Kael Nacallio of Ney De Jaar was the youngest of four brothers and two sisters. She grew up in a more relaxed way than her siblings, with much less strict rules and schedules. Her brothers awakened at dawn, ate breakfast, then trained in combat all morning until lunchtime, when the family sat in the garden to eat and socialize. They all shared the same blonde hair and bright green eyes, the signifying traits of the royal family. Her sisters, Betha and Karila, wore their favorite matching emerald gowns with their curled hair piled into loose buns on top of their heads. They laughed quietly at their brothers' arguing about who did the best at fencing today while Kael, hand under chin, stared into the servant's quarters. Betha glanced at her youngest sibling and shook her head slightly in disapproval before clearing her throat.
We met when we were kids, 6 and 9 year-olds running around the courtyard outside the school. The intensity in his eyes reminded me of my grandfather before he died. He looked past the girls playing hopscotch and ignored the boys foot-racing. It was his first week at Laurent Lowell Academy, a posh estate-turned-school for the families that could afford such luxury, and he hadn’t said a word to anyone. In fact, I only knew his name was Huyat because of his announced arrival days before. He was an orphan, and we were to treat him like we treated every other kid. To the others that meant he was poor and invisible. He had been left alone sitting Indian-style in the far left of the courtyard, under the shade of dark green leaves.