The Bondmaker's curse

Chapter 8: Under the Relentless Rain

The morning air was sharp, carrying the scent of damp earth and pine. I stood at the edge of the clearing, the village elders gathered nearby—faces like stone slabs, unmoving and unyielding. Their voices, low and harsh, cut through the quiet.

“He’s still weak.”

“He won’t survive the trials.”

“We need strength, not someone broken.”

Their words hit me like stones to the chest. I had eaten—finally—but my body remembered the hunger that had gnawed me down for years. My muscles were slow to grow; my bones still felt fragile beneath my skin. Their eyes weighed me, judged me. I hated it. I hated feeling small.

Cathal stood apart, silent but tense. I didn’t know what he thought of me anymore. He didn’t know what I’d been through—how my own body had betrayed me before I’d even had a chance.

Later, Cathal found me alone at the training grounds, the earth still slick with morning mist. His voice was steady, sharp.

“Time to work,” he said. “You want to join the pack? Prove it.”

I nodded. I wanted to prove it. I wanted to belong.

But every movement was a battle. My limbs trembled, breath ragged and uneven. My body screamed, slow to respond, like it wasn’t fully mine yet.

“Faster,” Cathal barked.

“No holding back.”

I tried. I pushed. I fought the exhaustion that dragged me down, the weakness carved into my bones by years of hunger. But all he saw was my slow pace and ragged breaths. His disappointment pressed down like a weight.

At the edge of the clearing, I caught Neasa’s gaze—sharp and fierce. I knew what she thought. She’d warned Cathal, but he refused to listen.

Minutes dragged like hours. I stumbled. My legs gave out. I fell, chest heaving, sweat stinging my eyes.

“If you can’t keep up,” Cathal said coldly, “maybe you don’t belong here.”

Neasa stepped forward, voice low but fierce, slicing through the tension.

“That’s enough.”

Cathal’s eyes flashed. “He needs to be ready. There’s no room for weakness.”

“Not all weakness is choice,” Neasa shot back, barely holding back her frustration. “His body was starved when it should have grown. That damage doesn’t just disappear.”

I lay there, small and broken under their gaze. The words echoed in my mind.

Maybe they’re right. Maybe I’m too weak.

But inside, something burned—the stubborn ember of will.

I won’t give up. I will prove them wrong. I will belong.

Neasa knelt beside me, voice soft and steady like a warm hand on cold skin.

“You’re stronger than you think,” she said. “Don’t let them tell you otherwise.”

I met her eyes. For a moment, the weight inside me lightened. Maybe I wasn’t as alone as I felt.

By midday, the sky hung heavy and low, thick clouds pressing down like a stone ceiling. Then the rain came—no gentle patter, no soft drizzle—but a wild, fierce curtain of water, pissin’ sideways, as the old folk say. It hammered the clearing with a bitter chill that bit through clothes and skin alike.

I shivered, soaked through to the bone. Mud turned slick beneath my feet. The rain blurred everything around me. The elders stood nearby, faces set like carved granite, but even their stoic silence was drowned beneath the storm’s roar.

Cathal’s voice cut through the tempest. “Get up, Silas. Keep moving.”

I tried, slipping in the mud, hands clawing for grip. My muscles screamed louder than the rain. Every breath was sharp and cold. Soaked clothes clung heavy, weighing me down like the doubts in my head.

Neasa was close, her cloak a thin shield against the storm. Her eyes never left me, fierce as ever. “You’re not alone,” she shouted over the wind. “They don’t see what you carry inside.”

Cathal growled, “You’re slower than a newborn fawn in this weather.”

The words stung, but I clenched my jaw. Rain mixed with sweat, running salty streaks down my face. I could barely see, barely think, but I forced myself forward.

I’m not weak. I’m not broken.

Each step was a battle—against the storm, my own body, the pack’s judgment.

Neasa’s voice came again, steady and strong. “Strength isn’t just muscle and speed. It’s heart. And you’ve got that in spades.”

I swallowed the cold air, muscles trembling as I pushed through the mud. The rain soaked me deeper than any blade ever could. It stripped me bare, raw and exposed—but it also washed something clean.

In that storm, beneath the endless grey sky, I felt a fierce truth settle in my bones: I belonged here. Not because I was perfect, but because I refused to give in.

The pack might doubt me, the elders might push me to breaking—but I would bend, not break.

Storms like this don’t last forever.

The rain showed no mercy, but neither did Cathal. He pressed harder, voice sharp like the cold wind whipping through the trees.

“Silas, you need to push past this. The pack won’t wait for someone who can’t keep up.”

My legs trembled, every step a fight. His words stung worse than the rain.

Neasa stepped forward, voice cutting through the storm like a blade.

“Cathal, enough.”

He turned, eyes flashing with an edge I’d never seen before.

“Enough? She’s holding him back.”

“No,” Neasa said, voice steady but fierce. “He’s starving, not weak. You don’t know what he’s been through.”

Cathal’s jaw clenched; his usual calm slipped like rain through fingers.

“Excuses don’t win fights.”

Neasa’s glare was ice cold.

“And neither does cruelty.”

For a long moment, rain and wind were the only sounds. Then Cathal’s shoulders sagged, a flicker of something raw passing through his eyes.

“I’m trying to protect the pack,” he said, voice quieter now, almost breaking.

Neasa’s voice softened, but her resolve didn’t waver.

“Protecting the pack means knowing when to fight and when to heal. Silas is stronger than you think.”

I looked between them, soaked and shaking, but something stirred inside me—hope, maybe.

The storm still raged, but in that moment, something fragile and fierce held fast between us.

The rain lashed down, cold slicing through every layer, drumming a relentless rhythm on the leaves above. The pack gathered in a tight circle, mud sucking at their boots, faces wet and grim.

Cathal’s voice cut sharp through the storm.

“Silas, you’re wasting time. We need strength, not sympathy.”

Neasa stepped forward, eyes blazing.

“Sympathy? You call concern for a starving boy sympathy?”

Cathal’s jaw tightened.

“He’s weak. The pack can’t afford weakness.”

I swallowed hard, voice trembling.

“I’m not weak.”

“Then prove it,” Cathal shot back, stepping closer, rain plastering his hair to his forehead.

“Run the path again. No favors.”

Neasa’s gaze locked onto his.

“Cathal, stop. You don’t understand—he’s been starving, pushed beyond what anyone here has seen.”

Cathal shook his head.

“I understand the pack comes first. Always.”

I looked between them, heart pounding louder than the storm.

“Why do you hate me so much?”

Neasa’s eyes softened as she turned to me.

“He doesn’t hate you, Silas. He fears losing the pack’s strength.”

Cathal’s voice cracked.

“I don’t want to lose anyone... but if you can’t keep up, it puts us all at risk.”

“Maybe you’re the one scared to see strength in another form,” Neasa shot back.

“Silas carries more than you know.”

The rain hammered harder, soaking us all, but the fire in Neasa’s words warmed something cold inside me.

Cathal looked away, voice quieter.

“I just want what’s best for us all.”

“And I want what’s best for him,” Neasa said softly, “because the pack’s future depends on it.”

A tense silence settled, broken only by rain and ragged breaths.