Chapter Thirty: Ghosts of Command
Perspective: Kael
The wind was gentle, brushing against Kael's bruised cheek like a whisper of the past. His body ached with every step—Alex's magic had scorched not just his skin, but his soul. The path ahead twisted deeper into the dense heart of the Forest of Life, where shadows clung to branches like memories refusing to fade.
Beside him, Lira walked in silence, watching him with quiet worry. She'd tended his wounds after the battle. She hadn't said it, but Kael saw it in her eyes: she had feared he wouldn't wake.
"Green Wolf," Kael muttered, breaking the silence. "He knew my parents. He knew Andrew. I need to know what he knows."
Lira nodded. "And you will. But you also need to stop running headfirst into death."
Kael gave a small smirk, though it barely held on his tired face.
After a day's journey through monster-riddled paths and beneath trees older than memory, the fortress emerged—woven into the very bones of the forest, stone merging with root and bark. It was alive, in its own way, and guarded by creatures shaped of nature and steel.
Green Wolf awaited them at the gates, arms folded over his green-plated chest, his wolf-pelt cloak fluttering in the breeze.
"Come in," he said. "You seek truth. I'll give you what I can."
Perspective shift: Andrew
The moon was a silver coin hanging low in the sky over the edge of Alex's war camp. Laughter and loud music rose from the central pavilion—Alex's usual entertainment. Wine flowed. Enchantresses, dancers, women of all kinds surrounded the self-declared explosive ruler.
He lounged on a velvet chair, shirt open, goblet in hand—his face flushed from drink and ego.
Until—
The flames of the torches flickered. Died.
A cold swept the camp like a breath from the grave.
From the shadows behind Alex's throne… a shape formed. Cloaked. Silent. Watching.
"You've surrounded yourself with distractions, Alex."
The voice was thunder wrapped in velvet. Alex stood suddenly, goblet slipping from his hand and shattering against the stone.
"N-no. No… you're… You're dead!"
Andrew stepped into the torchlight, his figure barely human anymore—more shadow than flesh, an aura of ageless power trailing behind him like a cloak made of storms.
"Was that what you hoped? That I was gone? Forgotten?" he asked softly.
Alex stumbled backward, motioning for his guards—none came. Everyone was frozen in place, like time had stopped the moment Andrew arrived.
Andrew's eyes narrowed, gold and fire.
"Tell me, Alex… what were my orders?"
Alex's mouth went dry. "To… to disappear. To hide until you returned."
Andrew took a step closer.
"And what did you do instead?"
Alex fell to one knee, trembling. "I-I thought you were gone. That Andreas had finally…"
Andrew raised a hand and silence fell.
"You almost killed Kael. My sister's son. My blood." His voice dropped to a whisper of pure wrath. "Do you know what that means?"
"I-I was blinded by—"
"You were blinded by arrogance," Andrew growled. "And for that, you will be punished."
Alex looked up, horror in his eyes.
"What… what will you do to me?"
Andrew leaned in close, his shadow swallowing Alex's flame.
"You will live. And you will carry my mark. A reminder that no one—not even family—defies my will and escapes consequence."
With a gesture, a black brand of fire carved itself into Alex's chest—a wolf biting a flame, the mark of shame and servitude.
"Go back to your kingdom. Rule if you must. But know this…" Andrew's voice now echoed like thunder in a cavern.
"You are no longer your own man."
And like mist before dawn, Andrew vanished.
Alex collapsed, breath ragged, hand over his heart—his chest burned with the brand, and the truth.
Andrew had returned. And the world would never be the same.