The campfire crackled quietly, casting long, flickering shadows against the royal tent. The battle had ended, the sky painted in hues of crimson and ash. Yet for Kael, the war was not over.
Inside the command tent, Lyra lay quietly on a padded cot, her chest bandaged, skin pale. Despite her pain, her eyes stayed locked on the one figure who sat beside her—her brother, the Dread King, still clad in armor dark as obsidian and stained with blood not his own.
Kael exhaled slowly, brushing a lock of her silver hair from her face. "You know," he murmured, "that whole grand act of sacrifice might've been a little more impressive if I didn't have a barrier spell wrapped around me."
Lyra blinked. "You… what?"
Kael tilted his head with a mock shrug. "Auto-defensive magic. I wasn't in any danger."
She stared at him, face twisting between disbelief and anger.
"You're saying I nearly got impaled—for nothing?!"
"Exactly," Kael said with a teasing smirk. "You almost died trying to save someone who didn't need saving. You're reckless, emotional… and way too stubborn to be royalty."
Lyra sat up, wincing, and grabbed a pillow to throw at him. "You absolute ass!"
He caught the pillow mid-air with one hand, still smiling. "There she is."
But his expression softened quickly. "You really scared me, Lyra."
She looked down. "You scared me first."
Silence stretched between them for a moment—quiet, but not cold.
Kael leaned forward slightly. "Why would you do that, Lyra? Throw yourself in front of him like that?"
"Because…" she whispered. "Because you were going to leave him alive. And I knew what he would do. I couldn't lose you, not after just finding you."
Kael's eyes darkened, the firelight reflecting in their gold.
"I didn't ask to be found," he said quietly. "But… I'm glad you did."
Outside the tent, a shadow moved.
Hidden among the tall grass and the whistling winds, one of the Twelve Thorns stood with sharp ears and sharper intent. His eyes narrowed, taking in every word, every pause. He said nothing—but the faint smirk on his lips revealed more than silence ever could.
Inside, Kael stood and moved to the entrance of the tent. He didn't turn back when he spoke again.
"You did something foolish," he said. "But I'd rather you be foolish and alive than silent in a grave."
Lyra smiled faintly. "And I'd rather you learn to say 'thank you' like a normal person."
Kael let out a soft chuckle and shook his head. "Sleep, Lyra. We've got a kingdom to scare in the morning.
Beyond the tent, the air remained tense as soldiers and commanders settled from the chaos of war. But inside the war pavilion prepared for diplomatic guests, the Heroes of Velharys gathered around a large, rune-carved table, their expressions shadowed by the flickering torchlight.
Seris Vale, the Silver-Blade Hero, leaned back in her seat with arms crossed and an arrogant tilt to her chin. "He didn't even flinch when we arrived. Didn't acknowledge our titles. That's the kind of pride that topples nations."
Dain Ironsoul, the Shield of Velharys, grunted. "It's not pride. It's power. And control. I've seen warlords fake it—but Kael? He owns it."
Aeris Thorne, the Gale Archer, stared out the window. "He walked through blood like it didn't touch him. And that girl—Lyra. The way he looked at her… he's not hollow. He's bleeding inside."
Seris scoffed. "Don't romanticize it. If he steps out of line, we label him a threat. He's still a king with a blade at the world's throat."
Dain raised an eyebrow. "And what do we do, then? Declare war on a man who just brought an empire to its knees with thirteen warriors?"
Seris met his gaze coldly. "If needed, yes."
A chill swept the room—then silence.
Liora Emberveil, the Mystic Flame, spoke softly. "I saw something... when I met his gaze. Not just magic—memories. Pain. Echoes of fire, chains, and betrayal. He's no saint… but he's not a villain either."
Seris stood, brushing off her silver armor. "The world doesn't care for grey. It needs order. If Kael refuses to kneel to that order, we'll be forced to become it."
None replied, but tension settled like frost over the table.
Outside, the Dread King's banner swayed in the wind.
And unseen, the darkness beneath all thrones whispered promises meant for broken hearts and betrayed souls.