THE LUNA THEY’LL NEVER LOVE

26: CROWEN AGE SIX

CROWEN AGE 6

The truck bounced and rattled over the bumpy road so much that my bottom started hurting after a while.

I kept shifting around on the hard seat, trying to find a spot that didn’t feel like rocks digging into me. I pressed my face against the cold window, watching as the trees outside got thicker and taller and darker. Everything looked scary already, even though the sun was still up. Shadows stretched long between the trunks like they were reaching out for us.

Dad was driving. He didn’t look at me once. Not even a quick glance in the mirror. His hands were big and strong on the steering wheel, knuckles turning white like they did when he was really angry or when he was teaching me lessons. I could see the veins standing out on the backs of his hands.

“Today your conditioning begins, boy,” he said. His voice was low and rough, the same voice he used when he made me stand outside in the cold yard for hours until my teeth chattered and my fingers went numb. “You’re six now. Old enough to stop being soft. Real men don’t cry. Real kings don’t need anyone. You understand what that means?”

I swallowed hard. My throat felt tight and scratchy, like I had swallowed sand.

I wanted to ask how long we would be gone.

I wanted to ask if we could come home sooner if we did good. But I knew better than to ask questions.

Questions always made him mad.

They made him grab me by the back of my neck and squeeze until I learned to keep my mouth shut.

I nodded instead, even though he wasn’t looking at me.

Vizellan and Nashyn sat in the back seat with me. Vizellan stared straight ahead, his pale hair all messy and falling into his eyes. His face looked really quiet, like he was thinking hard about something far away. Nashyn kept kicking his feet against the seat in front of him, trying to look brave even though I could see his hands shaking a little bit in his lap.

We didn’t talk. We never talked much when our fathers were around. It was safer that way.

The truck finally stopped deep in the middle of the forest. Trees were everywhere, so tall they blocked most of the sky. It felt like the woods went on forever. Dad got out first. Then his brothers, Vizellan’s dad and Nashyn’s dad climbed out too. All three of them looked tall and scary, with hard faces like stone statues that never smiled.

“Two weeks,” my father said, looking down at the three of us like we were tiny bugs he could step on. “No food. No water from us. No blankets. Nothing. You survive or you don’t. This is how we make men out of you. How we make you kings. Torvains don’t break. You fight. You hunt. You kill if you have to. Understand?”

My stomach already felt funny and tight, like something was twisting inside it. I nodded fast anyway.

Vizellan’s father grabbed him by the shoulder, fingers digging in hard. “No whining. No tears. You’re my blood. Act like it or don’t come back at all.”

Nashyn’s dad just shoved him forward roughly. “Don’t come back weak.”

They didn’t hug us. They didn’t say goodbye or good luck. They just climbed back into the truck, slammed the doors, and drove away.

The engine noise got smaller and smaller until it disappeared completely. Then there was only the sound of the wind in the trees and birds calling somewhere far away.

Just trees and wind and us.

I stood there in my thin shirt and pants, fists clenched so tight my nails dug into my palms.

I was six years old.

I wasn’t supposed to be scared. Kings weren’t scared of anything.

But the forest felt too big. Too dark even in the daytime. The shadows looked like they were moving.

My cousins looked at me. I tried to make my face hard like Father’s, pushing my chin out and straightening my back.

“We stay together,” I said. My voice came out smaller than I wanted it to. “No matter what.”

Vizellan nodded once, his movements slow and serious. Nashyn wiped his nose with his sleeve and tried to smile, but it wobbled like it might fall off his face.

The first night was so cold. The wind kept blowing through our clothes like they weren’t even there. We found a bunch of dry leaves and piled them up under some big trees for a bed. We huddled close together, arms wrapped around each other, trying to share whatever warmth we had left.

I kept thinking about the big house back home, the warm beds with thick blankets, all the hot food on the table that smelled so good it made your mouth water.

I thought of my Mother’s voice sometimes singing quietly in the hallway.

But Father said this was training. This was what made us strong. This was what separated real Torvains from the weak ones who got left behind.

I didn’t cry. Not even when my belly started hurting really bad from being so empty. Not even when the noises in the dark sounded like monsters moving between the trees.

I bit the inside of my cheek until it hurt and told myself over and over that I was Crowen Torvain.

I would survive. I had to.

Because if I didn’t, Father would look at me like I was nothing. Like I was a disappointment. Like I wasn’t worth the name I carried.

And I never wanted him to look at me like that again.

I closed my eyes tight and listened to my cousins breathing beside me.

We were in this together.