Morning came slowly, pale light pushing through a sky still heavy with the weight of last night’s revelry. The capital of Wicelind looked softer now, quieter — the banners that had once glittered with gold were dull with dew, and the music of the gala had faded into memory.

  Kael tightened the strap on his horse’s saddle and glanced once more toward the marble spires behind them. The wind carried faint laughter from the city walls, the kind that belonged to those still asleep in comfort.

  “Let’s go,” he said quietly.

  Rhea adjusted her cloak beside him. “No goodbye to the city?”

  Kael shook his head. “It’s not worth remembering.”

  The others mounted up behind him — Orin yawning as usual, Tarin grumbling about leaving before breakfast, Joran silent as ever. Their small convoy of five set out through the wide gates, hooves clattering against the stone road that wound away from the capital toward the ridges.

  The road was long and still wet from the night’s rain. Birds sang faintly from the trees, and the scent of wet earth followed them. For a while, no one spoke.

  Then Orin said, “So… that was some gala.”

  Rhea smirked. “You mean the part where you nearly tripped in front of the High Chamberlain?”

  Orin groaned. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”

  “Oh, we all saw it,” Tarin said, laughing. “Half the hall did.”

  Even Joran’s mouth twitched slightly, almost a smile.

  Kael didn’t join them. His gaze stayed fixed on the road ahead. Every rhythm of the horse’s steps seemed to echo the quiet storm running beneath his calm.

  Eric’s words hadn’t left him.

  You still hold onto anger like it’s armor.

  He gritted his teeth and pushed the thought away.

  After a while, the road widened into a crossroads. A single figure stood waiting by a wooden post, his coat dark against the morning fog.

  Daren.

  Kael slowed his horse. The others followed suit, hooves scraping against the gravel as they stopped.

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  “You made good time,” Daren said, his tone even as always.

  “We left early,” Rhea replied. “Kael didn’t seem in the mood for breakfast or farewells.”

  Daren’s eyes flicked toward Kael. “No surprise.”

  Kael dismounted, pulling the reins tight. “If you’re here to ask how it went, don’t bother. It was a show. Nothing more.”

  Daren regarded him for a moment. “A show, yes. But the kind of show that teaches you how people move when they think they’re safe. Did you watch them?”

  Kael nodded once. “Every one of them.”

  “And Eric?”

  The name landed heavier than Kael expected. He looked away. “He hasn’t changed.”

  “Then neither have you,” Daren said simply. “The moment you learn to look past that, you’ll start to see what kind of man he’s really become — and what kind of man you’re supposed to be.”

  Kael said nothing.

  Daren’s expression softened slightly. “There’s more to power than the weight of your anger, Kael. Remember that.”

  He turned back to his horse. “Now go. You’ll reach the ridges by nightfall if you keep a steady pace.”

  They rode on.

  The day stretched into gold and shadow. The road wound through thick trees, their branches arching overhead like ribs of an old cathedral. The air grew cooler as they climbed, and the sounds of the city faded until there was nothing but the soft creak of saddles and the rustle of leaves.

  By late afternoon, the light began to wane. The forest ahead thickened — darker, quieter.

  Orin slowed his horse. “Feels different here,” he said. “Too still.”

  Rhea nodded, scanning the trees. “It’s the northern path. Fewer travelers. Easier for thieves.”

  Tarin gripped the reins tighter. “Or worse.”

  Kael said nothing, but his eyes narrowed. Every instinct that training had carved into him stirred — that quiet pull in the chest that said something unseen was watching.

  The air itself felt heavy.

  A crow cawed once from the distance, then silence swallowed it.

  Joran’s hand brushed the hilt of his sword. “We’re being followed.”

  Kael didn’t ask how he knew. He already felt it — the soft shift of weight on branches, the faint scrape of boot against bark.

  “Keep riding,” Kael murmured.

  They continued, slower now, their eyes darting to the edges of the road.

  A few more paces.

  Then —

  Snap.

  A branch broke somewhere ahead.

  Kael raised a hand instantly. “Stop.”

  The group halted. The forest around them seemed to hold its breath.

  Leaves rustled — left, right, behind.

  And then, as if the forest itself had exhaled, men stepped out of the shadows.

  Fifteen of them.

  Their armor was mismatched — leather and steel, worn and dulled — but their movements were disciplined, too coordinated for bandits. They carried short blades, spears, and crossbows, fanning out in a slow, deliberate semicircle around the riders.

  Orin muttered, “Fifteen. Great.”

  “Don’t move,” Kael said quietly.

  The leader —took one step forward. His face was hidden by a dark hood, but the glint of steel under his sleeve spoke for him.

  “Drop your weapons,” he said.

  No one moved.

  Kael’s hand rested lightly on his sword. “You don’t want to do this.”

  The man didn’t answer.

  Instead, he looked upward — a brief, sharp gesture.

  Kael followed his gaze.

  At first, he saw nothing — only the thick shadows where the trees arched together above the road. Then a faint shift in the branches — a figure perched high among the leaves, half-hidden in the dark.

  The faint gleam of metal caught the last light of dusk — a mask, smooth and black.

  The man in the red scarf lowered his head. “You heard him. Move.”

  Kael’s grip tightened. The horses snorted uneasily, sensing the tension.

  “Orin,” Kael murmured, “left flank.”

  “Already on it.”

  “Tarin, cover Rhea.”

  Rhea drew her dagger. “Don’t tell me to hide.”

  Joran stepped forward. “Too many for a straight fight.”

  Kael’s voice was low, calm — the kind that came only when anger and focus became one. “Then we end it before it begins.”

  The command above came sharp, cold, and unmistakable.

  “kill them all.”

  The voice wasn’t loud, but it carried — cutting clean through the air, steady and deliberate.

  Kael froze.

  The sound struck something deep inside him — a memory, sharp as broken glass.

  He had heard that voice before. Years ago. Beneath the rain, under the roar of betrayal.

  His heart lurched in his chest.

  The masked figure shifted slightly in the branches, watching.

  Kael’s breath caught.

  No — it couldn’t be. Not after all this time. Not him.

  But the voice came again, colder now. “Now.”

  The forest exploded into motion — shouts, steel, and the rush of feet through the underbrush.

  Kael drew his blade in a single motion, eyes locked on the shadow above.

  He knew that voice.