Solanir crept above the horizon, its pale light filtering through the window and spilling across the floor like the slow exhale of the night. Kael sat still, breath shallow, heart pounding with the remnants of a dream he wished he could forget. He wiped the sweat from his brow, trying to shake off the lingering ache.

  Damn this weakness.

  Damn sleep—traitorous and cruel—dragging him back into the places he thought he’d buried.

  It always showed him the things he couldn’t change. The things that made him bleed on the inside.

  They were just memories. But each one had an edge like a blade. Each one pierced straight through his chest until it was hard to breathe.

  And still they came. Uninvited. Unforgiving. Unrelenting.

  The past wasn’t dead. It was a thousand knives twisting in the dark, and every time he closed his eyes… it remembered.

  But Runt stayed beside him.

  She didn’t say much—just pressed close, her presence quiet and grounding. As he turned away from the covered chest, soft fingers brushed across the bare skin of his shoulder.

  “You’re strong.”

  Simple words. But layered. Weighted.

  She didn’t see what he saw in himself—didn’t label the shaking or the silence as weakness. She didn’t know the shape of the storm inside him, and still, she said it like it was fact.

  Kael glanced at the book from the night before and almost laughed. As if reading could explain it all. As if words on a page could ever teach you what he could just ask her.

  He exhaled. “Thank you, Runt. I mean that. Truly.”

  Her green eyes, still cloudy with sleep, locked on to his. “You okay?”

  No. Not even close.

  “Yes,” he said instead. “You helped… more than I could ever repay.”

  She tilted her head slightly, ears flicking like they were tasting the air between them.

  “Can I ask you something, Runt?”

  “About?”

  He hesitated. Then softly, “Why am I your First Fang? Why are the Ironbound your pride?”

  “No,” she replied, without thinking.

  She blinked. Then crossed the room and sat down on his bed, knees pulled up, wrapping his blanket around her like it was armor.

  “Why not?”

  He frowned. She was always talkative, always curious. But now she was shutting down.

  “You never tell me about yourself,” she whispered. “Not really.”

  Kael leaned back in the chair, still shirtless, scars and tattoos lit by the early sun. He watched her for a beat.

  “Alright. Question for a question?”

  She perked up instantly, her whole body leaning forward with excitement. “Yes!”

  “You first. What do you want to know?”

  She didn’t even hesitate. She pointed to the deep scar carved into his right shoulder—a wound too deep, too jagged to ever truly heal. Even with his edge.

  “What happened?”

  Kael’s gaze drifted. His voice came quiet, slow.

  “That… was a long time ago. Far to the south, where the Outlands bleed into the Pridelands. Beautiful place. Grasslands that go on forever. Trees like towers. Soil good enough to feed a hundred villages.”

  He paused.

  “I was still a soldier then. Just one more spear in the ranks. There was a keep at the edge of the border—one of ours. It got taken. That never happens. But the beast kin came in the night, slaughtered everyone inside, and claimed it.”

  Runt listened, wide-eyed, aura flickering and pushing at the edges of her skin like it couldn’t be contained.

  “We were ordered to take it back. No siege. No waiting. Just steel and fire.”

  A long silence stretched between them.

  “I got that scar clearing the gates. Took a piece of metal off the gate from an accidentally fired dwarvan siege engine. Someone made a mistake. A piece of metal was a small price to pay.”

  Runt’s ears twitched, excitement burning in her eyes—for the violence, for the story. The glimpse into something real.

  “And did you win?”

  He gave a tired smile. “Yeah. We won.”

  She didn’t say anything—just leaned forward again, waiting for her turn. And for the first time in a long time, Kael let someone in, just a little. He owed her that.

  And maybe… maybe he owed himself too.

  “Why am I your First Fang?” he asked.

  The question hung in the air, heavy in its simplicity.

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  Kael let himself breathe. Truly breathe. No mask. No walls. For the first time in over five years. Just… himself.

  “You’re strong,” she said.

  But Runt’s face scrunched up like she didn’t quite agree—or maybe didn’t think that was enough. Her tongue peeked out slightly as she searched for the right words, ears flicking, eyes bright with thought.

  Then, cautiously, almost reverently.

  “…You smell strong?”

  Kael blinked. “How do I smell?”

  That brought her closer, aura trailing along her skin like glowing threads. She was animated now, gesturing with her hands, words tumbling out in a rush—excited, sincere, reverent.

  “You smell like battle,” she whispered, eyes wide and reverent. “Like fire licking through dry grass. Like steel drawn in anger. Like bones breaking beneath a heavy blow. Like the screams of enemies who realized too late they’d made a mistake.”

  Her voice softened, almost dreamlike.

  “You smell like the sound mountains make when they rumble… like thunder holding its breath right before the lightning strikes.”

  She leaned in closer, her nose twitching faintly.

  “And blood. Ancestors, you smell like blood—old and new—spilled on the same earth, soaked deep into the soil like a memory that won’t fade. Yours and theirs, mixing together like it was always meant to be.”

  She looked away, ears folding slightly, her voice nearly lost in the stillness between them.

  “You don’t just smell like battle…”

  A pause. Then, softer.

  “You smell like warmth after cold. Like safety in the dark. Like someone who fights… so others don’t have to. Like someone who… stays.”

  Her gaze flicked toward him, shy but steady.

  “You smell like home.”

  She paused, ears flicking, not quite able to explain the rest.

  “You smell… like a First Fang.”

  Her words landed with quiet finality, like a truth she’d carried for far too long.

  Then her expression shifted—something softer, more uncertain flickering in her eyes.

  Her voice dropped, barely a breath, so quiet he almost missed it.

  “…more.”

  There was no teasing in her voice. No joke. Just unshakable belief—like she was reciting something sacred.

  Kael felt the words settle deep into him. Not in his bones. In the parts that still ached from carrying too much for too long.

  She didn’t follow him because of glory. Or fear. Or power.

  She followed him because, in her world, he was something elemental. Something true. A force you didn’t explain. Just trusted.

  Then she suddenly perked up, bright eyes wide, a grin spreading across her face as she let go of his forearm.

  “You asked two questions!” she declared, pointing at him with mock outrage. “Now I get two—that’s how your game works, right?”

  Kael blinked, then gave a quiet laugh. Damn, she was right. He had asked a follow-up.

  “Fair enough,” he said, leaning back. “You got me.”

  She beamed, bouncing a little where she sat, clearly delighted.

  “Okay, first one—can I get tattoos?”

  “After your name day,” he said without hesitation.

  Her ears flicked eagerly. “Second question—how do you get a tattoo?”

  Kael smiled. She was serious. Curious. Damn if it didn’t feel good to have someone care about something that had always been so… private.

  “Well,” he said, sitting forward, “there’s two kinds I know.”

  She leaned in.

  “The first kind comes from spellcasters. Blood-ink mixed with mage ash. It’s burned into the skin with magical branding. Painful as hell—but they say it leaves a mark on more than just the body. Spirit-binding, some say.”

  Her eyes widened a little.

  “And then there’s the traditional kind. Ink and needle. People get those in the border wars—after a big battle, to remember fallen friends, victories, losses… scars that needed something more than just healing.”

  Runt stared at him a moment, then tilted her head. “What kind do you have?”

  Kael paused, then gave a slow, knowing smile. Her third question. She was pushing the rules. He didn’t mind. It felt… good. Grounding. Like breathing after being underwater too long.

  “I have both, Runt,” he said softly. “Some for the things I survived… and some for the things I’ll never forget.”

  She nodded, slowly, ears twitching like they were tasting his words. Soaking them in. Letting them root somewhere deep.

  Kael smiled faintly, the moment warm enough to ease the edge he always carried.

  “My turn,” he said, voice still soft. “Why are the Ironbound your pride?”

  Her answer came quickly, almost instinctual.

  “You’re the First Fang. What’s yours is ours.”

  But then… something in her shifted. A pause. Her shoulders dipped slightly.

  And then, quieter, almost hesitant

  “If I’m part of your pride…”

  The mood cracked. A chill in his chest.

  Kael’s smile faded as he caught the weight in her eyes—hope wrapped in doubt.

  “What do you mean?” he asked, the question careful, but urgent.

  She looked away, clutching at the sheets like they might protect her from his answer.

  “I’m a runt,” she said. “Smallest in the litter. We don’t get names until we survive our name day. No name, no place. I can’t be part of your pride until then.”

  She looked up—green eyes uncertain, but searching.

  Like she wanted him to see something she couldn’t say out loud.

  If you’ll have me. That’s what her silence whispered.

  Ah, damn.

  He had no idea.

  Kael leaned forward, elbows on his knees, letting the weight of her words settle over him. “So… your name. When we met, you said ‘Runt.’ I remember it—after the attack, the battle. You came up, dust and blood on your face, and just… started following me around.”

  She nodded, ears flattening slightly at the memory.

  “We don’t have names,” she said, her voice quieter now. “Names are old. Strong. Sacred. More powerful than even First Fangs. You don’t just get one. You earn it.”

  She paused, gathering the words like stones she had to stack just right.

  “Everyone starts as Velk… a cub, a clawling, or a whelp. But the smallest, the weakest, the ones not expected to survive? We’re called runts.”

  There was no bitterness in her voice. Just fact. Like a truth passed down too many times to be questioned.

  Kael studied her. The way her hands fidgeted. The way she wouldn’t meet his eyes now.

  He could see it clearer than ever before—how much it meant. What it cost her to carry that title. Her very name was a status.

  And still she fought.

  Still she stood by his side.

  Still she stayed.

  “I would be honored to have you in the pride, Runt.”

  Kael’s voice was low but steady, and every word was meant. He gave her a faint smile—rare, real.

  “I’m excited for your Name Day. I know you’ll be strong. Stronger than most. I’ve met a lot of beast kin, Runt. I fought a lot of them. I’d put my trust in you over most of them any day.”

  Her ears twitched, flicking like they were trying to brush the praise off before it could settle.

  “I… I can’t.” Her voice was barely a whisper. “Not until I pass the trial and earn my name.”

  Then, as if the weight of his words had broken something loose in her chest, she crawled forward—hesitant, then all at once. She tucked herself into his lap like she belonged there, pressing her warm body close and hiding her face against his chest.

  Kael froze for a moment, then softened, one hand resting gently on her back.

  She didn’t speak again. But the way she clung to him, the way her tail coiled around his leg and her ears lay flat against his chest—it was all gratitude. Not the kind shouted or written down, but the quiet kind. The kind felt deep in the ribs.

  He didn’t say anything more. Just sat there with her held close, the early light filtering in through the curtains, and let her know without words. she was already his pride.

  They stayed like that for a while. No more questions, no more games—just the quiet comfort of closeness.

  Not everything had been said, but enough had. He knew a little more now than he had before. About her. About himself.

  She had pulled him through the night, anchored him when the darkness tried to take hold. The least he could do was stay by her side a little longer.

  She was his weakness—and his strength. The fragile humanity he thought he’d buried long ago. The quiet joy of life he never believed he’d feel again.

  She grounded him. Kept him from unraveling.

  And Kael, for all his scars and sins, wanted—desperately—to hold onto that. To this. Just a little longer.

  These were good people. His people. And even though he felt the end creeping closer—like footsteps echoing down a long, familiar hall—he still had time to do one more thing.

  The least he could do was give them a future. Give the Iron District Brassreach.

  Even if it cost him everything.