The hearth burned brightly in his father’s chambers. His family were seated inside, waiting for his arrival. His mother, Highlady Appella Brimstone, shot him a thinly veiled look of disgust. He ignored her, turning instead to his father and sister who looked at him eagerly.

‘Well?’

He sat down, a weary look on his face. He put his head in his hands.

‘Cally don’t you dare play us for fools.’

He snorted.

‘I knew it! Sakar accepted it!’

His sister leapt at him to wrap him in a hug. His father rose from his chair, and walked over to him to lay a giant, reassuring hand on his shoulder. He flushed at the look of pride that he gave him. They knew how hard he had worked on his project to convince Sakar to teach him to shape darksteel.

But Caledon’s stomach fell when his father’s expression turned to one of sorrow.

‘Well done, son. It was a masterpiece.’

‘Thanks father.’

His father took a deep breath, exhaling like a bellows.

‘And I’m sorry to take you away from it. But there are some urgent matters we need to attend to.’

His mother slapped the table abruptly, her temper showing.

‘Well Highlord, if you would just delegate it to Viveria instead, little Caledon over here would be able to play in the forges all day long. Whyever do you disagree with me, dear husband?’

Viveria bristled, shooting their mother a look of dislike. His father turned to him, ignoring Appella’s comments entirely. His mother’s outbursts had been happening more recently of late. Seemingly disagreeing with his father just for the sake of conflict.

The doors to his father’s office slammed open. Two Dreadwood knights walked in, encased in strange armour that appeared to be composed of root and vine. One of the knights removed his helm, to reveal an unfamiliar face.

The man was in poor condition. The skin around his throat was a pale red, as if recently healed over. His eyes were hollow, as if he had just seen combat. He limped inside, treating one leg with more care than the other. His lips turned into an ugly sneer.

‘Enough talk Highlord. You “welcome” me into your city and one of your citizens makes an attempt on my life. Come boy, I will brief you enroute. I will have the girl’s head.’

The lord walked towards Caledon, who recoiled at his approach. His face was twisted into an expression of rage, a vein throbbing in his forehead.

‘Enough.’

The heat from his father’s aura overpowered him, and the rest of the room’s inhabitants. He was introduced to the shape of his father’s Fear of flame.

It was not a simple heat, as you would expect, from the flames of a forge. When his father called forth his aura he momentarily experienced the agony of flesh burning away, melting, only to regenerate – to be reduced to ash once more.

An endless cycle.

Berevan’s Fearshaping was a terrifying thing. Not in its destructive force. No, Caledeon’s time in the undercity saw him braving forges which burned hotter.

It was what his father’s Fear represented.

It was a reminder that the Highlord of House Brimston was nigh unkillable. Any wounds that were inflicted on him would regenerate with the utterance of a single invocation he had heard a scarce few times–

[Tears of the Phoenix]

Lord Semille Flora faltered in his advance, his eyes shifting warily to the Highlord.

It was undoubtable that Berevan stood far above the arrogant lord from House Flora in terms of his descent through his Fear. Undeniable.

‘I will brief my son. Alone.’

‘I will not suffer lies, Brimstone. Or words that would dishonour me. I will stay, then we will depart immediately.’

Lord Semille stood undeterred. His pride acting like a shield as he drew his lips into a sickly grin. Then, he turned to glare at Caledon’s mother, motioning for her to leave her seat. Caledon felt rage begin to build within him. His father let out a sigh, relenting. For all of his power, there was no deterring the stubborn lord. His eyes were filled with murder, and he was itching to pursue his aggressor.

Lord Semille’s arrogance would not permit a mischaracterisation of the events surrounding his injury.

‘Appella, if you would.’

His mother shot his father a glare, but relented, leaving the room in a rush. His father let out a heavy sigh.

‘Caledon. I have a task for you. Sit please.’

The only unoccupied chair was one next to the hearth.

‘Cally, let me-‘

‘No it’s ok Viv.’

His father continued, pacing across his office.

‘Just about an hour ago, an attempt was made on Lord Semille Flora’s life.’

‘An attempt? It would have been successful were it not for my mother’s armour, Brimstone. You would have had my death on your hands.’

Caledon sat up straight. His father did not dignify the lord’s response with even a glance.

‘A… dagger through his neck. He was only saved by the armour of the Dreadwood knights, as he reports. Even then, it was a close call.’

Caledon gaped.

Saved by… armour?

He turned his eyes to the root and vine that encompassed Lord Semille’s torso.

Evidently... that was the legendary Dreadwood armour. Capable of healing otherwise fatal wounds, it allowed Flora’s knights to traverse almost any kind of territory. It rivalled even his father’s healing ability. The envy of craftsman, even of masters in the undercity.

‘The attacker even managed to subdue one of Lord Semille’s knights and killed the ringleader of some of the lower circle’s less savoury elements.’

‘They managed to subdue a Knight of the Dreadwood? How?’

‘Incompetence. My mother picks the worst men for her honourguard.’

The lord’s mouth turned into a sneer of disdain.

Caledon stared at the lord from House Flora incredulously. He spoke with so much confidence it seemed like the lord had forgotten about the red mark on his neck – a reminder that he himself had received a blow that would have put an end to his life.

Caledon also detected a hint of jealousy in his voice.

Perhaps he resents his mother for denying him the status.

His father continued.

‘We all suspect that the identity of the attacker is that of an orphan by the name of Shiver-’

‘Ridiculous. Brimstone’s incompetence rears its ugly head once more. “Suspect”? It was clearly the work of that bitch. A friend to the family that your father incinerated. The one that attacked me in that filthy orphanage.’

Caledon felt his heart stop. He exchanged a look of disbelief with his sister.

Incinerating a family? What did they do?

His gaze fell on his father, who bore a distinct expression of discomfort on his face. He let out a long sigh.

‘Lord Semille was tasked with delivering an important package from the Dreadwood. It was stolen by a young orphan girl by the name of Blaze. I held the girl, and the family harbouring her to account for her crime.’

Killing them for… theft?

‘Fath-’

Lord Semille broke out into a savage grin.

‘Of all of your actions, this was the most redeemable, Highlord. Had you not, I would have seen to it that they paid for their crimes.’

Viveria spoke, a look of disbelief on her expression.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

‘But father, such a harsh punishment-‘

Her father cut her off with a wave of his hand.

‘Enough Caledon, Viveria. Lord Semille’s attacker is believed to be an older orphan by the name of Shiver – a friend to Blaze and the family that harboured her.’

Caledon’s head swam. He exchanged a panicked glance with his sister.

What had Lord Semille been tasked with delivering? Was the package the reason his father had inflicted such a harsh punishment? This was unlike him.

Lord Semille spat beside him, motioning to his leg.

His father continued.

‘We suspect that Shiver is a Fearshaper. The knight that was incapacitated was pierced by needles of ice that erupted from the roots of his armour. Thankfully the armour’s regenerative qualities prevailed, acting immediately.’

‘But…but that’s impossible. She’s an orphan? Then she must be of noble blood! Unforgivable. We need to find her. Send me after her, father.’

Viveria burst out. Caledon just paused, thinking. This hardly accorded with what he knew.

To his knowledge – only the four noble houses were capable of producing Fearshapers.

House Brimstone, of the Eternal Phoenix.

House Flora, of the Slumbering Treant.

House Dreamer, of the Somnolent Nightmare.

And lastly, House Revenant, of the Venerable Lich.

The last of which, Brimstone had reduced to ash for the atrocities they had committed.

The Rampage of Undeath.

None of the houses produced elves with a command over ice.

Perhaps there were some anomalies – but each noble house attempted to induce a specific Fear in their progeny. The more barbaric ones gave you no choice. When Caledon learned of the practice, he counted himself lucky. He had been given a choice. His sister, had elected for a Fear of flame, and she had received it.

I wish I had chosen the flame. It would have been a kinder Fear.

Caledon’s mind worked, as his sister continued protesting with his father, convincing him to send her after the perpetrator. Finally, he broke the silence.

‘Father. I have three possible explanations.’

His father nodded, a hint of pride on his expression. Caledon posed his first question.

‘Was she alive?’

Caledon cast a self-conscious glance at Lord Semille, expecting the man to rebuke his question. Strangely, the lord's eyes widened in slight shock, and he remained silent.

What is going on here?

‘Explain, Caledon.’

Caledon sat, and he cleared his throat nervously.

‘We’ve heard reports of undead – Fearshapers killed in the Rampage, that wielded their Phobias that they held in life.’

Phobias were an implement of a Fearshaper.

His father’s was his greatsword of burnished red and goal, which contained an eternally rotating vortex of flame.

A reflection of the shape of his Fear… if I was to get all poetic about it.

His father shook his head, but a look of pride showing on his expression.

‘The remnants of the Rampage may wield their Phobias, but there have never been reports of any with the ability to Fearshape. This girl called her Fear into reality – spearing the knight through with needles of ice.’

Caledon nodded, anticipating the rejection of his first theory. It was always unlikely that she had been undead.

For one, the guards would have taken notice, and she would have been incinerated. Everyone remembered the atrocity of the Revenants. A mere decade was not sufficient to heal the wounds that the Deathbringer had inflicted.

‘The second possibility… could she have been Feartouched?’

Feartouched. The term to describe particularly unfortunate elves whose Fear had deteriorated to the point where it physically manifested.

Caledon still remembered when he had visited the Dreadwood as a young boy, his father had introduced him to an elf who made flowers bloom where she walked.

Viveria interjected.

‘That’s impossible Cally. Feartouched can’t control how their Fears manifest like Fearshapers.’

Caledon crossed his arms and nodded.

‘The final, most likely possibility. She’s a survivor of the Rampage. A Fearshaper that evaded the Deathbringer’s massacre.’

His father nodded.

‘Our preliminary investigations have revealed that she joined the orphanage around ten years ago, likely a victim of the Rampage of Undeath. But she is a known element in the lower circles, and has never shown even the slightest signs of being a Fearshaper.’

His father’s eyes burned. His lips turned into a conspiratorial smile.

‘Proceed on the assumption that isn’t the case, son.’

How could his father be so sure? Does he know something that we don’t?

Caledon wracked his brain for solutions, trying to puzzle out the presence of a Fearshaper that was not an undead, not a Feartouched elf who had managed to impossibly manifest their Fears consciously, or a surviving Fearshaper from the Rampage.

‘Those are the only explanations I can think of, I’m sorry.’

Lord Semille slammed the table before him.

‘What does it matter what she was! Enough of this nonsense, we must depart immediately if we are to catch her. I will delight in returning the pain she’s inflicted me, a hundredfold.’

His sister cut in, to Lord Semille’s annoyance.

‘Send me after her father.’

‘No. This is a job for Caledon.’

The Highlord just sat, looking at him. Caledon noticed what his sister was oblivious to. The way he clenched his hands. Tension coloured his expression.

‘But… father…’

Viveria shifted uncomfortably, hesitating to say what was clearly on her mind.

Caledon can’t fight. He doesn’t have it in him.

Bless her for considering his ego, leaving the words unsaid. His father rose, walking over to place a reassuring hand on his sister.

‘There comes a time when we all have to do things that we might detest Vivy.’

He turned to Caledon. Pulling his shoulders back, adopting a familiar stance - parade rest.

It became apparent to Caledon that this wasn’t a request, from father to son.

It was an order from his Highlord.

‘Lord Caledon Brimstone, I charge you with bringing the orphan Shiver to justice for her attempted murder of Lord Semille, of House Flora.’

His eyes lingered on his son.

Caledon nodded, his expression impassive.

But his mind was awhirl. There was something hidden in his father’s words.

His instructions were never imprecise – his orders unequivocal.

Bring her to justice?

His father’s gaze fell on Lord Semille, as if silently requesting for a moment together with his son, before Caledon departed. The lord just sneered at him, remaining seated right where he was.

The seeds of suspicion began to sprout in his mind.

Caledon saluted, snapping his arm across his chest.

‘Yes Highlord.’

His father gave him a nod, then sat back into the chair with a heavy sigh.

‘Ok, ok. Enough of the pomp and ceremony. Doesn’t suit me, eh kids?’

Lord Semille glared at Caledon. Yet he stood, waiting.

Viveria was clearly frustrated that she hadn’t been entrusted with the mission. And yet, she pushed down her qualms and gave Caledon a hug.

‘You’ve got this Cally. Come back safe.’

Caledon sat back, closing his eyes, and enjoying the warmth and company of his father and sister, he knew it would be a while before he would spend time with them like this.

All he wanted was to be with them. Viveria whispered into his chest, squeezing him in her hug.

As her mouth drew close to his ear, she spoke.

‘I hope you never come back.’

Time seemed to draw to a halt as Caledon froze.

Viveria released him from his hug, staring at him with eyes devoid of the warmth she always reserved for him.

Her mouth twisted into a sickening grin.

‘Did you think I truly wanted you back safe? That any of us did?’

A deeper voice punctuated the air.

His father.

The Highlord shared a similar grin, his teeth ground as he bore down on him.

‘I’m sending you to die son. That’s all you’re really good for.’

Caledon’s heart rate leapt, his breathing becoming shallow. Their words sowed distrust whenever he experienced the barest hint of comfort. He curled into a ball, clasping his hands over his ears.

An eternity seemed to pass as he shut out the voices. He felt someone shake him lightly.

‘Caledon, Caledon? It happened, didn’t it?’

His sister and father surrounded him, worried expressions on their faces. He stared at them.

His sister laid a comforting hand on his shoulder, a look of concern plain on her face.

‘Caledon?’

He gritted his teeth, looking at his sister.

‘Viveria calls me Cally.’

Viveria paused, looking at him in confusion.

Panic rose in his chest. He immediately doubted his suspicions.

Then, she snapped in close with unnatural agility, her head bent at an unnatural angle. He tried not to flinch as his Fears were confirmed.

‘Does she? I’ll keep that in mind.’

His Fear shade grinned a terrible grin before it returned to its previous look of concern, the episode finally over. He was breathing heavily, his father and sister watching in silence.

They of all people, knew of his Fear.

It was a strange one. Most elves feared physical threats to them, in the many forms that came.

The elements, instruments of war, even animals. But rarer still were Fears that were abstract, concepts.

His Fear?

It was a Fear of comfort.

Unlike most other elves, he couldn’t recall when it had first awakened in him.

All he remembered were the subtle, twisted ways that it influenced his perception of reality when he felt at ease. In the presence of the hearth, where his family assembled, insulated from the problems and responsibility of ruling.

Sometimes, it twisted his perception altogether, of the people that he loved the most.

Caledon forced a smile, turning to reassure his father and sister as reality returned.

Lord Semille just observed, a mixture of confusion and impatience on his expression. The man still hadn’t moved an inch from his seat. Refusing to give his father the chance to slander him behind his back to Caledon, no doubt.

To Semille, it would have looked like Caledon had been spacing out staring into the distance – that was what the others saw when his Fear reared its ugly head, and he was caught in a lie.

‘Sorry about that, you know how it gets.’

It was a familiar lie he told others, and to himself, as if it would diminish his Fear.

The hearth blazed on, uncaring.

The shadows it cast danced on, as if to mock him.

---

Highlord Berevan let out a sigh as his children and Lord Semille Flora left his office.

No doubt, Caledon and Lord Semille were set to leave Brimstone at haste, on Shiver’s heels.

Between his two children, Caledon had always been the one to explore his curiosity; to question unceasingly.

Berevan let out a soft, gruff laugh as the memories of a chubby young lad returned to him, showering him with questions. Not much had changed since then.

He did not have a doubt, that Caledon had deciphered his intent. He had every confidence in his son.

His thoughts fell on the package. What he had expected to receive from the Dreadwood. Stolen from Lord Semille.

His receipt of it was not what was important.

It was what it stood for.

In that regard, Highlady Solastra Flora had delivered, that much was clear.

Whether it would be a miracle or a curse, only time would tell.