Chapter Text
Rowan packed by mage light. The glow was dim, a soft glow spilling across his bed, but he didn’t need light to know what he owned. His life fit neatly into the single canvas pack at his feet: a few shirts and spare trousers, polished boots, a whetstone, a dented flask, the leather-bound journal his brother had given him years ago.
It wasn’t much. It didn’t need to be. The rest of his life would stay behind.
He drew the ties closed, the creak of leather loud in the stillness. That small bundle looked far too ordinary to bear the weight of what tomorrow meant.
Conscription Day.
They called it an honour—one every twenty-year-old should be proud to claim. Rowan had heard the words enough to recite them by rote. But staring at the pack now, he could admit what he’d never say aloud.
It felt less like honour, and more like exile.
A sound drifted through the wall. Soft at first, then unmistakable.
Crying.
Rowan’s chest tightened. He rose, padded across the short hall, and paused at the door opposite his own. He rapped gently.
“Sprout?”
No answer. Just a quick shuffle, as if she’d buried her face in her pillow. Rowan pushed the door open anyway.
The lamplight behind him spilled into Violet’s room. She sat curled on her bed, knees drawn tight, clutching something to her chest. His old jacket, sleeves far too long for her.
Rowan lingered in the doorway, throat tight, before stepping inside.
“You’ll ruin that thing,” he said softly, trying for lightness. “It’s already hanging on by threads.”
Violet sniffed, tucking her chin deeper into the collar. “I don’t care. It smells like you.”
He crossed to her bed and sat at the edge. “Sprout.”
At the nickname, she looked up. Her eyes were rimmed red, lashes damp, but she still tried for a scowl. “Don’t call me that.”
Rowan smirked faintly. “What should I call you, then? Violet? Sounds far too proper.”
A shaky laugh slipped out. “Still better than Sprout.”
“You’ll always be my Sprout,” he said, brushing hair from her face. “No matter how tall you get.”
Her voice broke. “You’re leaving tomorrow.”
The words cut deep. Rowan forced his own voice steady. “It’s just Conscription Day, Vi. That’s all. I’ll be back before you know it.”
“You don’t know that.” Her grip on the jacket tightened. “People die, Ro. Everyone says so. You could—” She bit down on the word, tears rising again.
Rowan caught her hand, pried her fingers free, and held them firmly in his. “Hey. Look at me.”
Her tear-bright eyes lifted to his.
“I’m not everyone,” he said. “I’m me. And I’m coming back. You’ll see. I’ll walk through that door before you’ve even had time to miss me properly.”
“I’ll miss you the second you leave,” she whispered.
The ache in his chest nearly undid him. He pulled her close, her hair brushing his jaw, her shoulders shaking against him.
“You’re tougher than you think,” he murmured. “You’ll be fine without me for a little while.”
“I don’t want to be fine without you.”
Rowan shut his eyes. He wanted to tell her he didn’t want to go either, that the thought of leaving her hollowed him out. But he was her older brother. His job wasn’t to share his fear. It was to carry it alone.
So he tipped her chin up and forced a smile. “By the time I get back, you’ll be outpacing me. Nose in three books at once, correcting my grammar, reminding me I can’t get away with half the nonsense I used to.”
Her lips trembled, but a watery smile tugged through. “You already can’t.”
“There she is.” He tapped her nose, and she swatted at him half-heartedly. "Besides, I swear, once I'm in my second year, I'll be sending you so many letters, it'll be like I'm rambling over your shoulder. It'll feel like I never left."
Silence settled, easier now. She leaned into him, head on his shoulder, his arm secure around her. The night outside pressed quiet and deep.
“Sprout,” he whispered, more to himself than her. “Whatever happens tomorrow… remember I’ll always come back to you.”
She didn’t answer, but he felt her nod.
When at last her breathing slowed, Rowan eased her onto her pillow and tugged the blanket over her shoulders. He lingered, memorizing her face softened in sleep, the jacket still clutched close.
“Goodnight, Sprout,” he whispered, brushing a curl from her forehead.
Back in his own room, the pack waited by his bed. Rowan sat, staring at the tied leather straps, Violet’s voice echoing in his head. You could fall.
His fists curled until his nails bit skin. He couldn’t let that happen. Not for his sake. For hers.
He blew out the lamp. Darkness closed in.
The last night of his life as he knew it was over.
Tomorrow, everything would change.