The morning brings unexpected orders when Xavier gathers our training group at dawn, his scarred face grim with purpose.

“Border patrol,” he announces. “You’ve trained long enough to see what we’re actually protecting. Mira leads.”

My pulse quickens. Border patrol means leaving the compound—venturing into territory I’ve only glimpsed from windows and rooftops.

Mira accepts the responsibility with a sharp nod. “Finn, Dorian, Evelyn—you’re with me. We head for the eastern ridgeline.”

We set out as the sun breaks over the cliffs. The compound shrinks behind us, swallowed by ancient forests that cling to rocky soil with determination.

“Stay close,” Mira instructs. “The terrain gets treacherous. One wrong step and you’re tumbling into the sea.”

She wasn’t exaggerating. The path winds through a landscape that steals my breath.

Dramatic cliffs plunging toward churning waters, stone formations carved by centuries of wind. Dragon roosts dot the cliffinsides, dark caves where I glimpse occasional gleams of scales.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Finn falls into step beside me. “I forget sometimes, living inside the walls. Then I come out here and remember why we fight to protect it.”

“It’s incredible,” I admit. “Nothing like the mountains near which I grew up.”

“Different kind of beauty. Harder. Sharper.” He grins. “Like the people here.”

Mira leads us higher, following trails that seem carved into the rock itself. The air thins and cools. Below, the sea stretches endlessly, dark and glittering under pale sunlight. We reach a lookout point where the view spans in every direction.

Mira calls a halt, consulting marks carved into the stone.

“Patrol checkpoint,” she explains. “We wait here for the next group to confirm the route is clear, then continue to the secondary position.”

“How long?” Dorian asks.

“However long it takes. Patience is part of the job.”

I settle against a sun-warmed boulder, letting my muscles rest. The exertion feels good but when voices echo from the path below Mira straightens, hand moving to her weapon before recognition relaxes her stance.

“Riven’s patrol,” she says. “Perfect timing.”

The group that crests the ridge is smaller than ours—four warriors moving with practiced efficiency. Riven leads them, his dark hair windswept, easy smile already forming when he spots us.

“Mira. Fancy meeting you here.” He exchanges information with her in quick, efficient phrases—clear routes, no disturbances, standard observations.

Then his attention shifts to me and, as we all move through the tree line, for now having matching routes, we fall in one step with each other. I move toward a secondary overlook, his patrol continues ahead, leaving us in relative privacy.

“So,” he begins, voice casual. “I’ve been curious about your life before you stumbled into our territory. What was it like, wherever you came from?”

The question is gentle. Not probing—just genuinely curious.

“Difficult,” I say vaguely. “Lonely. Not much worth remembering, honestly.”

“Nothing at all? No happy memories hiding in there somewhere?”

“I’d rather focus on what comes next than dwell on what’s behind me.”

“Fair enough. The past can be a heavy thing to carry around.” He accepts my evasion without pressing. “Some burdens are better left at the door.”

“What about you?” I turn the question around. “What’s it like, growing up in a place like this? Being the high lord’s brother?”

Riven laughs softly. “You want the honest version or the polished one?”

“Honest. I’ve had enough polished lies to last several lifetimes.”

“Honest it is, then.” He gazes out over the cliffs, expression thoughtful. “Growing up in Draven’s shadow was… educational. He was always the heir, the important one. I was the spare—the backup plan nobody expected to need.”

“That sounds difficult. Did you resent him for it?”

“Never him. He didn’t choose to be born first any more than I chose to be born second.” His voice carries no bitterness. Just acceptance.

“But others made comparisons?”

“Constantly. The whispers, the measuring looks. ‘Why can’t you be more like your brother?’ I heard that so often I started believing it myself for a while.”

His voice carries no bitterness. Just acceptance of facts long since processed and filed away.

“Eventually I stopped trying to compete,” he continues. “Found my own path. My own purpose. I’m not the heir, and that’s fine now. I can serve the house in other ways.”

“Without constantly measuring yourself against an impossible standard,” I finish.

“Exactly. You understand.”

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