The storm from before had long passed, but its shadow lingered in the forest — broken trees, charred earth, and the scent of ash still clinging to the air.

  Kael lay motionless on the floor, his chest wrapped in clean bandages that had already turned faintly red. His skin was pale, lips slightly parted as if caught mid-breath.

  Around him, the others gathered — faces drawn, eyes hollow from sleepless nights.

  Rhea sat nearest, hands clasped so tightly her knuckles were white. Orin paced just outside, unable to sit still, muttering curses under his breath. Tarin and Joran stood guard , blades never sheathed, as if waiting for enemies that would never come.

  And in the corner… Daren knelt.

  His face was calm, but his hands trembled where they rested against the dirt. A circle of faint runes glowed beneath Kael’s cot, etched into the earth by Daren’s own blood. The air shimmered faintly above it — fragile, flickering like dying light.

  Rhea’s voice broke the silence.

  “Daren… his heart has stopped moving”

  “I know,” Daren said quietly.

  She swallowed, blinking back tears. “Then why are we still—”

  “Because he isn’t gone.”

  The certainty in Daren’s voice made them all pause. He lifted his head, his gray eyes reflecting the faint light of the runes. “I can still feel it — his soul hasn’t crossed. It’s trapped. I can bring him back… but there will be a cost.”

  Orin turned sharply. “Cost? What kind of cost?”

  “The kind that can’t be undone.”

  Daren rose slowly to his feet, his coat damp from the rain that had slipped through the tent seams. He looked down at Kael’s still form — his student, his heir, his last promise to House Veyren — and then at his own trembling hands.

  He smiled faintly. “There’s only one way left.”

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  Rhea stood quickly. “Daren, no—”

  But he was already moving.

  He knelt beside Kael again, pressed his palm to the young man’s chest, and closed his eyes. The air seemed to darken, the flicker of runes around them burning brighter. Wind stirred through the tent though none should have existed.

  Daren whispered something — old, ancient words none of them recognized.

  A hum rose from the ground, soft at first, then growing until it shook the very air. Rhea fell back, covering her ears; Orin grabbed her before she could rush forward. Tarin and Joran stepped closer, blades drawn, unsure whether they were defending Kael or Daren from whatever this was becoming.

  The light grew blinding.

  Blood ran from Daren’s nose, then his eyes. His breathing grew ragged, but still he whispered, forcing the words through gritted teeth.

  The runes beneath Kael’s body turned from red to gold.

  Then, Daren lifted his head and screamed.

  The sound was raw, inhuman — a cry that shook the ground. Two thin streams of crimson ran from his eyes, turning into trails of light. The glow burst from him, pouring into Kael’s chest like a river of molten fire.

  And then, silence.

  Daren slumped forward.

  Rhea screamed his name, rushing to catch him. The light flickered once, then vanished completely. The tent fell into stillness again — only the sound of rain against canvas and their heavy breathing.

  Kael did not move.

  Four days later.

  The house was quiet, marked by fatigue and mourning. The others had stopped counting the hours since Daren’s ritual.

  Rhea sat at Kael’s side, eyes red from crying. Daren rested in a separate cot nearby, his head wrapped in white cloth, his face turned toward the faint morning light.

  The others had left , they had lost hope.

  Rhea brushed a strand of hair from Kael’s forehead and whispered, “You promised you’d come back…”

  Then Kael’s hand twitched.

  Rhea froze.

  A second later — his chest rose.

  A shallow breath. Then another.

  Her eyes widened. “Kael—?!”

  He coughed — a broken, rasping sound — and his eyes snapped open.

  The tent filled with shouts. Orin burst in first, followed by Tarin and Joran. Rhea held Kael upright as he gasped for air, blinking in confusion at the circle of familiar faces staring back at him.

  “What… happened?” His voice was hoarse, weak. “How am I—”

  Daren stirred from the other cot. Slowly, carefully, he turned his head toward the sound. His eyes — or what remained of them — were covered in white bandages.

  He smiled faintly. “You’re alive.”

  Kael looked at him, still disoriented. “Daren… what did you do?”

  No one spoke. The others glanced at each other, silent, the weight of what had been done pressing the air flat.

  Daren exhaled softly. “A trade,” he said at last. “Your life… for my sight.”

  Kael froze, disbelief flooding through him. “You—”

  “I did what needed to be done.” Daren’s voice was steady but tired. “You died that night, Kael. Your heart stopped. The Eye’s light faded from you completely. But your soul stayed near — bound by something I don’t fully understand. To bring you back, I had to offer something the world couldn’t return.”

  He tilted his head toward him. “So I gave my eyes. The cost of seeing life restored , don't be sad tho I might have lost my eyes but that doesn't means I have lost my senses.”

  Kael’s throat tightened. “You shouldn’t have—”

  “Don’t,” Daren interrupted softly. “You are the heir of Veyren. I made my choice long before you fell. It was mine to give.”

  Silence followed — long and heavy. Only the rain outside filled the space between them.

  Kael sat slowly, grimacing from the pain in his side. He looked at Daren — at the bandages, the faint traces of blood seeping through them — and something inside him broke.

  He rose, unsteady, ignoring Rhea’s protests. “Take me,” he said quietly.

  Daren frowned faintly. “To where?”

  Kael’s gaze hardened. “To the graves of the Lords of Veyren.”

  Orin looked at him, unsure if he’d heard right. Rhea stared in silence. Even Tarin and Joran hesitated, exchanging wary glances.

  Daren’s blind eyes turned slightly toward the sound of Kael’s voice.

  He smiled — faint, knowing.

  “As you wish.”