The desert stretched endlessly before Alric, the horizon shimmering with the false promise of water. His legs ached with every step, the rush of adrenaline from the fight long gone. The bounty hunter’s corpse lay far behind him, the memory of the battle etched into his muscles and his mind.

  Kaelion remained a lingering presence, half-visible in Alric’s peripheral vision. Though his form was faint, his voice was as sharp as ever.

  “You held your own back there,” Kaelion said, his tone almost approving. “I’ll admit, I thought you’d panic and get yourself killed. You proved me wrong.”

  “I didn’t exactly have a choice,” Alric muttered, his voice dry as the air. “It was either fight or die. Not much to pat myself on the back for.”

  Kaelion chuckled. “Survival’s a victory in itself, boy. Learn to take pride in the small wins. You’ll need that if you’re going to last long enough to do something meaningful with this power.”

  Alric didn’t respond. He didn’t have the energy to argue with Kaelion, nor the patience. His mind was focused on the practical: he needed water, food, shelter—something to sustain him long enough to reach the next settlement. The dagger felt heavy at his side, and though its power had saved him, it came with a weight he couldn’t ignore.

  The other Echoes.

  Kaelion had warned him that the ancestors awakened by the dagger wouldn’t all be allies. Some might try to manipulate him, to use him for their own long-forgotten ambitions. And if they gained too much influence…

  He shivered, despite the heat.

  “Tell me about the others,” Alric said finally.

  Kaelion was quiet for a moment, as if weighing how much to reveal.

  “There are many of us,” he said at last, his voice cautious. “Some, like me, are warriors. Leaders. We fought to build and defend the First Line, to protect the legacy of our bloodline. Others… well, let’s just say not everyone’s motives were so noble.”

  “Who are they?” Alric pressed. “What do they want?”

  Kaelion sighed. “That’s the problem, boy. They’re not alive. We’re Echoes, fragments of what we once were. The memories, the ambition, the purpose—it’s all there. But we’re not whole. Some of us don’t even remember who we were. All we know is what’s driving us. And that, my dear prince, is what makes us dangerous.”

  Alric chewed on that for a while as he trudged forward, the silence between them stretching thin.

  By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, Alric had spotted what he’d been hoping for: a settlement, its faint torchlight flickering in the distance.

  The village, nestled against a ridge of jagged rocks, was little more than a cluster of adobe buildings and tents. Smoke rose lazily from a few chimneys, and the low hum of voices carried on the breeze.

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  “Careful,” Kaelion warned as Alric approached the outskirts. “Small villages like this are full of desperate people. And desperate people do stupid things when they smell weakness.”

  “Noted,” Alric muttered, pulling his hood low over his face.

  The villagers were a motley collection of farmers, traders, and scavengers, their clothes patched and worn. They cast wary glances at Alric as he passed, some muttering to each other, others simply staring.

  He made his way to a makeshift tavern at the center of the settlement, its exterior marked by a faded sign bearing the image of a tankard. The smell of stale ale and roasted meat greeted him as he stepped inside, along with the low murmur of conversation.

  Alric scanned the room, his eyes lingering on a table in the corner where a trio of mercenaries sat, their weapons resting within easy reach. They eyed him with the kind of casual interest that made his skin crawl.

  “Keep your head down,” Kaelion said. “You’re not ready for another fight.”

  Alric moved to the bar, fishing the last of his coins from his pouch. The barkeep, a middle-aged woman with tired eyes and a sharp gaze, raised an eyebrow as he approached.

  “Food and water,” Alric said, placing the coins on the counter.

  The woman eyed the coins, then him, before nodding. “Wait here.”

  As she disappeared into the back, Alric felt the weight of the room settle on him. The mercenaries weren’t the only ones watching—several other patrons were sneaking glances in his direction, their whispers too faint to make out.

  “You’ve got trouble brewing,” Kaelion said. “Keep an eye on the door.”

  Alric’s pulse quickened, but he forced himself to remain calm. He couldn’t afford to draw attention. Not yet.

  The barkeep returned with a wooden bowl of stew and a small jug of water, setting them down in front of him. Alric nodded his thanks and began to eat, keeping his movements slow and deliberate.

  But even as he ate, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

  It started as a faint hum, just at the edge of his awareness. A whisper, soft and insistent, brushing against his thoughts like a breeze.

  “Alric…”

  He froze, the spoon halfway to his mouth. The whisper grew louder, more distinct—a voice, cold and sharp, speaking directly into his mind.

  “Poor, foolish boy. You think you can trust the warrior? He’ll use you just as the others will.”

  Alric’s breath caught. “Who’s there?” he hissed under his breath.

  Kaelion’s voice was immediately alert. “What’s wrong?”

  But the new voice drowned him out, its tone laced with venom.

  “I am what you fear, little prince. I am the fire that consumes, the shadow that whispers lies. And I am watching.”

  Alric gripped the edge of the bar, his knuckles white. The voice faded, leaving only the faint hum of the tavern around him.

  Kaelion’s form flickered into view beside him, his expression grim. “That was one of the others,” he said. “I felt it. A powerful one.”

  “What do they want?” Alric asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

  Kaelion’s golden eyes narrowed. “To break you. To twist your power for their own ends. You need to be on your guard, boy. This is only the beginning.”

  Before Alric could respond, the tavern door slammed open, and a group of men strode in, their boots heavy against the wooden floor. At their head was the bounty hunter who had fled the fight earlier, his face twisted in a mix of triumph and malice.

  “There he is!” the man shouted, pointing a finger at Alric. “The traitor prince! There’s a bounty on his head, and it’s mine!”

  The room erupted into chaos. Patrons scrambled for cover, while the mercenaries at the corner table reached for their weapons, eager to join the fray.

  Alric rose to his feet, the dagger in his hand before he even realized he’d drawn it. The hum of power surged through him once more, Kaelion’s voice steady in his mind.

  “Now, boy,” the Echo said, his tone calm and commanding. “Let’s see if you’re ready for the real fight.”