Young Kaelin was supposed to be asleep.

  She curled deeper beneath the old quilt, the faint glow of the hearth casting long shadows that danced across her bedroom walls. From above, muffled voices slipped through the thin floorboards—her mother’s sharp, urgent whisper, her father’s steadier, but no less strained tone.

  Kaelin squeezed her eyes shut. She didn’t mean to eavesdrop. But the tension in their voices was impossible to ignore, tugging at the frayed edges of her dreams.

  "We should have never stayed this close to the Academy," her mother hissed. "If they discover the bloodline still runs in her—"

  "No one knows," her father cut in, his voice firm. "No one will know unless you keep speaking of it so carelessly."

  Silence followed. Heavy enough to make Kaelin wonder if the house itself might crack under it.

  "You don't understand," her mother said at st, quieter now, as if fearing unseen ears. "It's not just the Obsidian Accord. If they awaken—"

  "Then we’ll deal with it. Together."

  Another beat of silence. A ragged breath. The creak of floorboards as one of them moved closer to the hearth.

  "She’s different," her mother whispered. "You know it. You see it too."

  Kaelin clutched the quilt tighter in her small fists, heart pounding. Different. The word dropped into her chest like a stone.

  Her father’s reply came soft—almost broken.

  "She deserves a life of her own choosing. Not one built on old words and forgotten knowledge."

  The embers snapped loudly, scattering sparks.

  Kaelin never heard the rest. Sleep finally dragged her under—heavy, restless, and filled with dreams of feathered wings, lost names, and a storm waiting just beyond the horizon.