Rowen trudged through the woods, the canopy above casting shifting shadows in the fading light. Behind him, Kieran followed with hesitant steps, his arms wrapped tightly around his small frame. Every so often, the boy would glance over his shoulder, as if expecting the bullies to reappear.
Rowen flexed his shoulder, wincing as the lingering ache from Marcus's punch flared. The shallow cut from Amara's ice shard throbbed against his shirt, but he ignored it. Pain was pain, and after everything today, he could live with it.
"So," Rowen started, trying to break the awkward silence, "what's your name, kid?"
"Kieran," the boy mumbled.
"Well, nice to meet you, Kieran. I'm Rowen. Where do you live?"
Kieran gestured ahead, toward the river visible through the trees. "The village past the river."
"Alright. I'll get you there. No way I'm letting those jerks try anything again."
In his head, Zoreth chuckled. "You're shaping up to be quite the knight in shining armor, Rowen. You should charge for your heroics—maybe a meal, at least."
Rowen ignored the jab and glanced back at Kieran. "What were you even doing out there with those bullies? They don't seem like the type to invite someone along for a friendly picnic."
The boy hesitated, staring at the ground as they walked. "They said they wanted to help me practice my fire ability. I thought… I thought they were being nice." His voice cracked with embarrassment, and he kicked at a rock on the trail.
Rowen's jaw tightened. "Let me guess, they tricked you."
Kieran nodded miserably. "They told me I needed to prove I could use my flames right. Said if I didn't, they'd tell everyone in the village I wasn't a real fire user."
"Ah, classic manipulation," Zoreth said in mock admiration. "Make the weak desperate, then crush them under the weight of their own expectations. Children can be such delightful little monsters."
"They didn't even give me a chance," Kieran said, his voice trembling. "As soon as we got to the clearing, they started laughing at me. Marcus shoved me, and Amara froze my hands every time I tried to use my power."
Rowen felt his hands curl into fists. He didn't know what kind of homes those kids came from, but their cruelty felt personal. He'd seen that same disdain in the eyes of villagers back home when they talked about people who weren't "strong enough" to carry their abilities properly.
"Listen," Rowen said firmly, "those kids? They're the weak ones, not you. They just use their powers to make themselves feel bigger. Don't give them that power."
"But…" Kieran hesitated. "What if they're right? I'm not like the other fire users. My dad keeps saying I need to train more, but what if I'm just not strong enough?"
Rowen stopped, turning to face him. "Do you know what I was before today, Kieran? A late bloomer. Fourteen years old, no powers, no future. Everyone in my village looked at me like I was broken. But guess what? I'm still here. Still kicking."
Kieran blinked up at him, the beginnings of a smile forming. "Really?"
"Yeah," Rowen said, grinning. "And you? You're already ahead of me. You've got your ability. You just need time to figure it out."
They continued walking, the trees thinning as the river came into view. On the far bank, Kieran's village sprawled in a neat grid of timber houses with tiled roofs, smoke rising lazily from chimneys. The golden light of the setting sun bathed the village in warmth, but Rowen knew not everything here would be so inviting.
Aspencia was a land of abilities, but not all abilities were created equal. Everyone developed a power around puberty, but what that power was—and how strong it turned out to be—varied wildly. In villages like Kieran's and Rowen's, where tradition ruled, families put immense pressure on children to uphold their lineage. A powerful ability could elevate a family's status, while a weak or impractical one could drag it down.
Rowen had seen it firsthand in Lionecia, the largest region of Aspencia and the seat of its king. His own family had been lucky: his father's healing ability and his mother's precise weather manipulation had made them respected figures. His brother, Ryland, had inherited an earth ability strong enough to carve through solid rock. But Rowen? He'd been the odd one out, the late bloomer everyone whispered about.
"Does your family know what happened today?" Rowen asked as they crossed the shallow river.
Kieran shook his head. "No. I don't want to tell them. My dad's been so busy, and my mom…" He trailed off, his voice soft. "She doesn't have a power."
Rowen stopped mid-step. "Your mom doesn't have one?"
Kieran shook his head again. "She's like you. She says it's fine, but I can tell she feels bad about it. That's why I didn't want to tell her I messed up."
Before Rowen could respond, a woman's voice called from the village.
"Kieran!"
A woman hurried down the path toward them, her face pale with worry. She pulled Kieran into a tight hug, her hands checking him over for injuries.
"Where have you been? I was so worried!"
"I'm fine, Mom," Kieran said, squirming. "Rowen helped me."
The woman turned to Rowen, her expression softening. "Thank you," she said earnestly. "I don't know what we would've done if something happened to him."
Rowen rubbed the back of his neck. "It was nothing, really. Just glad he's okay."
"Please, come inside," she said, gesturing toward their home. "Let me make you something to eat."
Rowen hesitated, but Zoreth's voice prodded him. "Go on. You've earned a meal after that fight."
"Sure," Rowen said, smiling awkwardly.
The interior of the house was simple but cozy. The smell of fresh bread and stew filled the air, and the warm glow of the hearth lit the room. Kieran's mother fussed over him while Rowen sat by the fire, letting the heat soak into his tired muscles.
"You did well today, Rowen," Zoreth said quietly. "But there's still a long way to go. If you want to protect people like him, you'll need more than brute strength."
Rowen sighed, staring into the flames. For now, he could rest. But he knew Zoreth was right. There was always more to learn.