As the soldiers trudged away, Aerovind's father rounded on him. "Have you lost your mind? Do you have any idea what you've done?"
Aerovind met his father's gaze, seeing not anger there, but fear. Fear for him. "I know exactly what I'm doing," he said softly. "I'm protecting those I love. Isn't that what you've been training me for?"
His father's shoulders slumped in defeat. "Aye," he whispered. "But I never wanted this for you. Not so soon."
Aerovind glanced back at the house, where his mother lay dying and his sister huddled in the dark. "We don't always get what we want," he said, the last remnants of his childhood falling away like dead leaves. "Sometimes we just do what needs to be done."
As they turned to break the news to the rest of the family, Aerovind paused to retrieve the practice sword from the snow.
"I shall call you typhoon. And you shall be my protector."
The world snapped into stark clarity around Aerovind as he gripped the practice sword.
His father's face was a battleground of emotions, pride wrestling with fear, anger clashing with resignation. The older man's voice was barely audible, a whisper carried on the cold wind. "You're certain about this?"
Aerovind managed a nod, his throat too tight for words. Their footsteps crunched in the snow as they made their way back to the house, each one heavy.
Inside, his mother's labored breaths filled the silence like a grim countdown. From her corner, Nora's voice trembled. "Aero? What's happening?"
He knelt beside his sister, searching for words that wouldn't crush her. "I'm going on a journey," he said, forcing a smile that felt brittle. "To help our family."
His mother's eyes flickered open, a spark of understanding igniting within them. "No," she breathed, panic edging her voice. "Not my boy. Not my Aero."
Aerovind moved to her side, clasping her fragile hand. "It's the only way, Mother," he murmured. "With what I'll earn, we can afford a real healer. Nora will have food and warm clothes."
A tear traced a path down her sunken cheek. "But at what cost, Aero?" she asked, her voice breaking. "Your childhood? Your innocence?"
His father stepped in, his tone softer than Aerovind had ever heard. "Those are luxuries we can't afford, love. He's made his choice. We must respect it."
The night was a blur of hushed conversations and stifled sobs. Aerovind packed sparingly: a change of clothes, a small knife, a handful of dried herbs his mother pressed into his hands, her instructions whispered like secrets.
As dawn broke, Aerovind stood in the doorway, Typhoon secured to his back. He scanned the modest house, etching every detail into his memory.
His father's grip on his shoulder was firm, eyes shining with unshed tears. "Remember your training," he said, voice gruff. "Keep your guard up, don't trust anyone, there is no kindness in the battleground, no mercy."
Nora clung to his leg, her small frame shaking with sobs. Aerovind knelt, wrapping her in a tight embrace. "Be strong, little one," he whispered. "I'll come back. I promise."
His mother's voice, stronger than it had been in weeks, called out from her bed. "Aerovind. Come here."
He approached, kneeling beside her. She cupped his face, her touch gentle as a feather. "Oh, my brave, foolish boy," she murmured, her lips curving into a bittersweet smile. "The road ahead is perilous, but promise me this: don't let it steal your warmth. Keep smiling, my dear. Grumpiness never did suit you."
Aerovind nodded, unable to speak. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, breathing in the familiar scent of herbs and illness.
A harsh knock at the door interrupted them. "Time's up, boy!" a soldier barked.
With one last, desperate look at his family, Aerovind straightened his shoulders and stepped out into the dawn. The icy wind lashed at his face, but he pressed on, joining the ragged line of villagers trudging towards the outskirts.
At the village edge, a grizzled man with captain stripes surveyed the motley crew. His gaze settled on Aerovind, eyes narrowing.
"By the gods," he muttered, "they're sending us children now." He raised his voice, addressing the assembled fighters. "Listen up! This here's our new runner. Try not to let him get trampled, eh?"
A ripple of uneasy laughter spread through the ranks. Aerovind felt the weight of their stares, heard the whispers.
"Poor bastard won't last a day." "Bet his voice hasn't even broken yet." "What's the world coming to, sending babes to war?"
The captain silenced them with a sharp gesture. He loomed over Aerovind, his scarred face a map of old battles. "You'll be on the front lines, boy. Deliver messages, tend to the wounded if you can. Your main mission is getting orders to the general. Understand?"
Aerovind nodded, his throat dry as sand.
The captain's lip curled in a smile. "Good lad. Welcome to hell, Ashen Whelp."
Days blurred into a nightmare. Aerovind sprinted across churned earth, the acrid stench of gunpowder burning his lungs. Steel clashed against steel, the staccato crack of flintlocks punctuating screams of agony.
Blood-slick fingers fumbled with bandages as he tried to staunch a soldier's wound. "Hold on," he pleaded, his voice cracking. "Just hold on!" The man's eyes glazed over, his last breath rattling in his chest.
Aerovind stumbled to his feet, a blood-stained dispatch clutched in his fist. He had to reach the general. Had to—
"Mongrels…"
A figure emerged from the sky above, descending like a phantom of war. Orange locks of hair floated around his face, animated by an unseen wind. With deliberate, almost regal steps, he descended, his arms extending in a gesture that was as mesmerizing as it was terrifying.
The air buzzed with energy as the figure's hands clenched into fists. An instant later, the world exploded.
A storm of fire and force tore through the battlefield. Aerovind was hurled into the air, as insignificant as a leaf in a tempest. The dispatch slipped from his grasp, its vital message lost in the chaos.
Time seemed to stretch as he flew, witnessing comrades and enemies alike tossed about like ragdolls. The ground surged up to meet him, and a blinding pain erupted in his chest.
Aerovind looked down, A branch, jagged and cruel, jutted from his chest. Each heartbeat sent a fresh wave of agony through him, accompanied by the sickening warmth of his own blood.
The world around him faded, the edges blurring into a crimson fog. His fingers twitched weakly at the wood impaling him.
"Mother," he rasped, blood bubbling on his lips. "I'm sorry... I couldn't..."
The last thing Aerovind saw was a pair of boots emerging through the smoke, followed by a hand reaching down toward his face.
3 days passed
Aerovind's eyelids fluttered open, his vision swimming into focus on an expanse of white. The sterile ceiling above him seemed to pulse and waver as consciousness grudgingly returned. He tried to lift his head, but cold metal bit into his flesh, eliciting a gasp of surprise and pain.
"Ah, our subject awakens," a silky voice purred from beyond his field of vision. "How fortunate. I do so prefer them conscious for the initial tests, you've been sleeping for three days straight."
Aerovind's breath quickened, his chest rising and falling in rapid succession as he strained against his bonds. "Where... where am I?" he croaked, his voice raw and unfamiliar to his own ears.
A face swam into view a woman with eyes like polished obsidian, her lips curled into a smile that never reached those dark orbs. "Latvinia, a Latvinian war prisoner to be more specific my dear," she cooed, running a finger along his cheek. Aerovind flinched at the touch, causing the woman to chuckle. "Oh, responsive. I like that."
"Enough with the theatrics, Moira," a gruff voice interjected. A man in clerical robes stepped into Aerovind's line of sight, a man with a broken nose and a face filled with pimples. "We're here to conduct research, not indulge your... proclivities."
Moira's eyes flashed dangerously. "You forget yourself, Cleric Darnell. My 'proclivities,' as you so quaintly put it, have yielded results your ham-fisted methods could never achieve."
"Please," Aerovind interjected, his voice cracking. "I don't understand. What do you want from me?"
The cleric, Darnell, leaned in close, his breath hot on Aerovind's face. "Want? Oh, my boy, it's not about want. It's about what we need from your kind. The need for knowledge." His fingers gripped Aerovind's chin, forcing their eyes to meet. "I am sorry for what is gonna happen."
Aerovind's brow furrowed, confusion warring with fear. "My kind? I don't—"
"Hush now," Moira interrupted, placing a finger on his lips. "You don't need to understand. You just need to... endure."
A flurry of movement drew Aerovind's attention to the far side of the room. Through a thin pane of glass, he saw a group of robed figures huddled in conversation. One of them turned, and Aerovind's breath caught in his throat.
The man with hair like flames stood there, his gaze boring into Aerovind with an intensity that made the boy's skin crawl. As their eyes met, a smile spread across the man's face, a grotesque parody of mirth that seemed to stretch beyond human limits.
"Ah, I see you've noticed our leader Seath," Darnell remarked, following Aerovind's gaze. "Magnificent, isn't he? The power he wields... it's beyond comprehension."
The red-haired man raised a hand in a mocking wave before turning on his heel and sauntering away.
"Now then," Moira clapped her hands together, the sound sharp and final. "Shall we begin? I propose we start with the ocular test. Acidic florus should provide an excellent baseline for his regenerative capabilities."
Darnell nodded, reaching for a syringe filled with sickly green liquid. "Do your thing."
Aerovind's eyes widened, pupils dilating in terror. He thrashed against his restraints, the metal cutting into his wrists and ankles. "No! Please, don't do this!" he begged, voice rising to a panicked pitch.
Moira leaned in close, her breath tickling his ear. "Shhh, little one. Your fear is... intoxicating, but it won't save you. Nothing will."
As the needle descended toward his eye, Aerovind's pleas dissolved into wordless howls. The pain that followed was beyond description, a white-hot agony that consumed his world.
Through the haze of torment, he heard the clinical observations of his tormentors:
"Fascinating. The corneal tissue is already showing signs of regeneration."
"Increase the dosage. I want to see how much he can withstand."
"Look at how he adapt. Simply exquisite."
Each word was a dagger, each observation a fresh wound. Aerovind's fingers clawed at the table, nails breaking as he sought any escape from the unrelenting agony.
a new voice cut through the fog of pain the witch who had argued for a different approach.
"Enough!" she snapped. "You're going to kill him before we've even scratched the surface. I still say we should test his fire immunity first."
"Patience, Sylvia," Darnell replied, his tone maddeningly calm. "Seath will take this as a mercy act... you know how he handles those who show pity."
Through sobs, Aerovind choked out, "You'll pay for this. I'll get even with you idiots. I'm not going to die." His tears turned to fury as he clenched his teeth, his voice shaking with rage. "I'm going to survive, no matter what you do to me. And when I do... I'll come back and kill every single one of you cunts!"
Moira's laughter rang out, cold and cruel. "Oh, such spirit! Such delicious anger." She leaned in close, her lips nearly brushing Aerovind's ear. "But my dear boy, that's exactly what I am counting on."
Sylvia scoffed, crossing her arms. "Enough of this nonsense. We need results, not empty threats from a child."
"Agreed," Darnell interjected, his pockmarked face twisted in a scowl. "Moira, prepare the next injection. We'll see how he reacts to Marzanna's blood."
At this, Sylvia's eyes widened. "Are you mad? That could kill him outright!"
"It's a calculated risk," Darnell replied, his tone brooking no argument. "Seath's orders were clear : push the limits of his regeneration."
As they argued, Aerovind's vision swam, the pain in his eyes a throbbing agony.
a heat building in his chest that had nothing to do with fear or rage.
"Wait," he gasped, his voice barely above a whisper. "Something's wrong. I feel-"
His words were cut off as a spasm wracked his body.
His back arched against the restraints, tendons standing out like cords in his neck.
"Fascinating," Moira breathed, leaning in to observe. "Look at his eyes!"
Aerovind's irises, once a deep, solid black, were now shot through with streaks of vibrant yellow. The color seemed to pulse and swirl, as if alive.
"We need to stop," Sylvia insisted, her voice tinged with genuine concern. "This is beyond our control."
Darnell wavered, uncertainty creeping into his expression. "Perhaps... perhaps we should consult Seath before proceeding further."
But Moira was already moving, a new syringe in hand. "Nonsense. We're on the verge of a breakthrough. Hold him still."