Caius stared at the kneeling knight, his mind spinning. The title—Your Highness—felt foreign, like a relic from a life he no longer belonged to.
Garran remained motionless, his head bowed in reverence. His scarred hands rested on his knee, worn by years of battle. The silence stretched between them, heavy with things unsaid.
"You're mistaken," Caius finally rasped. "The prince of Evernight died with the kingdom."
Garran lifted his gaze, steel-gray eyes locking onto Caius. "No, he didn't. He's standing before me."
A lump formed in Caius's throat. He wanted to deny it—to turn and run like he had always done—but something in Garran's unwavering stare made him pause.
"Prove it," he said, voice barely above a whisper.
Garran sighed and slowly reached into his cloak. From within, he withdrew a small, ornate locket. He flipped it open and turned it toward Caius.
Inside was a miniature painting—faded but unmistakable. A young boy, dressed in royal blue, a silver crest pinned to his chest. His dark hair was unruly, his expression defiant.
Caius felt his heart clench.
"That was given to me by your mother, Queen Lysara, before the fall," Garran said. His voice, normally rough, softened with something close to sorrow. "She made me swear an oath to protect you, no matter what."
Caius swallowed hard, his fingers twitching at his sides. The memories clawed their way back—his mother's warm embrace, the halls of the palace filled with laughter, the nights spent staring at the city lights beyond the balcony.
Then came the fire, the screams, the blood.
He shut his eyes, as if he could lock the past away.
"I don't need a knight," he muttered. "I don't even know how to be a prince."
Garran pushed himself to his feet. "Then learn."
Caius frowned. "What?"
"If you don't know how to be a prince, then become one. Your people need you." Garran's voice was firm, but not unkind. "Evernight may be in ruins, but there are still those who fight. They need a leader."
Caius let out a hollow laugh. "You think I can lead a rebellion? I can't even keep myself alive."
Garran studied him for a long moment, then simply said, "I saw what you did."
Caius stiffened. "What?"
"I saw how you moved. One moment, you were in the knight's path, and the next, you weren't. That was no trick of the eye."
Caius's stomach twisted. He had hoped it was just his imagination—that the strange occurrences were coincidences, hallucinations brought on by exhaustion.
But Garran had seen it. That meant it was real.
"I don't know how it works," Caius admitted, his voice quieter now. "Sometimes… time just shifts around me. I don't control it. It just happens."
Garran's expression was unreadable. "Then it's time you learned."
Caius let out a bitter sigh, running a hand through his tangled hair. He wanted to refuse. He wanted to walk away and pretend that he was just another nameless survivor. But deep down, he knew he couldn't.
Because no matter how much he tried to bury it, the truth remained—he was the last heir of Evernight. And if there was even the smallest chance that he could fight back, that he could change something…
He had to try.
Finally, he looked up at Garran. "Where do we start?"
A small, satisfied smile tugged at the knight's lips. "First, we get you a proper sword."
Caius exhaled sharply and nodded. For the first time in years, he felt something stir within him.
Hope.
And for the first time since the fall of Evernight, the echoes of the past did not feel like chains.
They felt like a calling.