“All right, we’re here,” Constantine announced, his voice cutting through the quiet rhythm of hooves and wheels. “We’ll spend the night at the town’s inn and continue our journey at first light.”

  Constantine’s words anchored me back to the present, pulling me from the tangle of my thoughts. I dismounted from my horse, my boots nding softly on the cobbled ground.

  A servant was quick to approach, taking the reins with a respectful bow before leading the horse away toward the stables. At this stage of our journey, we were still accompanied by our attendants. But once we reached the final town nestled at the foot of Skyridge Mountain, we would have to part ways. From that point on, only we—those chosen to ascend—would be permitted to continue the climb.

  The town was modest—just a cluster of stone buildings nestled at the edge of the forest, the roofs weathered with age and the cobblestones uneven underfoot. The inn stood near the square, a two-story structure with soft nterns glowing behind its windows, casting golden light onto the street as dusk settled.

  Inside, the warmth of the hearth greeted us, the scent of firewood and simmering stew lingering in the air. The innkeeper bowed deeply as we entered, already informed of our arrival. Servants moved ahead of us, securing the rooms and preparing a private dining space away from the common room.

  I removed my gloves slowly, savoring the warmth that crept back into my fingers as the inn’s fire crackled softly nearby.

  Across the room, Constantine and Theoden were speaking with a few of the servants, quietly instructing them to gather supplies we could donate and leave behind in this town. Practical, thoughtful. Just like them.

  Trevon, on the other hand, had settled by the window. He sat in silence, his chin propped on one hand, eyes fixed on the darkened streets beyond the gss. It was unusual to see him so still—so quiet. I had grown used to his easy ughter, the way he filled a room with energy. Perhaps the journey had worn him down more than he let on.

  I eased into a chair nearby, close enough to feel the fire’s warmth, but far enough to remain undisturbed. My gaze drifted back to Trevon.

  In this life, he looked just the same. But I remembered him differently.

  In the st timeline, he was the only one among my so-called friends who never turned his back on me. Even when it would have been safer to do so.

  He had remained loyal—fiercely, painfully so. To the point that his own family nearly faced ruin because of it.

  I could still see his face the st time we met in that lifetime—eyes red, voice trembling with helpless rage. He had cried in front of me. Not out of fear, but because he couldn’t do more.

  Couldn’t stop what was coming.

  Couldn’t save me.

  And now, here he was again. Quiet. Thoughtful. Still trying to carry more than anyone realized.

  Trevon and I first became allies—then friends—during the Southern Rebellion, when Duke Goffredo betrayed the Empire by aligning himself with the Kingdom of Lunethria in a bid for independence.

  I was appointed Commander of the imperial forces almost overnight, tasked with suppressing the Southern Rebellion.

  The announcement blindsided me. I knew my limits—I wasn’t trained for war, nor did I possess the strategic mind needed to lead an army. I had no battlefield experience, no command presence, nothing to justify such a position beyond my name.

  But the Empire needed a figurehead. A symbol of swift, decisive action. And I—unremarkable, unimportant—fit that role perfectly.

  It wasn’t until much ter that I began to see it for what it truly was.

  A scheme.

  The Empress’s scheme.

  She couldn’t bear the thought of sending her son—the second prince—into danger. So she maniputed the Emperor, twisted logic and loyalty into fear, and turned it into a matter of image and honor.

  And just like that, I was sent into my supposed end.

  It was calcuted. Clean. Disguised as duty.

  But it was never about my potential. It was about my disposability.

  Trevon, at the time, had only recently taken the mantle of Captain within the Obsidian Oath. Despite the shadowed reputation of his order, he was assigned to serve alongside us, leading a specialized unit under my banner.

  We were strangers then—different ranks, different orders, different ideologies. But battles forge bonds faster than titles ever could. And in the heat of war, Trevon proved not just skilled, but unwaveringly loyal.

  ? 2025 baobaochong – All rights reserved.