A kingdom of Ash and Echoes

Chapter 18- The Crippled Boy

It had been a month since Seraphina's letter, and nearly three weeks since Callum was carried through the gates of Avaranth bleeding and broken. The days had blurred together since then—an endless cycle of physicians moving in and out, hushed voices in the corridors, and the oppressive silence that clung to the castle like a curse.
Lyriana had kept vigil by her brother's side, watching the color drain from his face, then slowly, painfully, return. His fever had broken, the wound stitched and bandaged, yet a shadow of dread lingered. Something in the physicians' eyes told her there was more to fear than death alone.

That morning, she stood by the window in his chamber, the cold sunlight spilling across the floor, when the door opened and her mother entered. Elowen's face was pale but set, her lips pressed tight as though holding back a storm. Behind her trailed Master Halvern, the court physician, his expression grim.
"Lyriana," Elowen said softly, beckoning her closer. "You should hear this as well."

Her heart clenched as she crossed to the bedside. Callum lay propped against the pillows, his once-strong frame thinner now, though his eyes—clear, alert—found hers immediately.
"Tell him," Elowen urged the physician, her voice breaking.
Master Halvern bowed his head before speaking. "My lord Callum, we have done all we can. The wound you suffered was deep—bone and sinew damaged beyond repair. I regret to say... you will not walk again."
The words fell heavy in the air, sharper than any blade. Lyriana froze, her breath caught in her throat. She turned to her brother, waiting for him to deny it, to rage, to do anything other than sit in silence. But Callum's face was still, his jaw tight, his hands clenched white against the coverlet.
Finally, he let out a sharp, bitter laugh. "So the kingdom's warrior heir is crippled. Useless."
"Callum—" Lyriana began, but he cut her off with a glare.

"Do not pity me," he spat. "I will not be pitied." His eyes turned toward the window, as though the walls themselves suffocated him. "I should have died on that field. At least then I would not have to live like this."
"Don't say that," Elowen whispered, moving to his side, her trembling hand resting on his arm. "You are alive, my son. That is all that matters."
But Callum shook her off, his voice sharp, raw. "Alive, yes—but broken. What use am I to this kingdom now? To Father, to you? To anyone?" His gaze flicked briefly to Lyriana, pain flickering beneath the anger. "Even to you, sister. I was supposed to protect you, protect us all. And now... I cannot even stand."
Lyriana felt her throat tighten, tears burning her eyes, but she forced herself to speak firmly

. "You are not useless. You are Callum of Avaranth—our brother, our son, our blood. You may not wield a blade again, but your mind, your counsel, your strength of will... those are not broken."
Her words trembled at the edges, but she meant them. Yet in her heart, she feared he would never believe it.

Silence stretched. Elowen's shoulders sagged, and she covered her face briefly with her hand, her quiet sob muffled. Callum stared at the ceiling, eyes glistening, his pride warring with his despair.
Lyriana reached for his hand, gripping it tightly. "I will not let you give up," she whispered. "Not now. Not ever."
For a moment, she thought he might pull away. But then, slowly, his fingers curled weakly around hers.

Elowen lowered her hand, looking at them both with tear-streaked cheeks. "Then we will face this together," she said softly. "No matter what comes, we will not abandon each other."
Outside the chamber, the kingdom shifted restlessly—rebellion whispers, Seraphina's absence, Cedric's looming shadow. But inside that room, time stilled, the three of them bound together by grief, love, and a single unbearable truth: their future had changed forever.