The morning came cloaked in fog.
Kael walked behind Lysandra as they cut through narrow alleys and deserted lanes, the world still half-asleep. The city of Ironhold looked softer in the mist, as if hiding its cruelty behind a gray veil. But Kael knew better. This place had fangs—and claws.
They said nothing as they walked. They didn't need to.
Every step they took was pulling Kael closer to the truth… or to something far more dangerous.
After nearly an hour of weaving through forgotten roads and scaling a broken stairway carved into the side of a crumbling bell tower, Lysandra stopped before a rusted iron door embedded in the side of a hill.
"This is it," she said, eyes scanning the fog. "Once we go in, don't speak unless he speaks to you first."
Kael tilted his head. "Who is he?"
Lysandra didn't answer. She knocked once. Then again, slower. Then once more, sharply.
A long pause.
Then something on the other side scraped—metal on metal. The door groaned open.
The man who stood there was stooped, pale, and dressed in robes that looked like they'd been sewn from the skin of dead animals. His face was lined with deep cracks, like dried earth. His eyes were a milky gray, but they moved—alert, calculating.
"Lysandra," he said in a voice like dry paper. "You bring me a stranger."
"He's... different," she replied carefully. "I thought you'd want to see."
The man sniffed once, then stepped aside. "Enter."
Kael followed Lysandra in.
The walls inside the hill were lined with bones—human, animal, and things neither could name. Some had symbols carved into them. Others glowed faintly, like embers that never died. Strange plants hung upside down from the ceiling, dripping with dew that smelled of copper and herbs.
"This is Kael," Lysandra said.
The Bonekeeper tilted his head. "Not his real name."
"No," Kael said softly. "But it's the name I was given... this time."
The Bonekeeper's blind eyes turned to him. "You are not born of this age. Your soul is... split. Burned. Heavy with grief. Yes. I see it."
Kael stepped closer. "You know what I am?"
"I know what you were," the Bonekeeper rasped. "You were fire and steel. A storm wearing skin. You were Ardaeron."
Kael froze.
Lysandra's eyes widened.
"How do you—"
"I hear what bones remember," the old man said. "And yours... scream."
Kael clenched his jaw. "Then you know why I'm here."
The Bonekeeper turned and reached into a blackened urn. He pulled out something wrapped in crimson cloth and handed it to Kael.
"This found its way to me three moons ago. It waited."
Kael unwrapped it carefully.
Inside was a silver pendant—simple in design, but unmistakable. It bore the crest of Verdellia's royal line: a phoenix rising from a shattered crown.
His hand shook.
"This belonged to her," he whispered.
"Elira," the Bonekeeper confirmed. "Your queen."
Kael looked up, eyes burning with a thousand questions. "Where is she?"
The Bonekeeper smiled—an empty, bitter thing.
"She lives. But she is not waiting. She is fighting. Far beyond these walls, deep in the lands where the stars have no names."
Kael's heart pounded. "Then I have to go to her."
"You will," the Bonekeeper said. "But not yet. You are not whole. You are not ready."
"Then help me," Kael growled. "Tell me what I need to do."
The Bonekeeper stepped back and lifted a bone wand high above his head. The candles in the chamber flared, shadows rippling across the walls.
"Then listen closely, Kael of the past. Kael of flame and blood. For to find your queen… to reclaim your crown… you must face what was buried. You must walk the path of the Seven Trials of Rebirth."
Kael's jaw clenched. "And if I fail?"
The Bonekeeper's smile faded.
"Then your soul will be lost forever. And so will she."