Veil of Ashes :Claimed by them

Kael hadn't expected it to feel like this.

Peaceful.

He'd always believed that remembering the past would choke him—like inhaling ash from a fire long burned out. For years, he had avoided thinking about that place. That night. The people. Because what good would come from raking the ashes of the dead?

But tonight, wrapped in moonlight and memory, something shifted.

Instead of running, he let the images rise. Laughter. Dance. The old folk songs that echoed over rolling hills. The way lanterns glowed like fireflies during harvest festivals. The scent of roasted sweetroot in the air. The children's giggles as they chased goats twice their size.

He clutched the jar closer to his chest.

His eyes burned, but the feeling wasn't suffocating.

They were gone. But he remembered them.

He kept them.

And somehow, that made him feel strong. Like their joy hadn't been lost to smoke and ruin. It lived, somewhere deep in his chest, carried forward through his quiet mourning.

He reached his small, crooked room in the east wing and immediately stilled.

The door was ajar.

He remembered locking it.

Kael nudged the door open and peered inside, fingers tightening around the jar. The familiar cramped space greeted him—bare walls, a creaky bed with chipped wood, and a chair that had lost a leg months ago.

But someone was sitting on his bed.

Aera.

She had her back slightly hunched, the soft glow of a candle throwing shadows across her face. A wooden jar rested in her lap, her fingers curled tightly around it. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and she blinked rapidly, clearly fighting tears.

Kael leaned against the doorway.

"You don't look like it," he said quietly, "but you love crying a lot."

Aera flinched, startled from her daze. Her eyes locked on his, and within seconds, the tears she had held back spilled over.

She stood abruptly and before he could react, she wrapped her arms around him.

Pain shot through Kael's spine. He hissed sharply.

Aera immediately pulled back. "Oh no—I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to—I just—!" She looked horrified.

She began rambling, her voice high and uneven. "I just found out about the punishment—I swear, I didn't know till now! And after everything you did for me last night—you must've been exhausted and I just ran off to sleep, and you still got up early, and then this happens. Gods, I avoided trouble because of you, but you—you were the one who got hurt..."

Kael blinked.

Aera finally stopped to breathe, looked down at the jar in her hands and shoved it toward him. "Did you even put anything on your back yet?"

"I cleaned it. With water," Kael replied.

She inhaled through her teeth so sharply he thought she might collapse.

"Water?! That's it?! Are you trying to die of infection, Kael? Gods, what's wrong with you? Lash wounds can rot if they're not treated properly! You can't just rinse it!"

Kael didn't argue. He just stood there, letting her fuss over him.

Somewhere beneath her scolding tone, there was genuine care. Her concern wrapped around him like a wool blanket—scratchy, slightly overwhelming, but warm.

He hadn't felt that in so long, it made his throat ache.

Aera opened her jar and waved toward the bed. "Sit. Take off your shirt."

Kael stiffened. "W-What?!"

"I'm going to apply this to your back, obviously."

His ears turned crimson. "Y-You can't just say that! You're a girl—and I'm a man—you should think about your dignity and reputation!"

Aera snorted. "Kael, I see you as a little brother. You're only fifteen."

"I'm eighteen!" he snapped.

Aera blinked. Then squinted at him.

Kael stood at a modest height of 5'4, with a slender frame and narrow shoulders. His thinness made him appear almost boyish, face still soft and hair always a little too long.

Aera, at 5'5, wore standard-issue maid shoes that gave her an extra inch or two. Her build was fuller, solid and well-formed, clearly someone used to labor.

She tilted her head. "Really? Eighteen? Gods, you don't look it."

Kael huffed, crossing his arms.

She laughed. "Alright, alright. My bad. Still doesn't change the fact that I want to apply medicine to your back. And unless you have some weird shame kink I should know about, stop acting like a blushing virgin and sit down."

Kael choked. "Wh-What?! Aera!"

"What?" she shrugged, clearly amused. "You're acting like I asked to lick the wounds off you. Calm down."

He turned red all the way to the tips of his ears.

He backed up, shaking his head. "N-No. I'll do it myself. When I'm alone."

Aera rolled her eyes. "Fine. Be that way."

She gathered her things and stepped toward the door. Before leaving, she looked over her shoulder. "I'll come by in the morning to check on you."

Kael said nothing.

His mind was spinning.

Why would she come back?

He was used to being alone. He preferred it. Emotions were dangerous. They gave rise to hope. And hope always betrayed.

Still... a quiet voice inside whispered that maybe—just maybe—he wanted her to come.

After she left, Kael finally removed his shirt and applied the herbal salve. The sting made him wince, but it was tolerable. He curled into bed, the wooden jar safe by his side.

Sleep came easier than he expected.