The capital rose like a dream carved from ivory and smoke.
Kaelen stood on the cliff's edge, breath fogging in the morning light.
Below him, Caer Lorion stretched to the horizon—spires and domes wrapped in dawnlight, copper rooftops glittering with frost, roads winding like rivers through a city too vast to grasp.
It was breathtaking.
And terrifying.
"Impressive, isn't it?"Selene's voice came soft beside him. "All that beauty. All that rot underneath."
Kaelen didn't reply. His thoughts were already a storm.
This was it. The world he was never meant to enter. The city that built legends on broken bones and sealed its secrets beneath marble floors.
And now… it would swallow him whole.
They descended soon after, weaving down narrow cliff paths as the city swelled before them. Cobblestones replaced stone, and scents hit all at once—bread, iron, horses, magic.
Shouting vendors.
Foreign tongues.
Guards in red livery, glaives etched with emberrunes.
Kaelen pulled his hood tighter. Even beneath layers, the Veritas mark pulsed faintly beneath his bandage.
"They'll be looking for you," Selene said quietly. "Tower agents. Watchers. They won't know your face… yet. But that mark—"
"It's covered."
"Not enough."
He said nothing.
But already, he could feel eyes brushing past him. Measuring. Weighing.
They didn't belong here.
The crowds thickened the closer they drew to the market's heart.
Selene looked sharp in her worn cloak. But compared to jewel-fingered merchants and sigil-wrapped guilders, they were shadows. Out of place.
"Where are we going?" Kaelen asked, voice low.
"To someone who owes me."
"Thought you didn't trust anyone."
"I don't. But trust and debt? Not the same."
They ducked into a side alley, slipping past rune-tagged doorways and whispering ward-lines.
Selene stopped before a door with no name.
Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock… pause. Knock.
A sliding panel opened. Sharp blue eyes. A silver beard.
"Selene."
"Old man."
"You're not dead. Damn. I owe Tarlien five crowns."
"And you owe me a name, a room, and a registry mark."
The door opened.
Inside smelled like ink, dust, and salt iron. Scrolls, ledgers, loose sigil paper lined every shelf. The man behind the desk moved like someone who knew too many secrets and trusted no locks.
"I run a paperhouse. Registry, records… forgery, if you're quiet." He nodded toward Kaelen. "This boy's with you?"
"Cousin," Selene said smoothly. "Ren Taleth."
Kaelen blinked.
No hesitation. No glance his way.
Just the lie.
"Unregistered?"
"Ember-tier. Barely sparked."
The old man raised a brow, then began writing. Glyphs bloomed on the parchment—identity, tier, affiliation. One mark shimmered darkly before fading.
"Fake. But clean. Good enough to get into the outer Academy if he keeps his head low. Just… don't let the Inkveil scan too deep."
"And if the Tower comes knocking—"
"I'll be gone before they reach the door," Kaelen said.
The man looked him over, then grunted.
"You've got backbone. You'll need it."
Selene paid in coin… and three drops of blood into a ward jar.
Old debts. Old magic.
Outside, the city felt even heavier.
Not because of guards or banners.
But because of what hid behind people's eyes. Purpose without joy. Smiles with no warmth. A boy sold glowing fire-flowers to a noblewoman—and never once looked happy.
"You see it?" Selene murmured.
"See what?"
"This city's real face. Everyone smiles. But they're all afraid."
He glanced at his hidden mark.
"And we're supposed to blend in."
"You will. Eventually."
That night, they took a room in a low inn near the Inner District walls.
One bed.
Two blankets.
Cracked window seal.
Selene sat at the edge, oiling her blade. Kaelen leaned against the wall, staring at wooden beams above them.
"You didn't have to lie for me," he said.
She didn't answer.
Just the sound of cloth brushing steel.
Finally—
"I didn't do it for you. I did it because the Tower's afraid of you. I don't know why. But I've learned not to stand on the losing side of prophecy."
"So I'm a weapon?"
"No." She paused. "You're a storm. And I'd rather walk beside one than be struck by it."
The room went still.
Outside, a drunk sang about a queen who turned into a crow.
"Selene…"
"What?"
"Why did you really bring me here?"
She paused.
Then—
"Because I remember what it's like to be hunted."
"And you didn't have anyone?"
"I had someone," she said. "And I lost him."
She turned to him—and for once, her expression wasn't guarded.
Just tired.
Kaelen moved closer. Sat beside her.
Their shoulders brushed.
No words.
Just silence.
Held.
🌀 Later That Night
Kaelen dreamed.
But this time, the sky wasn't dark.
It was silver.
He stood beneath a tower made of glass and bone. Wind whispered languages he'd never heard—except one word:
Veritas.
Seraphine stood at the top.
Her hair, moonlight.
Her eyes… wrong.
"You are too close to the truth," she whispered.
Kaelen stepped forward.
The ground crumbled.
He fell—into endless sky.
She was falling too.
Their hands reached.
And this time—
He reached back.