(KBTCM) Ch 20: Importance Of Responsibility!

I sat at the edge of my bed, arms crossed tightly over my chest, glaring out the window like it had personally offended me. The golden spire

I sat at the edge of my bed, arms crossed tightly over my chest, glaring out the window like it had personally offended me. The golden spires of the palace stretched high above the lower city, and beyond them, I could just make out the small cluster of horses and banners moving past the outer gate.

There they went—Prince Karlor and his men—tucked back into their precious armor and pomp, escorted by our royal guards like honored guests rather than the cowards they were.

A farewell for appearances.

A farewell to smooth over my mistake.

Not that I cared.

That little monster deserved everything he got.

He called me a monster—after I welcomed him, after I tried to be kind, after I humbled myself to make him feel safe. He looked me in the eye, well, as close as he could from his pathetic height, and called me something I've feared being my entire life.

And I showed him how wrong he was. Or maybe how right he was.

I don't know.

All I know is, I don't want to do this again. I don't want another boy with too much pride and too little spine looking up at me like I'm some mountain to conquer or some beast to slay. I'm done being polite for people who flinch when I breathe.

We don't need them. Not when I have Sylara and Theron.

We're enough.

A soft knock at the door interrupted the storm in my head.

I didn't answer. I didn't need to. The door opened anyway.

"Rowena."

My mother's voice floated in like a quiet breeze—gentle, but not without edge. I didn't turn to look. I knew what I'd see: disappointment carefully disguised as grace.

She stepped inside, the soft thud of her heels muted against the carpet. She crossed the room slowly and sat down beside me, her presence calm as ever, regal in every movement.

I stared out the window.

"What happened with the prince?" I asked, trying not to let the bitterness crack my voice.

"He made a scene," Mother said, folding her hands over her lap. "Ranted about revenge. Honor. Being humiliated. The usual things men shout when their pride is injured."

I let out a snort.

She smiled slightly. "Your father and I don't believe he'll act on his threats. Not yet. Not ever, if he's wise."

"If he's wise," I echoed, dryly.

Silence settled between us for a few long seconds.

Then, she turned to me. "Rowena... you need to work on your patience."

I stiffened, the words hitting harder than I wanted to admit.

"You're strong. Incredibly strong. And with that power comes responsibility. You can't allow your emotions to guide your actions so freely—especially when others are watching."

I stayed quiet, grinding my teeth. It wasn't like I didn't know that. I knew what I was. I'd lived my entire life learning how to walk softer, speak gentler, sit smaller. I knew how terrifying I could be.

But something about him—about Karlor—just broke the dam.

"I just..." I started, then stopped. My voice dipped to a whisper. "I just want to be normal."

Mother didn't answer at first. Her fingers brushed a strand of my hair behind my ear before she gently pulled me into a sideways hug.

"You're not your brother," she said softly. "And you're not your father. You're you, and that is more than enough. We don't always get to be normal, Rowena... but life has a way of surprising us when we least expect it."

I leaned into her, resting my head on her shoulder.

"I didn't mean to ruin everything," I muttered.

"You didn't ruin anything," she whispered. "A failed suitor is not the end of the world. In fact, I'd say you did yourself a favor."

A quiet laugh escaped me despite myself. "Yeah. You didn't see his face when I picked him up."

"I can imagine," she said, smirking.

She gave my hand a squeeze and stood up. "Get some rest, alright? And breathe. Things will turn around. They always do."

I nodded slowly, watching as she walked toward the door. Before she stepped out, she looked over her shoulder.

"I love you."

I smiled faintly. "Love you too."

And just like that, I was alone again.

The room felt quieter than before. Heavier.

I sat there for a long time, watching the sun disappear over the horizon and the shadows grow long across the floor. I didn't cry. I didn't break anything. I just sat.

Still.

Because maybe she was right.

Maybe it's not the end of the world.

Maybe, just maybe... life wasn't done surprising me yet.

***

(Kerren)

The smoke still clung to my clothes, even after I hit the ground.

The hut had stopped burning—at least on the outside—but the smell of scorched stone and blackened iron filled my nose, and I could feel the heat still radiating off my skin. My back throbbed from where I'd landed, and my arms stung, blistered in places where the fire had kissed me a little too close.

But I didn't groan. I didn't cry. I just clenched my teeth and stared at the floorboards beneath me, half-charred and splintered.

Bromir's boots thundered inside after me.

The door hadn't opened—it had exploded off the hinges, just like everything else this morning. Smoke poured out of the hut like a beast being let loose, and for a moment, I honestly thought we were going to die in there.

But Bromir never dies. Not in fire. Not in battle. Not even in his sleep, probably.

He slammed the doorframe as he walked through, muttering curses in the old tongue, a language only the forgemasters and the truly pissed-off remembered. His broad hand clutched the back of my shirt and dragged me off the floor with ease before shoving me against the still-hot forge wall.

"You stupid boy," he growled, his breath practically a furnace itself. "How many times must I tell you?! Control the flame! It's not a game!"

"I wasn't trying to—!" I started, but the words barely escaped before he slammed his fist into the wall beside my head.

Stone cracked.

I flinched.

"I saw the flames shooting out of your hands like a madman casting spells!" he barked. "This isn't some court wizard's parlor trick. This is the fire of Orndrak—eternal, purifying, and unforgiving. If you can't control it, it will consume you. Then it'll consume me. Then this whole godsdamn district!"

He finally let me go. I dropped like a bag of coal, gasping from the release.

"You think the gods'll forgive you when you burn down Grelling Row?" he asked. "You think those giant monsters won't punish you for your actions."

I didn't answer.

Because I didn't have an answer.

I could still feel it under my skin—that pulse, that heat, that rising pressure like a volcano always on the edge of erupting. The flames—they weren't just in my hands. They were in me.

And every time I tried to wield them, to mold them into something useful, they pushed back. Hard. Like they knew I wasn't ready. Like they wanted to hurt me for even trying.

Bromir paced across the scorched floor, shaking his head, grumbling about shame and wasted talent. I didn't really hear the words anymore. I just looked down at my hands—my shaking, burned hands—and whispered:

"Dammit..."

The fire was supposed to be a blessing. The power of Orndrak. The mark of my bloodline. The rite of my family. I was supposed to earn it, shape it, make my own hammer and carry on the legacy.

But I couldn't even stop it from blowing up a furnace.

I could feel my throat tighten, the sting of embarrassment crawling up my spine.

"Look at me," Bromir barked again. "You've got two weeks. Two. If you can't forge the hammer by then—if you can't control the fire—you're not stepping near the anvil again. Do you understand?"

I nodded.

"I said do you understand?!"

"Yes, sir," I muttered.

He glared at me for a long time before storming out of the hut, slamming the broken doorframe behind him like it would fix something.

And just like that, I was alone.

Smoke still hung in the rafters. The forge hissed quietly like it was mocking me. My skin itched from the heat, but I didn't move. I just sat there on the floor, letting my back press against the stone, and closed my eyes.

Two weeks.

Two weeks or I lose everything.

"...Dammit."

Why can't the flame just listen to me?

Why can't I be the man I'm supposed to be?