The Abandoned Chosen

Chapter 4

They say memory is a blessing.

But not all memories are kind. Some arrive like knives, slicing through the mind with cruel precision.

Others return as fire; slow, scorching and inescapable.

In one world, a boy remembers what his family did to him.

In another, his family raises a glass to his grave.

One grieves.

The others grin.

But both are dancing with ghosts.

Because betrayal never ends where it begins.

It echoes. It lingers.

And sooner or later… it returns.

THE AWAKENING OF WRATH

VOLATIA

Brann's eyes remained fixed on the words, reading them over and over again until they felt etched behind his lids. He ripped his gaze from the page, and his eyes found Yeva, who watched him patiently.

"Explain," Brann demanded. "What does this mean?"

Yeva moved closer. "It means," she began, "that you are now a vessel. Your soul is no longer completely yours."

She continued. "Your brothers, they harmed you, Brann. They left you for dead in that ravine. And in that moment, between breath and burial, the veil cracked. You were sung into existence as the five sons of Kelvathar found you. Hollow. Broken. And angry."

She stepped closer, kneeling beside him.

"They chose you because you were perfect. Because your grief made you moldable. And now, Brann… they don't just reside within you. They're shaping you. Making you want what they want."

Brann clenched his jaw. "You said it yourself, back in the woods. You said I wanted revenge. You said I was going to get it." He paused for dramatic effect. "Revenge on whom?"

Yeva took a deep breath. "On your family. Your father and your brothers."

Brann glared at her. "What... what did they do?"

Yeva tilted her head slightly. "You really don't remember?"

"It's there," Brann insisted, pressing a gloved hand to his temple, "but for some reason… I can't reach it. It's like smoke. The more I try to hold it, the further it drifts."

Yeva stood up slowly. "Let me show you, then," she murmured.

She lifted her hands, separating them slightly, then rubbed the thumb and index finger of each hand together.

Magic sparked between them as her voice dropped to a low and grave murmur. "Well, this is gonna hurt."

Brann didn't flinch as she reached out and pressed both her glowing thumb and index fingers to his temples.

Abruptly, memories began flooding violently. He saw everything. He was running desperately through the woods. The pain of Hann's punch to his ribs. Macca's blade across his leg.

Fridus's boot crushing his chest. Silas's kick, sending him tumbling into the ravine. The sickening crack of his skull against the jagged rock.

And then, the final words of his brother, Josias: "Leave him. The animals in the ravine will do the rest."

The memory burned, hotter than any fire. The pain from their blows and attacks was nothing compared to the deep hurt of their intention, their complete and careless discard of him.

Brann shuddered with rage. A rage that shook the very foundations of the dwelling. When Yeva finally withdrew her hands and pulled away from his temples, he let out a growling roar that was not his own. It belonged to the five monsters within him.

His eyes blazed a hellish red, and the scythe Virexion bursted into red flame. He stood.

"TAKE US BACK TO LUMENFALL!" he roared.

Yeva rushed and placed both her hands firmly against his white alabaster chest, over the cursed veins, and over the heart now shared by monsters.

"Brann, please! Look at me." Her milky white eyes met his, trying to find the tormented soul beneath.

He didn't at first. His gaze was distant, buried in wrath, but when he finally locked eyes with her, everything froze.

Her voice dropped to a whisper. "You're still in there. I know you are."

And just like that, the rage began to fade. The glow in his eyes faded, and the flames on Virexion died down.

Brann slumped back onto the cushion and pressed his hands to his temples, groaning. His chest heaved and his breaths ragged.

He looked up at Yeva and his eyes still burnt with resentment. "I remember…" he muttered through clenched teeth. "I remember everything."

"My family abandoned me," he rasped. "So I'm going to kill them all."

Yeva watched him. "That's what your demons want, Brann. Not you."

He shook his head. "No," he corrected her. "That's what I want. My father. Fridus. Silas. Hann. Josias. And Macca. They're all going to die by my hands."

LUMENFALL

Meanwhile, in Lumenfall, the tavern was loud with cheer, the scent of roasted meat, spiced wine sloshing in cups, and the golden glow of lanterns.

People were jolly. And at the center of it all, seated at a long, carved table near the hearth, were the five brothers of House Elias.

Their table was filled with half-eaten platters and nearly empty tankards. Fridus raised his goblet. "To better times."

The others clinked their cups together and drank. Plates clattered as servers brought more food, platters of lamb, seasoned roots, and thick crusted loaves.

From the outside, it looked like a feast in honor of a historic announcement; the naming of a new heir to Lumenfall. But they were quietly celebrating Brann's demise.

People came in and out of the tavern, offering smiles and greetings.

One man, cloaked in a formal navy robe, approached the table and clapped Fridus on the shoulder as he passed. "Congratulations, Lord Fridus may I say! A historic day for your family! Celebrating the chosen one, are we?"

The brothers paused, glancing at each other and bursting into hysterical laughter. Fridus wiped a tear from his eye and cleared his throat.

He composed himself and a sly grin spread across his face. "Precisely, my friend! Precisely why we're gathered here," he said. "To celebrate our youngest brother's... bright future."

He raised his tankard, and the man toasted them before moving on.

As soon as the man was out of earshot, Silas leaned in. "I really hope the animals got him."

Fridus took another slow sip of wine. "You always say the quiet part out loud."

Silas glanced around. "I'm serious. Because when people start looking…"

"They won't," Josias cut in, calm and unbothered. "The populace is over three million, Silas. In as much as Lumenfall is the kingdom of light, there is darkness at every corner. People vanish every day. They should know better than to ask questions."

"Exactly," Hann added. "Silas is right. You all saw how the people looked at Brann after the ritual. That kind of power? Makes enemies faster than it makes allies."

"He's a sixteen-year-old!" Macca said. His simple mind latched onto the simplest reason. "How can a sixteen-year-old lead three million souls?"

Fridus leaned back, swirling his cup. "Besides, who would ever think to suspect his blood brothers?"

Just then, Fridus's gaze snagged on someone approaching their table. It was Phalisa, Brann's pedagogue.

Her dark hair was packed into a messy bun, and her garment was a flowing, draped robe made of a light fabric that clung to her breast, waist and hips.

Fridus's eyes immediately landed on the swell of her breasts and remained there. Phalisa noticed. And quickly, she tugged at the pin holding her bun.

She allowed her long, dark hair to fall loose, instantly covering her chest properly. Fridus's grin widened, and he chuckled briefly.

"How can we help you, Lisa?" he purred.

"I'm looking for Brann," Phalisa stated with concern. "I wanted to congratulate him on being our next ruler. I haven't seen him in hours." She glanced around the tavern.

Josias lied smoothly. "He should be at our father's quarry. Have you gone there?"

"No, I haven't," she replied with her fingers nervously picking at the fabric of her robe. "I assumed he'd be here, celebrating with his brothers."

"Well, he's not," Hann grunted. "He's not old enough to drink yet, is he?"

Phalisa's lips thinned. "Right, I forgot. Silly me."

She began to turn, ready to leave, when Fridus shot his arm out and caught her wrist mid-stride.

"You can stay if you want," he offered with his eyes lingering on her lips.

Phalisa looked genuinely irritated now. Her gaze dropped to his hand gripping her, then went back up to his face. "I wish I could," she said curtly.

With a twist, she removed her hand from his grip and walked away from the tavern. Then, the doors opened again. This time, it was Elias. Their father.

His eyes scanned the room, bypassing the celebrating crowds, and landing with laser-like focus on his five remaining sons.

He walked directly towards them. "Where is Brann?" he demanded with a lowered voice.

The brothers were caught off guard. The question dropped like a hammer and the brothers froze. Their smiles vanished as their fingers tightened around goblets.

And one by one, the stammering began.