We Called Him Silis

Five years ago…

Silis pressed himself against the crowd, small and lost among so many taller bodies. Excitement prickled under his skin, stronger than the fear, stronger than the warning voice that told him he would be caught. The Calling was ending, the sorcerers returning, and this time he had to see them. He had to see him.

The gates loomed ahead, towering and stone-bound. Beyond them lay the road from the east, where twenty… no, more than twenty, sorcerers marched home. Silis had only learned weeks ago the truth that set his heart racing now: his father was Elsen Badania, and he had been among them.

Elsen. A name that glittered, a story that filled every whisper. The great sorcerer. His father.

Silis darted away from the press of bodies and scrambled up the trunk of a plane tree, the bark rough against his palms. Higher, higher, until he could perch on a branch above the crowd. His chest hammered with the thrill of it, with the impossible weight of what he meant to do. He would wait until his father passed, then climb down, run to him, tell him. Tell him that he wasn’t alone. That he had a son. That Silis belonged with him.

The great gates shuddered and swung open.

And there they were.

A column of cloaked figures, red and gold and silver flashing like fire and sunlight, the banners of the three towers streaming above them. Marked sorcerers, heroes, every one. And at their head, as though there were no doubt, strode Elsen.

Silis’s breath caught.

He knew him instantly, though he had never seen him before. Silver hair gleamed under the sun, eyes bright, mouth curved in a smile that sent ripples through the crowd. His crimson coat swirled around him, the mark of the Red Tower. He moved like a man born to command, laughter breaking from him as he accepted gifts, clasped hands, let the people press close with their adoration. Larger than life. Untouchable.

Nothing like the stiff, cold Marked who ruled the streets of Lunavin. Nothing like any man Silis had ever known.

His throat closed around a sob of joy. This was his father.

Silis shifted on the branch, bracing to climb down, rehearsing in his head the words he would say. I’m your son. My name is Silis. Take me with you.

But then…

A flash of red hair in the crowd.

A boy, taller than Silis by a year or two, broke free and ran to Elsen. And Elsen’s smile… oh, how it blazed. He caught the boy up, pressed him close, spoke to him low and fond, like every dream of a parent Silis had ever conjured. And from a carriage stepped a woman, lovely and laughing, who came to Elsen as if she had every right in the world. He touched her arm, leaned down to hear her words, and together, with the boy between them, they climbed into the magic-wrought carriage waiting to carry them home.

The perfect family.

Silis couldn’t move. The weight in his chest pressed down until even breathing hurt. His hands clung to the branch long after the procession vanished through the gates, long after the cheers died down.

He stayed there until the shadows darkened.

Later, he lay face-down on his bed, hiding beneath the pillow as Berin and Ashur tried to draw him out.
Ashur, careful, coaxing: “Did he say something to you? Did your father hurt you?”
Berin, all fire and fury: “Forget him, Silis. Marked people aren’t even human. You don’t need him.”

Silis’s voice came muffled, thick against the pillow. “I couldn’t do it. He already has a family. Why would he want me?”

The heaviness pressed everywhere, through his skull, his skin, down to his bones.

And then…

A blink.

The pillow vanished. The bed vanished.

Kade found himself sitting in a cramped stone cell, narrow walls pressing close, the air damp and stale. His breath caught. This wasn’t the dormitory, wasn’t the memory.

Across from him sat Silis. Not a vision of his younger self, but Silis as Silis, smirking as though he had been waiting.

“This,” Silis said lightly, “is the Room of Reflection. Sorry, it isn’t meant to hold more than one.”

Kade’s stomach turned cold. This wasn't a memory. It was wrong.

Silis blinked at him across the tiny stone chamber. His posture was casual, knees drawn up, dressed in that brown uniform, but his eyes glittered sharply in the gloom.
“This room,” he said, his voice carrying that mocking cadence. “Is where they put us to remind us of who we are. What we’re not. Last time, I spent two days in it without water or food.”

Kade said nothing. His throat felt too tight.

Silis leaned forward. “I’ve seen you before, you know. Dreamed about you. A boy with a hollow face, sick and lonely, in a foreign land. Not my world.” His lip curled, almost a smile, almost a snarl. “You stole from me.”

Kade flinched but still didn’t answer.

“You took it,” Silis pressed on. “The power. The magic. It was supposed to be mine. If I’d had it, then…” his voice broke with sudden heat, “then he would have wanted me. He would have seen me.”

At that, Kade finally lifted his head. His face was pale, pained, but his words were steady.
“No. My magic was mine. My companion. My friend.”

And as he spoke, the blue flame bloomed across his hands, flickering and alive, dancing like it had been waiting for the sound of his voice.

Silis lurched to his feet, fury sparking in his eyes. “The bloodline was mine! That means the magic too!”

The air trembled. The stone walls dissolved into nothing, collapsing into a vast, endless blue void. Flame seeped from Kade’s skin, ripped away from him, streaming toward Silis, who laughed as it wrapped around his fingers.
“Yes,” he crowed, giddy with it. “Yes! I’ll take it back. I’ll take my life back.”

But Kade only shook his head. His voice was soft, almost sorrowful.
“No.”

The stolen flame unraveled, dissolving like mist, and returned in a rush to Kade’s hands, coiling and dancing there with renewed brilliance.

“I remember now,” Kade said. “I’m sorry. But you’re dead, Silis. You died. And I… I was reborn.”

Silis’s face twisted. Anger, shock, and confusion, all too big for him, crowding each other out. His lip quivered. His eyes shone wet.

Kade’s smile bent bitter, self-deprecating.
“I died too, once. I don’t remember all of it, because it’s easier not to, but I remember the feeling. Regret. That I wasn’t brave enough. That I wasn’t strong. That I didn’t do the things I should have done.”

Silis turned his face away, tears slipping down his cheeks.

“I won’t repeat those mistakes,” Kade whispered. The flame brightened, flooding the void with light. “This time, I’ll be brave. I’ll be strong. And I’ll live. For both of us.”

The blue surged, brighter and brighter, until it lifted Silis up, his eyes locked on Kade’s with something like grief, something like awe. Then it wrapped Kade too, the two of them swallowed whole by the flame…

And the memory dissolved.

****

The blue light bled away.

Kade gasped, chest heaving like he had sprinted for miles. His limbs trembled with the weakness of overuse, his muscles heavy as stone. The taste of iron lingered sharp at the back of his throat, and every pulse of his heart throbbed in his temples. Blue sparks still clung to his skin, faint embers that guttered and died one by one, leaving only the memory of their heat. Even his magic felt muted now, as though exhausted, its brilliance dimmed by the weight of what had just been torn through.

His vision cleared slowly, and he found himself once more in the hallway, sitting cross-legged on the cold floor. The Skael figurine rested in his palm, its carved edges digging into his skin. The faint scent of ozone clung to the air.

He stared down as the figurine flickered with faint light, the tiny creature curling into sleep. A heaviness pressed against his chest, not just from his aching body, but from the boy inside the memory. Troubled, stubborn, punished again and again, yet dreaming of another world, of magic, of him.

Silis had dreamed of me.

The thought unsettled him, yet it stirred something else, too. A sympathy he couldn’t ignore. Silis wasn’t only cruel. He wasn’t only the boy Berin had despised. He had been lonely, misunderstood, and reaching, even in dreams, for something beyond stone walls.

Kade tightened his grip around the figurine.

“I’ll live it,” he whispered. The words were not just for himself. They were for Silis, too. “I won’t regret anything. I’ll live happily. Fully. For both of us.”

The promise steadied him.

He sat back against the wall, shoulders no longer bowed, watching the Skael flicker in the cradle of his hand.

*****

Marked Orsel’s office smelled faintly of rose oil and parchment. The windows were tall and narrow, their colored glass throwing fractured light across the polished floor. Orsel herself sat like a portrait of serenity, white dress flowing, violet braid coiled over one shoulder, eyes half-lidded as though her thoughts wandered far from this room. To anyone else she might have looked detached, harmless.

But Akalis knew her well. Orsel’s softness was a lie sharper than steel.

“Akalis,” Orsel murmured, her tone courteous, almost warm. “I must commend you. Taking in a wayward child, your husband would have been pleased at your boundless charity. Especially since this one is his by blood.”

A bastard son. The barb landed precisely where Orsel intended.

Akalis’s lips curved, her answering blow polished into civility. “I confess, I was marveling myself, that you allowed the boy to be found in Lunavin of all places, wandering in that state, neglected, half-starved. I had not thought your care quite so… fleeting.”

Orsel’s eyes flickered, a brief fracture in her tranquil mask. Then the smile returned. “You speak as if you are ignorant of what you’ve taken on. The boy is no stray pup to be rescued. He is restless, vicious, spoiled by his own arrogance. I pity your children, Akalis. Especially the girl. He has always delighted in tormenting those smaller than himself.”

The words should not have angered her, but Akalis could not shake the image of Kade’s bright, hopeful smile. The way he had lit up when she told him he was hers now, that blood was blood. The tremor in his voice when he said Galir hates me. The way he smiled through disappointment until the smile itself seemed like a wound.

And worst of all; My magic helps me forget, he had said.

Akalis’s breath cooled, her hands clenched at her lap. She spoke with an even, deliberate tone. “Did you know that his magic is altering his memories?”

Orsel’s head tilted, her composure only slightly cracked. “Impossible. He has no magic.”

Akalis’s lips curved in a smile that did not touch her eyes. “He does. I’ve seen it. He calls it forgetting. You and I both know what that means. His magic is forcing his memories into silence. Shielding him. Rewriting pain the only way it knows how.”

Orsel’s face stilled, her serenity slipping into something brittle.

Akalis’s voice softened further, silken and cutting all at once. “Now tell me, Orsel, why must a boy in your care, in the Silver Tower's care, be driven to such extremes? Why should he need to sacrifice even memory itself to survive here? He does not remember this place. He does not remember you. And that is an indictment greater than any words I might offer.”

For the first time, Orsel stiffened outright. She had no answer. Only a careful stillness as she slid a set of papers across the desk, her fingers lingering on them as though reluctant to release.

“You may do better, Akalis,” she said faintly, “I welcome it. We both know you are not acting out of kindness.”

The smile on her lips was polite. The venom in it was unmistakable.

Akalis took the papers and stood. They exchanged words of courtesy that rang like swords sliding into sheaths. Then she turned and left, her steps measured, her pulse quickened.

She had not expected to argue. She had not planned to bare her anger. Yet the heat of it had struck swift and sharp, for the boy.

In the hallway, she found him where he sat on the stone bench, bent over a flickering toy that shifted between shapes in his hands. His head lifted at her approach, and his tired face brightened with a smile.

Akalis felt her anger ebb, replaced by something quieter. She let him smile at her, and for the moment, that was enough.

He looked up at her, eyes bright again in a way she hadn’t yet grown used to. He held out the small clay figure, which had just shifted from a coiled, sleeping pose into one mid-leap, fangs bared.

“Have you ever seen a Skael before?” he asked eagerly. “Does it bite? Or does it do something worse? Like… like getting inside your body?”

The questions tumbled out with the restless curiosity of youth, but Akalis found herself slowing, her thoughts softening in a way she had only felt with her children. She walked with him as they left the stone hallways behind.

“Yes,” she said at last. “I was bitten by one once.”

His eyes widened exactly as she expected, and the questions spilled fast.
“Really? Did it hurt? Did it leave marks?”

Akalis allowed the faintest smile. “Its saliva makes one sleepy. That is the true danger, drifting off while it feeds. That is what makes getting rid of it difficult. The bite itself… is only a sting.”

Kade studied the toy again, expression caught between fascination and unease.

They stepped out into the pale light of the courtyard. The carriage waited at the gates. Akalis spoke quietly, almost to herself.

“You will not have to come back here again.”

He nodded absently, eyes fixed on the figurine.

She watched him a moment longer. Until now, she had only thought of him as the boy, her husband’s mistake, a burden carried out of duty. But walking beside him, hearing his questions trip over each other with such earnestness, the word shifted in her mind without her meaning it to.

Not boy.

Kade.

And she let it settle there, unspoken, as they crossed the threshold toward the waiting carriage.