Rise of the Underdogs: KADEN

Friendly Fire

As I noticed he was about to slip away, I called out to the boy, drawing him out from where he had been hidden among the shadows of the bookshelves. The soft golden light from the muted chandeliers spilled across his sun-kissed skin, casting gentle shadows that danced with his movements. He showed no outward signs of anxiety. If he felt nervous at all, he concealed it more convincingly than any adult I had ever encountered. His blue-grey eyes, seemingly untamed at first glance, gave the impression of wildness.

But with a closer look, it was clear—they were alert and cautious, tracking every movement and detail in the room with remarkable focus. He toed the carpet, his hands fidgeting with his shirt. “Sorry. I was worried.”

About me? Or the little girl that seemed to draw his attention.

“Logan?” I called out softly.

He stopped abruptly, frozen in place as if unsure whether to move forward or retreat. The colour had drained from his face, leaving his features wane and tense, his skin almost translucent in the soft light. There were dark smudges beneath his eyes, evidence of restless nights and little sleep. I knew, considering who his sire was, that this was likely not unusual for him. He parted his lips as if to speak, but the words faltered, his voice barely rising above a whisper before it faded away. Uncertainty lingered in the silence that followed, his hesitation speaking volumes where words could not. “I…”

Trying to reassure him, I spoke gently, cutting off whatever excuse he was about to spew. “Didn’t do anything wrong. You’re not in trouble. That little one?”

He quickly interrupted me, just as I had done to him before. “Is my friend,” he said firmly. I was pleased to hear the confidence in his voice. Standing his ground was an important lesson for him to learn.

“You like having friends now?” I asked, recalling the moment he confessed to not having any before.

He hesitated, then continued, “I… I met others. Good people. Like you.”

It was heartbreaking to realize that Logan was searching for people with personalities like mine. Individuals who would accept him without reservation. I wanted to restore confidence in him, so I said, “I’m glad, Kiddo. You’re a good kid. I have a feeling you’re going to break a lot of boundaries, shatter some old-school mentalities, and maybe even show up a few of us older folks. That’s all good fun.”

Logan looked at me, uncertain. “Really? Papa says I have to stay out of trouble,” he replied. Then, after a moment’s hesitation, he asked, “Kaden, um, why do Witches and other magic users say: ‘harm unto none, do what thy will’?”

I was impressed by his question. What? It was an actually great question! I answered, obviously. “Easy. It’s because we know that, while play can be fun, harming others is not good. When people say things like that, they are basically saying that you can do whatever you please so long as no one gets hurt.”

‘Papa’ was not how I ever imagined anyone referring to Austin Pierce, but this sweet kid was nothing like his sire. Nodding to myself, I handed him a book and asked, “Can you keep it secret if I let you stay?”

He looked at me, curiosity clear in his eyes as he accepted the heavy tome. “Keep what secret?” he asked, clutching the book with care.

His straightforwardness reassured me. If he was always this genuine, I knew we would get along well. I reminded myself to continue keeping an eye on the family for my Alpha, my friend, but I didn’t mind the responsibility. Knowing the kid was safe and that he was openly making connections with other pack pups eased the heaviness that had been weighing on my chest.

He settled himself on the carpet, spreading his hands across the cover of the book. Looking up, he asked quietly, “What do you want me to do?”

I answered him simply, “Research.” I was confident he would understand my intention. He was bright. One of the reasons I wanted him to stay, actually. “Into the Arctic Shield.”

He paused for a moment, then asked, “What’s that?” His curiosity was piqued as he gently opened the book, revealing the intricately crafted icicle designs decorating the first page. “Oh, wow,” he breathed, clearly captivated by the artistry.

His sense of wonder was genuinely endearing.

“Yeah, it’s nice,” I answered. “My Mate is from that pack, but they fell years ago at the hands of another pack that teamed up with Rogues to take the territory. I want to know about the culture so that I can address everything properly. Including her elder brothers.”

Logan’s eyes widened in surprise as he looked at me. “Ember is from that pack, too, isn’t she? There aren’t many Werewolves who look like they’re gods.” His words lingered in the air, a testament to the awe and reverence surrounding the members of the Arctic Shield.

I paused, considering his comment.

Gods? That was certainly one way to describe them. Their presence was striking, almost otherworldly. Something that set them apart from the rest.

Gently, I corrected his assumption, keeping my tone soft and reassuring for the young boy who seemed to cling to my every word. “Not gods, but close. They were highly spiritual. They honed their skills in the chilling cold of the Arctic, and were set loose on the world after death and destruction stole their birthright from them.” The history of the Arctic Shield was steeped in tragedy and resilience, shaping those who survived into figures of legend and respect.

For me, relying on research and observation became a foundational approach. A default setting I could always depend on.

He hesitated, uncertainty flickering across his features as he quietly asked, “Um, are you sure it’s okay for me to be here?” The question carried a note of weariness, as if he had grown accustomed to being cautious about his place in unfamiliar settings. His apprehension was evident, a subtle reminder of the boundaries and expectations that shaped his experiences.

A gentle, quiet laugh made me glance at the entry to the Restricted section. There, standing with her posture relaxed and her lips curved into a sly smile, stood Izaria.

I grinned, flashing my teeth as I said, “Hey, cuz.”

“Hey, yourself, Kaden. Quick question, but is he allowed in there with you?” She asked.

I shook my head, “No, but Henry won’t say anything about it as long as I’m in here. He’s reading, not plotting the downfall of Shadow Storm.”

Laughter, gentle and subdued, slipped from Izaria as she regarded me. Her tone carried a hint of mischief. “Fine, but if anyone asks, I’m throwing you under the bus.” The air between us felt lighter, her words teasing yet affectionate, a quiet camaraderie evident.

Unbothered, I let my smile stretch wider, the tension melting away. “Sure,” I replied, my voice easy and unfiltered. “I’ve got no problem getting on anyone’s bad side. I’m a well-known s**t-disturber.” The banter was familiar, a reminder of the trust and humour we shared even in uncertain circumstances.

Although our acquaintance was still relatively new—just eight months—we had already developed a pattern that suited us both. Our interactions were built on a foundation of mutual respect, but carried a playful edge. Friendly teasing and the occasional jab were exchanged freely. Each of us understood the boundaries and appreciated the unspoken trust they signified. This dynamic allowed us to remain optimistic, even as we navigated uncertainty, and ensured that neither of us took the other too seriously when the banter became sharp.

Beyond our rapport, there was something extraordinary about her: she was an Empathic Omen Reader. It was a rare gift, one that had not appeared in our family since Grandmother Gaia was a young girl. The significance of this ability was not lost on me; it added a layer of intrigue and reverence to her presence, reminding me of the remarkable lineage from which we both came.

“So, have you visited the family estate yet?” I asked.

“Estate?” She scoffed, and the gesture drew attention to her striking features. The deep blue of her eyes held a quiet intensity, while her mousy brown hair—untamed and unpretentious—served as a visible testament to her Cage heritage. It was a lineage she wore openly, almost defiantly, as if to say she had no intention of hiding who she was. That heritage marked her as much as any name or reputation, and in this moment, it seemed to grant her an unspoken sense of pride. “You mean that massive freaking castle on the coast? That estate?”

‘She sounds angry,’ Malachite commented, his humour as dry as ever. ‘Uncomplicate it.’

“Yes,” I admitted softly.

“Granddad is a d**k,” she snapped, her tone dark.

I smiled, “Well, I was asking because our great-grandmother wanted to meet you. Our grandfather is an asshole, I’m not denying that. Hell, even Dre thinks the stick in Granddad’s ass is blocking his common good sense. But G-ma is a good woman. Blind, yes, but she’s been asking for you.”