fraction. "No? I shall say, it is quite hard to learn to control such vast things. Low ranks have it easier, not as big nor as many."
Calder shook his head, gaze flicking away and his wings shifting behind in a restless, cramped, and sore rustle.
"My mom…Citrine," he said, voice softer than before, "she tried. She only had two wings, but she tried hard. Taught me what she could, and protected me from what she couldn't."
Erebus went still. Absolutely still, as if the world was holding its breath with him. Calder doesn't notice.
"And I had no one besides mom and uncle," he stated.
There's a brief, taut pause. Erebus studied Calder for a hint of lies.
Calder's jaw works.
Erebus exhaled slowly through his nose; it was a quiet sound, but strained. Heavy. The kind a man makes when confronted with the full consequences of the past.
"I see," he said, turning to look towards the window. "Then I was mistaken."
Calder frowned. "About what?"
Erebus turned to look over his shoulder. "You were not raised without support," the king said. "You simply…lost it."
Calder's throat tightened, memory cutting sharp. "Oh, really?"
Erebus looked amused for a moment at Calder's vulgar language. He didn't look like a prisoner for a moment, with the way the boy spoke.
"Citrine…" he begins, speaking the name with a reverence Calder doesn't understand, "did she treat you well?"
Calder's answer is immediate. Fierce. "She was the best damn parent anyone could ask for."
Erebus closed his eyes for a heartbeat. "Good, I'm glad." When he opened his eyes again, the softness had sharpened.
"Why do you care so much about this?" Calder asked, voice eerily calm.
Erebus studied him for a long moment. The silence stretched between them, heavy with things unspoken for so many passings.
"Because…" he said, "she was…known to me."
Calder's jaw tightened. "That's not an answer."
"No," Erebus agreed. "It's not." He turned away, his gaze lifting to study the high ceiling where the shadows danced around the stone arches.
"There are those we encounter," he continued, "who leave marks upon us. Not all of them are meant to remain. Some only exist to remind us of what we cannot have."
Calder's wings shifted behind him, brushing against the stone floor. He lowered his head. "You talk like she was more than a name on a decree," Calder whispered.
Erebus doesn't deny it. "She was a Cliffwalker," the king said instead. "Bright, unyielding. Unwise in the way only brave can afford to be." He lowered his voice. "She believed the world could be kinder than it is."
Calder's fingers curl against his palms. "She was right."
A pause. "Yes," Erebus said, a small, brief smile, "she was."
The admission hung between them before Erebus turned back to him, the weight of the crown settling visibly on his head. "But belief does not unmake law," he continued. "And compassion does not absolve a king of duty."
Calder lifts his chin. "So that's it, then."
"That is it," Erebus replied.
Their gazes lock.
"And you?" Erebus asks quietly. "Do you believe the world can be kinder?"
Calder doesn't answer right away. His wings pull in close, all six folding tight despite the ache. "…I think," he said finally, "it can be better than this."
Erebus studied the boy. "Then," the king murmurs, "you are far more like her than you know."
After that, there was a long silence. Erebus held Calder's gaze.
"Do you know," he asked quietly, "what will happen to you?"
Calder doesn't hesitate. He nodded once. "Yeah."
Erebus's wings flapped once. "Say it."
Calder swallowed, then closed his eyes. His voice is steady. "Because I'm a halfbreed," he said, "and a Rank One…"
He exhaled through his nose. "…I won't be made a prisoner. Or a slave."
Silence. The words hung between them like a blade suspended mid-fall.
"I'll be executed." He opened his eyes at last, and a hint of resentment lingered.
Erebus nodded. "That is the law," he says at last.
"Figured as much." Calder shrugs, a sharp, brittle motion. His wings shift behind him, features scaping stone.
Erebus leaned his head to the side. "And yet," the king spoke carefully, "you do not sound afraid."
Calder huffed a quiet laugh. "What's there to be afraid of? I've known since I was little. Rank One Halfbreeds don't exactly get mercy." He looked away. "They get examples made of them."
Erebus's voice dropped, rougher now. "And if I told you," he asked, "that the law allowed for an exception?"
Calder snapped his gaze back to the king. His wings flare. "…What exception?"
"The one I can invoke," he spoke slowly, "it won't serve the law, and could very possibly destroy the realm."
Calder's heartbeat stuttered. "…You're saying…you'd spare me?" he asked, disbelief sharp in his voice.
Erebus doesn't answer right away. Instead, he asks a question of his own—one that carries far more weight than any promise.
"Tell me, Calder," he began, "if your life was spared…what would you do with it?"
Calder froze. He begins to think. His wings shift again, coiling out around him. He looked at them for a moment, their dusty grey color.
Then he lifts his head. "I'd change it," he stated.
Erebus watched him closely. He doesn't interrupt.
"I'd make it better," Calder continued, his voice steady now, gaining weight with every word. "Not perfect. Just…fair." He swallowed. "So kids don't grow up knowing the laws want them dead before they even learn how to fly."
The silence deepened.
"I'd make it safe for my kind," Calder said. "So halfbreeds don't get punished just because their parents came from different clans. Shadowtouched. Cliffwalkers. Any of it. None of that should decide whether you get to live."
Erebus's breath slowed. His wings lowered slightly.
Calder went on, unable to stop now.
"My mother believed that," he gave way to a brief smile. "That the world didn't have to be like this. That the Winged just kept it this way because it was easier than changing it."
Erebus's jaw tightened. "You would challenge the gods," he said.
Calder met his gaze without hesitation. "I already am."
For a long moment, Erebus said nothing. The weight of the crown, the law, the Old Way. It all pressed down on him, and for a moment it was visible. His moment of weakness.
"At your rank," the king finally said, "your very existence is considered an offense."
"Yeah," Calder replied. "I know."
"And you would still fight for them?"
"Obviously." He spoke with no hesitation, still.
Erebus let himself give a crooked grin. He leaned over closer to Calder's face. "You speak as though you expect to survive," he said.
Only then did that make Calder falter. "I—I don't. But if I did…that's what I'd do with it."
Calder studied the king's face, every twitch. It was easier now that he was closer. The king didn't look like an executioner. He just looked tired, empty in a way. He looked like a man staring at the future and realizing it had a face.
"Your mother," Erebus spoke slowly, "once said something very similar to me."
Calder's chest tightened. "…She did?"
"Yes," Erebus answered, a small nod to his head. Certain. "And it terrified me then." He moved even closer. "It terrifies me now."
Calder frowns. "Then why are you still standing there?"
Erebus's gaze sharpened. "Because," he said, "the law says you must die."
A beat.
"And the king," Erebus continued, "is deciding whether or not to act on it."
The words fall heavy between them.
"Stand," Erebus commanded.
Calder pushed himself to his feet, his chains rattling around.
"I will not free you," Erebus spoke at last.
Calder's heart sank, but he didn't look away.
"I will let you go."
Calder blinked. "What?"
Erebus's wings flexed restlessly, shadows ripping across the stone. When he spoke again, his voice carried the weight of the law—formal, precise, unforgiving.
"You will leave this place as an escapee," the king said. "Not as a pardoned man. Not as one absolved of rank or blood."
Calder's pulse hammered.
"You will be hunted." Erebus met his gaze evenly. "I will send my forces to search for you. Your name will be spoken with warrants and blades." His jaw tightens. "And if you are caught again—"
Calder finished it for him. "I'm executed on the spot."
"Yes."
The words landed heavy on Calder's chest, like another hit. He exhaled slowly, his wings trembling. "So this is mercy."
"This," Erebus corrected, "is the only mercy I can allow without fully breaking the law." He stepped back. "You wanted the world to be better," the king continued. "Then you will have to survive long enough to change it."
Calder studied the king, suspicion and disbelief warring in his expression. "You're really going to hunt me."
"I must," Erebus answered, void of hesitation. "If I do not, the lie becomes visible. And then there will be no escape. For you or for anyone who helped you."
Calder swallowed. "Including you."
Erebus's gaze flickered. "Yes."
Calder straightened as much as the chains allowed him; he flapped his wings, but not enough to lift him off the ground. "…Then I'll run," he said.
Erebus's mouth curved into something that wasn't quite a smile, but it wasn't one of his crooked ones either. "Good," he replied.
"There are some old tunnels on the south side of the dungeon. Get there, and you get out." Erebus said, finally, before gesturing to the guards who came up to them.
The guards grabbed Calder's arms.
"May the Veil keep your secrets, Calder." Erebus dipped his head…and then he was gone.
As the guards dragged him back to his cell, Calder couldn't help but mutter. "May the Wind keep you strong, Erebus…"