Hi everyone,
This is a continuation from Chapter 1 of my in-progress story. Chapter 2 shifts a little in tone — it focuses more on character background and emotional weight rather than action, particularly around Gerran and Alec’s past.
Content note: This chapter contains non-graphic references to child abuse and assault. Nothing is described in detail, but the themes are present.
I’m looking for constructive feedback, mainly around:
• clarity of the scene
• emotional flow
• whether the relationships feel believable
I’m not looking for harsh or dismissive criticism—this is still a work in progress and I’m refining it as I go. If something doesn’t land for you, I’m completely open to hearing why, just in a respectful and thoughtful way.
If you’ve read Chapter 1, I’d especially love to know:
• does Chapter 2 feel like a natural continuation?
• does the tone shift work for you?
Thanks in advance to anyone who takes the time to read it properlyI really appreciate it. Chapter 2 — Names Hold Weight
[Content Warning: This chapter contains non-graphic depictions of child abuse and sexual assault. Reader discretion is advised.]
The fire cracked against the night air. Shadows stretching long across bedrolls and saddlebags, the men laughed quietly between swigs of ale, the smell of stew thickened as the light waned, the day’s work faded into the hum of evening — the easy noise of men who’d earned a moment’s peace.
Malrick pulled out his notebook and proceeded to ask the boys questions that he could not answer himself regarding the creature earlier that day questions like how did you not smell that thing approaching? How did it move? What did it sound like, if it did make a sound? questions that needed answers
The boys sat quieter now, the weight of Malrick’s questions still hanging between them.
Alec exhaled slowly, staring into the embers.
“It didn’t really smell like anything…maybe a little like still bog water,” he murmured. “The smell only became unbearable after I had injured it”
Gerran nodded, rubbing his hands together to then press his palms towards the fire as the night air began to chill.
“And it didn’t move like a horse. More like… like a lizard, it moved quickly and impossibly quiet…it hissed like a serpent a deep hollow sound”
Malrick’s eyes narrowed — squinting like it would make the light around the paper and his charcoal brighter
something unknown stirring from the dark forest peaked his curiosity this was something new, something his Book didn’t have a name for. or any of the historical books which to whom could only mean that this creature had stirred deeper from within the forest.
He closed the book carefully, putting it back into his saddlebag.
“Okay, we will track where it came from at dawn,” he said.
The boys looked up.
Malrick’s tone carried no bravado, no thrill of hunting.
Just quiet necessity.
“If it’s something we have never seen before we must investigate” he continued, “more stories of unknown creatures have been reported “
He looked down the road, into the waiting darkness.
“It means something could be forcing these new creatures out of the forest, for all we know”
No one spoke after that. The fire hissed softly. Night settled chilling around them. The silence was not fear, for they all knew the rules
Anything new that comes out of the Dark Forest, changes everything.
The men began bedding down, one by one. Getting comfortable around the fire except Gerran and Alec, glancing at Malrick, the way a child looks at the only adult who has ever made them feel safe.
Gerran leaned back, stretching his feet towards the fire.
“You know, Commander…” he said, grinning. “We’ve been thinking.”
Malrick raised an eyebrow over the rim of his mug.
“Oh, really now—Don’t hurt yourself boys!” The words came dry, but the corner of his mouth betrayed him, a faint smirk ghosting there before he took another sip.
Alec nudged Gerran with a half-smile.
“We just figured — most orphans, they make up a last name if they can’t remember their birth one.”
Malrick tilted his head, listening, curious, so they finally settled on a name he thought.
Gerran continued, a little hesitant now.
“Thing is, it’d feel wrong if we just made up some random name. And we don’t like being referred to as the orphans.”
A few men still awake looked over, sensing where this was going.
Gerran shifted, his tone softer but steady.
“So… we thought maybe… if it was ok with you. That we could take up your last name.” He ducked his head, words tumbling quieter. “You’ve looked after us since we were kids. Taught us everything we know. Feels like—” he faltered, searching for the right words, “—feels like we were yours already.”
Malrick had just taken a sip of his drink right as Gerran’s question was asked— and promptly choked on it.
When he caught his breath, Malrick looked at the two of them — with quiet disbelief. His voice roughened by both ale he’d just choked on.
“You two,” he said, shaking his head with a smile tugging at his mouth, “you always manage to catch me off guard.”
The boys exchanged a nervous glance. Gerran played with his hair nervously.
“So… that’s a no I guess?”
Malrick chuckled quietly
He glanced around the camp, aware of the watching eyes, the unspoken expectation that a commander shouldn’t get sentimental.
He set his mug down, fingers drumming against the rim. “You realise,” he said slowly, “names hold weight. They tie you to the history of one’s name— to every mistake, every burden, every damn fool who came before.”
Neither boy spoke. The fire popped between them, throwing sparks into the dark.
Then Malrick sighed, a long exhale. “Still…” His gaze softened, settling on them both. “If you’re sure of it — then yes you boys can take up my name.”
Gerran grinned with a chuckle, breaking the stillness. “Well then, Commander,” he said, unable to help himself, “guess that makes us the Vanderwolff lads.”
Malrick’s voice came sternly, with the faintest humour warming the edges:
“If either of you calls me ‘father,’ I’m walking into the ocean, in ceremonial armour.”
Alec shook his head, laughing. “It’s Gerran your talking about, you know he probably will one day, we’ll just have to hide your armour.”
Malrick leaned back, lifting his mug and taking a slow sip of ale, as if to swallow the lump forming in his throat.
He had spent a lifetime training himself not to care too deeply. Men came and went — comrades, friends, brothers in arms — all of them burned through their years like kindling. But he did not. His bloodline stretched his years beyond theirs, dragging him forward through time long after the graves had closed. Attachment, for him, had always meant grief waiting on the horizon.
But these two boys…Hells.
They had slipped past every guard he had put up. Not through boldness or charm, but through quiet suffering. Through the way they leaned on each other. Through the unspoken plea in their eyes for someone to remain, just this once.
He’d meant to keep his distance.
He’d meant to offer shelter, not affection.
He’d meant to stay untouched.
And yet—
He took another slow sip of ale, trying to force down the ache in his chest.
You fools, he thought, You’ve no idea what you’ve done to me.
As the night drew on, with the hiss and pop of pine sap echoing softly through the camp. Across the circle, the boys slept as they always did — tangled in their cloaks, side by side, one breathing in time with the other.
Beyond the fire’s edge, four silhouettes moved through the dark — men of the next watch tacking up their horses, packing spare torches prepared earlier that day. Their voices carried quietly between them, exchanging the usual end-of-shift chatter: a few words about the patrol, a reminder that there was still plenty of stew and fresh bread by the fire, a brief report of what the last pair had seen.
When they were ready, one of them paused near Malrick, lingering in the flicker of the coals.
“Hell of a moment, sir,” he said quietly. “You handled it well.”
Malrick didn’t lift his gaze from the smouldering fire. “Handled! more like fumbled with no grace” he murmured.
The man placed a fresh log on the fire, shoving his torch into the flames to ignite it. nodded once and then moved on, the crunch of autumn leaves under his boots and the jingle of tack and the soft flare of a freshly lit torchlight fading into the darkness and mist.
The men that had returned from the watch had sat down with there portion of food and drink, one looked over at Malrick sensing the tension in the air, is “everything okay commander. Did we miss something important wile on watch?” Malrick gestures to the boys fast asleep “well those to just asked if they could share my last name”
Both men stopped shovelling food into there mouths upon hearing their commander's reason for the tension, one trying to lighten the mood “well not gonna lie sir, we all seen that coming… Not to overstep but you have been like a father to those boys.” the other man nodding in agreement like it was common knowledge “I remember the day we picked them up from the orphanage— We know that most of the men here where orphans, including us, you gave everyone purpose… By the gods, they were just children… at least the rest of us were older teenagers when we were picked to be squires”
Malrick looked over at the men “yer I know… eat your food before it gets cold” trying to move the focus away from him.
Looking over at the boys sleeping across the camp — Gerran’s arm thrown over Alec’s chest now, both snoring faintly, peace written where chaos usually lived.
His thoughts drifted to that day at the orphanage nine years ago.
Gerran and Alec’s story begin in the halls of a weather-beaten orphanage — a place where laughter was sharp, and kindness was a rare luxury.
Gerran, — An infant still wet from birth left on the doorstep without a single soul to vouch for him. No one knew where he came from or who had placed him there, One of the women who worked in the orphanage, still grieving the loss of her miscarried baby, gave him the only thing she could — a name. It wasn’t truly his, but it was a kindness born from grief, and so Gerran grew up with a name that carried the echo of someone else’s love. By the time he turned six years old, and lived his entire life at the orphanage, he had already learned that beauty could be a curse. The younger boys called him Fairy princess for his pale hair and delicate features; the girls, jealous of his soft, angelic face, would glare at him and keep their distance. And the older boys — the ones just old enough to understand how the world really worked — would tease him with laughing voices and dead-serious eyes:
“when you’re grown we’ll see you again in the pleasure Houses. a face like that won’t get you real work”
They said it like a joke — laughing, nudging each other, making crude gestures, as if the world had already decided his future for him. And Gerran understood that long before he had the words for why it frightened him. Somewhere deep down, he knew they would try to take advantage of him one day.
The matrons heard those words too —and they feared for the boy’s future. They knew what happened to pretty orphans
Then came Alec — small, red-eyed, and inconsolable at three years old, he was found wondering out of the dark forest covered in blood clutching a stuffed toy, eyes wide with terror, for only the gods know what horror he had bared witness to, the villagers only assumed that his family were brutally slaughtered by a monster of the forest, yet no one recognised the child. The other children mocked him for his tears, but Gerran didn’t. Maybe he saw himself in that helplessness, or maybe it was simple instinct — the quiet urge to protect something fragile.
He sat beside Alec in the mess hall one night after the other children had ruined his meal, leaving him with nothing but scraps. Gerran spared the others only a glance. “Leave him,” he thought, hoping for the courage to say out loud “He’s had enough taken already.”
Then he slid his own portion over to Alec and stayed beside him, unmoving, as the younger boy leaned against his shoulder and cried into his sleeve, Gerran choosing hunger over letting him go without.
From that day on, they were inseparable.
Mealtimes, bath times, bedtime — Gerran and Alec were always side by side. The matrons, seeing that neither fit with the other children, let them be. After all they only had each other.
Where Gerran went, Alec followed — tagging along with older boys to learn farm chores, repairs, lifting, anything that let him stay close,
When Gerran was eleven, he’d started trying to stand up for himself—quietly at first, asking the older boys to please leave him alone, always polite, always hoping not to draw attention. But the older boys tormented him as usual, and that day something in him snapped. Eric seventeen —the ringleader—didn’t like that. When Gerran shouted, “Shut up. Leave me alone,” Eric only pushed harder. He reached out and brushed Gerran’s hair behind his ear and sneered, “Why don’t you just be a good boy and be quiet?”
Gerran slapped Eric’s hand away and, in the heat of it, he punched him. Eric’s lip split and blood ran down his chin; he laughed as he wiped it away. “Think you’re tough now, pretty-boy?” he jeered, then grabbed Gerran—one hand at the side of his head, the other on his shoulder—and forced him around so his back faced Eric. Eric shoved Gerran’s face to the ground and hissed in his ear, “You fucked up.”
By then the matron had seen what was happening and pulled Eric off. Eric left without arguing; he had already made up his mind.
The rest of the day passed in a tense normality: chores were finished, everyone ate, washed, and settled for bed. Later that night Alec rose for a drink—a habit he’d always had. The older boys saw their chance. They seized Alec and Gerran and gagged them with cloth to muffle their cries. One boy held Alec so he wouldn’t run off and tell the matrons, others pinned Gerron down, Eric grabbed him by the throat and leaned close, his breath warm against Gerran’s ear.
“You know,” he murmured, voice slick with mockery, “you’re prettier than any girl I’ve ever seen. Maybe it’s time you learned what that’s worth.”
That night cruelty found Gerran and left him broken.
In the morning, when everyone gathered for breakfast, the matron noticed that Gerran and Alec were not at the table. They were always first in line. Alarmed, she went to look for them. She found Gerran hiding under a blanket in the corner, curled up and crying, and Alec standing protectively in front of him, not knowing what to do. “Why are you two not at breakfast?” she asked. Alec, shyly whispered, “The older boys held Gerran down last night… and they—” He could not say the words. The matron understood at once. She sent for the men from the fields—her full-time workers—and stormed into the dining hall. She slapped Eric to the floor, shouting, “How dare you! How dare you violate that child?” Her face red blazing with rage. “All six of you—outside. Now.”
The men had gathered at her call. “You called for us, Ma’am?” they asked.
“Yes. I want these boys punished, then send them to a farm far away. They are not to return here.” Her voice broke with fury and sorrow.
“Tell us what they did,” one of the men said.
She told them quickly. The men nodded in grim silence, each one grabbing a boy by the arm and marching him away.
The following day the orphanage saw the arrival of Commander Malrick. He had come looking for older youths to help his company—boys who could run errands, carry armour, fetch water, and keep pace with his hunters. The few that remained were too young or too frail to help.
The matron who had raised Gerran hurried to them the moment she saw the commander approaching. She crouched beside him, her hands gentle.
“Gerran, sweetheart,” she murmured, “I know you’re hurting. I know.” Her voice wavered, but she pressed on. “But this is a chance you will only get once in your life. The hunters are here.”
Alec confused looked up at her, confused “Hunters? Why are hunters here?”
“They’re looking for squires,” she said. “For boys to train and travel with them. And you will be looked after with them, both of you. What happened the other night—” her voice tightened, “…will never happen again.”
At those words, Gerran’s breath shuddered.
“Never again! No one would be able to touch me like that again.”
The matron brushing Alec’s hair and straightening his shirt trying to make him look presentable “Yes, that’s right Gerran”
Gerran forced himself upright, teeth gritted, in short sharp breaths
The matron looked toward the courtyard, hope and desperation warring in her eyes.
“He usually only takes older kids,” she said to Gerran. “But I’m praying — just this once — he will make an exception.”
In the courtyard Malrick waited, then out stepped to young boys Gerran and Alec. Gerran tried to stand tall through the pain—chin up, shoulders back—but the bruises showed. He did his best to look brave. Alec stayed half-hidden behind him, smaller and quieter, his knuckles still white where they gripped the back of Gerran’s shirt. He stared at Malrick with pleading eyes, silently begging him not to separate them.
The matron stepped forward, her voice soft, urgent.
“Commander… please. Take them. Together.”
Malrick studied her face — the anger, the sorrow simmering just beneath.
“What happened?” he asked quietly. “Why is the taller boy covered in bruises?”
The matron drew him aside, away from the courtyard where Alec still held onto the back of Gerran’s shirt like a lifeline. She exhaled, steadying herself.
“There were older boys here,” she began. “They tormented Gerran, as some do, but… it escalated and well they forced themselves on him two nights ago….” She swallowed. “Gerran is… a handsome child, Commander.” Her voice softened into something raw. “Too handsome. Well, some people would say pretty and when he ages out and has to leave this place…” Her voice tightened. “The world will not be kind to a boy like him. Pretty boys are not offered honest work. They are… bought. Displayed. Claimed.”
She swallowed hard.
“He is strong. A good and honest kid. But the world will not see that. They will only see his face.”
Her gaze flicked to Alec — small, solemn, loyal.
“And the younger one Alec will more then likely die trying to find him if there ever parted from each other. He clings to Gerran like if he was to let him go the world would open up and swallow him whole.”
“Are they brothers?”
She shook her head “no, Malrick they are not, but they have been inseparable from the first couple of days of knowing each other” desperation breaking through the careful composure.as they head back over to the boys still standing like statues frozen in Time.
“I am begging you. Take them before someone else does.”
“I know you prefer to take the older boys in their late teens… but please take these two, there good kids”
Before she could speak again, Gerran stepped forward, understanding the severity of the situation and his future.
“Sir—please take us both,” he said. The words came out too fast, like if he didn’t say them immediately, they’d choke him. “I’ll work hard. I’ll pull my weight. We won’t slow you down.”
Alec glared up at him, both terrified and determined. He refused to be left behind, and Gerran refused to leave without him.
Malrick studied them for a long while — a soldier looking at two children with no business standing before him.
He agreed. “Fine I will take them, go pack what items you have we must get moving”
Gerran nodded. “Yes sir! —, right away, come on Alec lets get our stuff”
Grabbing Alec’s hand, heading off into the rundown building shoving their things into a old hessian feed sack, heading back out to the courtyard, Alec ran ahead throwing his arms around the matron that raised them embracing her for the last time, she knelt down returning the hug, she gently pulled Gerran in when he finally reached her to hold him, failing to hold back tears “you be good, do as the commander tells you, this is the best I can do for you and Alec, I’m going to miss you two.” as she sobbed, standing once more to send them off and gave thanks to Malrick for saving them for a future that would be most unpleasant.
Malrick gave the matron a small nod and added, before leaving,
“If it makes you feel any better, I’d have chosen these two over the other boys. I don’t tolerate that kind of behaviour. We pass through most villages in this kingdom — I’d never forgive myself if I brought horror into someone’s home. I hunt monsters, not travel with them.”
Then he turned, leading the boys across the yard toward the waiting mule-drawn cart, where the rest of the hunting party had already begun packing supplies for the road. The morning air was cold, brittle with the promise of frost. Hooves shifted restlessly in the dirt, harness buckles jingled, leather creaked as a man tightened a strap on his saddle, giving his horse a soft pat afterwards.
“Alright, you two,” Malrick said, voice steady but warm. “Come here, little one. I’ll help you up.”
He lifted Alec easily, setting him onto the bench of the cart.
Gerran reached out and caught Malrick’s cloak.
“Sir—please,” he whispered, eyes lowered. He tried to speak around the tightness in his throat. “Could I… walk…? It hurts to sit.”
The shame hit him all at once and he began to cry. “I’m… I’m… sorry. I know I said we wouldn’t slow you down, I—I just—”
Malrick stopped him at once.
He went down on one knee, so they were eye to eye.
“For the love of the gods! Don’t ever! apologise for what was done to you,” he said, firm but gentle. “You owe no one, any apologies.”
He took the hessian sack from Gerran’s hand and placed it in the cart. Retrieving a folded piece of linen and handed it to Gerran.
“Here. Wipe your face.”
Gerran nodded, trying to steady his breathing.
Boren looked over from where he sat holding the reins.
“Here you go, kid. Do you like dried meat?” he asked, offering Alec a strip of jerky. “I’m Boren, what’s your name?”
Alec accepted it carefully, like a gift of great importance.
“I’m Alec,” he said. “Thank you.”
Boren smiled. “You’re welcome.” Flicking the reins “walk on,” guiding the mules forward.
The cart began to roll. Malrick walked beside it toward where his horses were tethered. He took up the reins of his old warhorse, then the lead rope of his young filly.
“Gerran,” he called quietly.
Gerran startled “Yes. Sir”
“Here,” Malrick said, holding out the reins of his old horse “Lead him for me, will you?”
Gerran looked up at Malrick’s horse — and froze.
The animal was huge, a towering warhorse bred to carry a man in full plate. Gerran could have walked beneath its belly not really needing to duck. Its hooves were the size of dinner plates. Its shadow fell over him like a wall.
For a moment, something like fear flickered through his heart... But he still reached out. He took the soft leather reins in both hands and held them to his chest.not once breaking eye contact with the animal.
The old warhorse watched the exchange of hands, knowing that this little kid now lead the way. He, slowly, lowered its great head to Gerran’s height. It drew in a long breath, deep into its ribs — and released it in a warm, rolling sigh. A soft snort followed. Shook its head and then it finished with a slow, heavy yawn. The kind of yawn a horse gives only when it feels safe.
The fear in Gerran’s chest loosened.
He found himself exhaling in the same long, slow breath the horse had released. And when the warhorse finished with a second wide, unhurried yawn, Gerran yawned too — the kind that comes from tension finally letting go.
He stared, bewildered. He wasn’t sure what had happened. But the horse knew what it was doing.
Malrick watched the interaction unfold. He stepped closer, soft and steady.
“Pay attention to what he just did, kid,” Malrick said. “He heard your heart racing. So, he did all of that to help you calm down.”
Gerran blinked up at him, still clutching the reins.
Malrick nodded toward the horse.
“His name’s Hank,” he added. “He’s been in many battles and fought monsters from the dark forest he knows fear when he hears it — and he knows how to ease it, all the same.”
Hank let out another soft huff, warm air brushing Gerran’s hair.
And so they walked on, slow and steady.
“I’m sorry, sir,” Gerran sniffled. “You’re walking because of me.”
Malrick glanced down at him.
“Nonsense, kid. My horse needed a break from carrying me anyway”
Behind them, the orphanage grew smaller and smaller, fading into the distance like smoke on a breeze. It marked the beginning of a lifelong bond neither Malrick nor the boys understood in that moment.chapter one