A Kingdom in Fear
The capital of the White Throne belonged to Kael now.
The nobles had bent their knees. The people had lowered their heads. The throne sat beneath his hand like a conquered relic.
And yet, something still held the city in a silent chokehold.
Not the fear of Kael.
No. This fear was older. Colder. It walked in shadowed alleys and whispered in the mouths of trembling soldiers.
It began as rumor.
A knight clad in silver armor seen atop the ruins of a shattered watchtower.
The same armor that had once gleamed beneath the sun like a promise.
Lucian's armor.
Selene's Restless Night
Selene had not slept in days.
Not since the battlefield. Not since the fire.
Not since she buried the last piece of who she used to be.
She lay beneath silk sheets and moonlit canopies, but there was no comfort. Only silence. Only the echo of a choice she could not take back.
She had chosen Kael.
She had chosen to live.
Then why did she feel like something inside her had already died?
Her heart beat faster. There—just for a moment—a chill in the air.
She sat up slowly, the sheets falling away from her like discarded guilt.
The balcony doors creaked open in the wind.
And in the moonlight—
He stood.
Lucian.
Motionless. Silent. Regal.
The silver armor reflected the pale moonlight, and his tattered cape fluttered like a broken banner behind him.
Selene's breath caught. Her body refused to move.
This wasn't possible.
She had driven the dagger in herself. She had watched him fall. Watched his body burn.
And yet, here he was.
A ghost? A memory? A punishment?
She rose on trembling legs. "Who are you?"
He didn't speak.
Didn't draw his weapon.
He simply raised a hand—not in warning, not in anger.
But in mourning.
A farewell.
And then, as suddenly as he had appeared—
He was gone.
Selene stood alone in the cold, staring into the empty night.
Lucian was dead.
So why did it feel like she had just seen the truth?
Kael's Uncertainty
The throne room was quiet the next morning.
Too quiet.
Kael sat on the obsidian seat, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the carved armrest.
He had heard the reports.
The rumors had spread with unnatural speed—faster than any political message, faster than fear itself.
Lucian was back.
Or someone wearing his face.
And Kael hated uncertainties.
He turned to Selene, who stood nearby like a statue carved from regret.
"Did you see him?"
She didn't look at him when she answered. "Yes."
Kael's expression darkened. "And?"
"He didn't speak. He just watched me."
Watched. Judged. Condemned.
Kael clenched the armrest until his knuckles turned white.
"It's a trick. Some imposter playing on symbols and fear." His voice sharpened like a blade. "I'll deal with him like I did the real Lucian."
Selene finally looked at him. Her eyes were not filled with love, or loyalty, or fear.
They were hollow.
Not broken—but unanchored.
And that unsettled him more than any ghost.
He narrowed his gaze. "Are you doubting me, Selene?"
Her silence was answer enough.
Kael leaned back slowly, hiding the weight of her hesitation beneath a calm mask.
He had crushed Lucian.
But ghosts were harder to kill.
The Shadow of War
By nightfall, the city had changed.
Whispers became talk. Talk became certainty.
The nobles were no longer whispering about rebellion—they were preparing for it.
Someone in the east was rallying soldiers. Not mercenaries. Not bandits.
Soldiers.
And they followed a man in silver armor who bore Lucian's insignia.
Kael stood at the top of his fortress, the wind clawing at his cloak, the stars hanging above like silent witnesses.
He had claimed the throne.
He had slain the hero.
He had broken the kingdom.
And still—
He felt it slipping.
Power was not just conquest. It was belief.
And somewhere out there, belief was rising again.
For the first time since Kael had arrived in this world—
He felt it.
Not fear.
But doubt.
And doubt, he knew, was the first crack in any empire.
Especially his.
To be continued...