Caius stared at the silver pendant in his palm, the royal crest of Evernight glinting under the dim lantern light. The metal felt cold against his skin, but the weight of it was far heavier than its size suggested.
It wasn't just a trinket. It was a symbol.
A symbol of a kingdom in ruins. Of a lineage he had tried to forget. Of a duty he never wanted.
Behind him, Elias stood silently, waiting. The older man had fought beside his father, had seen the fall of Evernight firsthand. He had carried the burden of survival all these years, just as Caius had. But there was a difference between them.
Elias had chosen to keep fighting.
Caius had spent his life running.
He clenched the pendant tighter. "Why did you keep this?"
Elias exhaled slowly. "Because I knew one day, you'd come back."
Caius let out a bitter laugh. "I didn't come back. I got dragged into this."
Elias met his gaze. "Then leave."
Caius blinked. "What?"
Elias stepped forward, his eyes like steel. "Walk away. No one's forcing you to stay here. No one's forcing you to take up your father's fight." He crossed his arms. "But if you do stay, then stop pretending you don't belong here. Stop acting like you have nothing to fight for."
Caius felt something sharp twist in his chest.
He wanted to deny it—to say he didn't care about the kingdom, about his bloodline, about the people who looked at him with hope and expectation.
But the truth was…
He did care.
He cared because he had seen what the Hollow Legion had done.
He had seen the people they enslaved. The cities they burned. The world they wanted to create—one without free will, without a future.
And he had seen the visions.
The battlefield. The fallen kingdom. The shadow looming over it all.
A fate he refused to let happen.
Caius took a breath and met Elias's gaze.
"I'm not my father," he said. "And I don't want a crown." His grip on the pendant tightened. "But I won't let the Hollow Legion win."
Elias studied him for a long moment. Then, slowly, he nodded. "Then it's time you learned what it truly means to fight."
The Trial of Kings
The training chamber was emptier than usual. Only Garran and Selene remained, standing off to the side as Elias led Caius to the center. The air was thick with expectation.
Caius glanced at Selene. She looked unimpressed, arms crossed, her piercing blue eyes watching him like a hawk.
"This should be good," she muttered.
Garran ignored her. "We're moving beyond simple combat drills today." He stepped forward, drawing a real sword this time—steel, not wood. "You've proven you can survive. Now we see if you can win."
Caius stiffened. "And if I lose?"
Elias's expression darkened. "Then you won't survive what's coming."
Caius swallowed hard. No pressure.
Garran took his stance, blade steady in his hands. "The Hollow Legion doesn't fight with mercy. If you hesitate, you die." His voice was cold, matter-of-fact. "Use everything you have. Your instincts. Your training."
Elias's gaze was heavier. "Your power."
Caius clenched his fists. He had barely begun to understand his abilities, let alone control them. Every time he had used them, it had been reactionary—an instinct, a desperate attempt to survive.
Now, they wanted him to use it with intent.
He took a steady breath and drew his own sword. It wasn't as refined as Garran's, but it was his—a weapon given to him when he had first joined the resistance.
It felt heavier than usual.
Garran didn't give him time to think.
He struck.
Caius barely blocked in time, his arms shaking under the force of the blow. Garran was relentless, his attacks precise and unyielding. Caius dodged, parried, but he was always a step behind.
He needed more.
He needed time.
A sharp flash of steel—a downward slash—
Caius saw it before it happened.
A second before impact, the world blurred. The moment reversed—just a fraction, just enough for Caius to adjust.
This time, when Garran's blade came down, Caius had already moved.
Steel met empty air.
Garran's eyes flickered with understanding. "Good."
But he didn't stop.
His attacks came faster, more unpredictable. Caius's mind struggled to keep up, his visions flashing too quickly, his body unable to process which future was real.
Then—a mistake.
A misstep. A moment too slow.
The tip of Garran's blade cut across his arm—not deep, but enough to draw blood.
Pain jolted through Caius's body. His mind screamed.
And something snapped.
Time fractured.
The wound on his arm disappeared. Garran's blade reversed its motion, returning to where it had been a few seconds ago. The air hummed with an unnatural energy.
Caius stumbled back, his head pounding.
Selene swore under her breath. "He did it again."
Elias's gaze was sharp. "And it's getting stronger."
Caius gasped for breath, his body trembling. The rewind had lasted longer this time. More than a few seconds.
He could feel it now—the strain of it. Like stretching a rubber band too far, like holding back a tidal wave with his bare hands.
How far could he go before it snapped completely?
Garran lowered his sword. "You're improving," he admitted. "But you still hesitate."
Caius swallowed hard. He wasn't hesitating because he was afraid to fight.
He was hesitating because he was afraid of what his power could do.
Elias stepped forward. "You're getting stronger. But strength without control is a threat to everyone—including yourself." His expression darkened. "If you don't master this power, it will destroy you."
Caius exhaled. He already knew that. He had felt it—the pull of time itself, the whisper of something far greater than himself.
And deep down, he feared that if he kept going, if he kept pushing this power…
One day, he might not be able to come back.
Selene finally spoke up. "So what's the plan?"
Elias glanced at her, then back at Caius. "We train harder. We push further." He met Caius's gaze. "And we find out just how deep your power goes."
Caius shivered. Because he already knew the answer.
Too deep.