The journey to the ridge took them two days.

  They moved through the ruins of the old battlefield, past places where Kael’s blood had once stained the earth and lightning had torn the sky apart. The land was silent now, the echoes of war long faded but never truly gone. Every gust of wind seemed to carry whispers — faint, broken voices that drifted between the crumbled stones and burned-out trees.

  The path wound through valleys of gray dust and cracked bones of what had once been towers. Charred blades lay half-buried beneath the soil, glinting faintly beneath the pale sun. The world here felt forgotten — abandoned by time, swallowed by its own memories.

  Daren led the way, his pale blindfold bright against the dim landscape. Despite his blindness, he never faltered. Each step he took was calm, deliberate — as though he could see every rise and hollow through the pulse of the ground itself. His cane barely touched the earth. He seemed to follow a rhythm only he could hear, a quiet song buried beneath the silence.

  Kael followed close behind, his cloak torn by the wind, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword. His face was set, unreadable. The glow in his eyes flickered faintly with every breath, the golden light of the Eye shimmering like a dying flame. Every step he took seemed to carry weight — not from exhaustion, but from the memories pressed into the soil beneath his boots.

  They spoke little. The silence between them felt sacred. Even the air carried it — a stillness so heavy it seemed to press against their chests. Only the sound of their footsteps broke it, soft and steady over the broken stones.

  When they made camp the first night, they didn’t build a fire. The sky above was wide and hollow, a stretch of dull silver clouds drifting low enough to touch. Kael sat on a fallen stone, his sword resting across his knees, watching the faint shimmer of lightning far in the distance.

  Daren sat opposite him, unmoving, his face turned toward the wind.

  Kael’s voice was low when he finally spoke. “You’ve walked this path before.”

  Daren nodded. “Once. A long time ago. Before the war ended. Before your father fell.”

  Kael looked down at his hands. They were rough, scarred — reminders of battles that never truly left him. “You said this ridge was sacred.”

  “It was,” Daren replied. “Before the last fire consumed it. Before your father sealed what was left of Veyren’s bloodline here.”

  Kael didn’t ask what he meant. Some truths were better left for when the heart was ready.

  The night passed quietly, broken only by the sigh of the wind. Neither of them slept much.

  By dawn, the fog had crept low across the ground, thin as breath. They continued the climb, following the ridge where the stones grew smoother, older — carved long ago by hands that no longer existed. The higher they went, the colder the air became, until every exhale hung like smoke.

  The ridge stretched before them — a long spine of rock rising into the clouds. From its peak, they could see the ruins of the battlefield far below, a vast sea of blackened soil. The sky above seemed endless, washed pale by morning light.

  And then, at last, they reached the summit.

  The hill was bare except for two stone markers. They stood tall and weathered, wrapped in vines that had long since turned brittle and gray. Moss clung to their bases, and cracks spidered through the once-smooth surface. The names were half-erased, carved deep into the granite but fading with time.

  Darius Veyren. Serena Veyren.

  Kael stopped in front of them, the wind tearing at his cloak. For a long moment, he didn’t speak. His eyes traced the names, his chest rising and falling slowly. The silence of the ridge seemed to close around him — vast, ancient, and patient.

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  He stepped closer and knelt before the first stone. His hand hovered above it before finally resting against the cold surface. The granite was rough beneath his fingers, the edges worn smooth by wind and rain.

  His father’s name.

  Daren stopped a few steps behind him, head bowed slightly. “We’re here,” he said quietly. “The resting place of your bloodline.”

  Kael’s throat tightened. The words settled heavily in the air.

  He ran his fingers along the carved letters, tracing the grooves that time hadn’t yet erased. “It feels… strange,” he murmured. “To stand here. To know they were real — not just stories or fragments of power.”

  He closed his eyes briefly. “I never met them as I should have. I only knew the stories — the power, the name, the war that destroyed everything. But never who they were.”

  Daren tilted his head toward him. “Perhaps it’s time you did.”

  Kael looked back at him, uncertain. “What do you mean?”

  Daren’s lips curved faintly beneath the bandages. “You inherited your father’s blood… and your mother’s gift. Their essence still lingers here. You can reach them — not in body, but in memory. If you open your mind, and the Eye, to what lies beneath.”

  Kael frowned. “You mean—”

  “I mean,” Daren interrupted softly, “you can see them again. Learn the truth of what made you.”

  Kael hesitated, glancing between the two graves. The wind carried the faint scent of earth and rain. Something deep beneath the ground seemed to pulse — a slow, rhythmic beat, like the echo of a buried heart.

  He looked back at Daren. “If I do this… what will I see?”

  “Whatever truth remains,” Daren said simply. “Not all memories are kind, Kael. But they are all honest.”

  Kael nodded slowly. “Then I’ll face it.”

  He moved to the center of the stones and knelt again, lowering himself until his palms rested flat on the cold ground. The soil felt alive — faintly trembling beneath his touch, humming with something old and powerful. The wind around them stilled, the air growing heavy and still.

  Kael closed his eyes. The mark in his right iris began to glow, soft at first, then brighter — threads of gold spiraling outward until lightning flickered faintly through the air. The ground beneath him shivered, dust rising in a thin cloud. The stones trembled as if stirred by unseen hands.

  Daren took a slow step back, his voice low but clear. “Let the Eye see not with the light of the present, but through the shadow of memory. Let the blood of Veyren answer.”

  Kael drew in a slow breath, focusing on the rhythm of the ground. He could feel it now — two distinct pulses beneath the soil, each one steady, warm, and ancient. His vision blurred, the world fading into shades of gray and gold. A low hum filled the air, deep enough to vibrate through his bones.

  Then, everything began to fall away.

  The ridge, the sky, even the wind — all dissolved into darkness.

  Kael’s breath hitched. He tried to move, but his body felt distant, weightless. The cold beneath his palms vanished, replaced by a faint warmth — like sunlight breaking through fog. Shapes began to form within the void — faint outlines at first, shifting, flickering, then slowly taking form.

  He saw a tavern — small, dimly lit, its wooden beams cracked and blackened by smoke. Outside, the world shook with the sounds of war — metal clashing, flames roaring, shouts echoing through the storm. But inside, everything was still except for the sound of a newborn’s cry.

  A woman lay on a narrow bed, her face pale but radiant, strands of silver hair clinging to her skin. Her eyes — bright, clear, and full of life — were fixed on the child in her arms. A man knelt beside her, his cloak torn and bloodstained, one hand gripping hers, the other brushing his fingers against the infant’s cheek.

  Kael’s heart stilled.

  He knew them.

  Darius and Serena Veyren — his parents.

  And the crying child in Serena’s arms… was him.

  A soft knock echoed from the doorway. A young woman stepped inside — tired, frightened, but determined. Her name came to Kael like a whisper from memory. Miss Alita. The woman who had raised him. The one who’d watched over him in the orphanage when no one else would.

  Serena looked up at her, smiling faintly despite the pain in her eyes. “Alita,” she said, her voice trembling. “You came.”

  “I couldn’t stay away,” Alita whispered, tears glistening in her eyes. “The city’s burning. You have to leave now—”

  “We can’t,” Darius said firmly. His voice was low, steady despite the chaos outside. “They’ve surrounded the ridge. There’s no time.”

  Serena looked down at the child in her arms — Kael — her fingers trembling as she brushed his cheek. “Then take him,” she whispered. “Please. He can’t stay here.”

  Alita froze. “Serena, I can’t—”

  “You must,” Darius said, his voice breaking now. “You’re the only one who can. Take him to the old road beyond the woods. The Eye will sleep until he’s ready.”

  Serena’s lips quivered as she pressed her forehead to the baby’s. “Forgive us, my son,” she whispered. “We won’t see you grow. But you’ll live — and that’s enough.”

  Alita hesitated only a moment longer before taking the child. Her arms shook as she cradled him, wrapping him in her cloak. Tears ran down her cheeks as she turned to leave, glancing back once more.

  Outside, thunder split the sky.

  Kael watched as Darius stood, drawing his sword. Lightning crawled across its edge, crackling with golden fire. Serena rose beside him, silver light blooming from her palms — a shield forming between them and the door. They turned toward each other, their faces calm now. At peace.

  Then the door burst open.

  The world filled with light — fire and shadow colliding in a single breath. The tavern shuddered, splinters flying through the air. Serena’s shield held for only a heartbeat before shattering. Darius roared, driving his blade into the heart of the storm.

  And then everything was flame.

  Kael reached out instinctively — though he knew he couldn’t touch them. The light grew too bright, consuming the walls, the cries, the sound of their voices — until all that remained was silence.

  When it faded, the world was gone.

  Kael gasped as he fell back into his body, the darkness peeling away. The ridge returned around him — gray sky, cold wind, and the two stone graves before him.

  He was shaking. His hands pressed hard into the dirt. His breath came ragged, and his eyes burned with unshed tears.

  Daren stood nearby, unmoving. The wind tugged at his cloak, carrying the faint scent of rain. For a long while, neither spoke.

  Finally, Kael looked up. His eyes still glowed faintly, but there was something new in them now — not just pain, but clarity. The truth.

  “They died… to save me,” he said quietly. “And she—” His voice broke slightly. “She kept her promise.”

  Daren nodded slowly. “Now you’ve seen what shaped you.”

  Kael rose to his feet, brushing the dirt from his hands. He looked at the graves again, his gaze steady. The silence that once felt heavy now carried warmth — as though the wind itself held their voices.

  He placed a hand over his heart. “I’ll carry them,” he whispered. “Not as ghosts. As blood.”

  The wind stirred the grass around the

  stones, soft and low — almost like a sigh of approval.

  Daren smiled faintly beneath his bandages. “Then the Eye of Veyren has truly awakened.”