Morning came soft and gold, though Kaelen woke with ash in his mouth. The fire had long since died, leaving only gray smudges against the cobblestones where last night’s stage had stood. The air smelled of stale wine and smoke, the scents of celebration fading into the grit of ordinary life.Caldre was never silent for long. Even before the sun climbed high, the city stirred awake with hawkers calling from their stalls, donkeys braying under heavy sacks of grain, the clatter of buckets at the public well.Kaelen stretched, brushing sleep from his eyes. His cloak was still damp with dew, but he grinned as he saw the strongbox tucked beneath Dalia’s bedroll. Heavy. Full of copper and silver from the night’s revelry. Enough to buy bread, ink and maybe a new set of strings for Soen’s battered lute.“Wake up, you sluggards,” Kaelen said, nudging Soen with his boot.The bard groaned and pulled his lute case over his head like a shield. “Five more minutes and a kingdom’s ransom.”“You’ll be

The capital of Eldralith gleamed like a jewel set in iron. From the distant hills it appeared serene, its spires piercing the sky, its river walls glinting in the pale sun. But inside those walls, serenity was a mask, and fear whispered behind every carved column and golden door.The court of King Aldren was in session.The great hall, lined with banners of deep green and silver, should have been a place of pride. Once, Eldralith had been strong, its kings feared and respected across the lowlands. Now the banners hung heavy, like shrouds, and the nobles who filled the chamber argued not with strength, but with desperation.King Aldren sat upon his high seat, robed in emerald trimmed with sable. His crown seemed too heavy for his brow, his hands restless on the carved arms of the throne. He was not old, but weariness had carved deep lines into his face.To his right stood Lord Verric, High Minister, his tongue sharp as the quill he wielded in every council. To his left loomed General C

The dawn broke pale and unkind over the alabaster spires of Ardentis Palace. A city of marble and light, yet beneath its gleam, shadows moved—soft, deliberate, dangerous. From her high chamber, Princess Elara watched them stir like restless ghosts below. Servants carried scrolls, guards changed watch, and the bells tolled the first hour of day.She had never loved the sound of those bells.Each chime reminded her not of devotion or peace, but of restraint—the invisible rhythm that ruled her life, dictating every breath she took. To the people, she was the Silver Heir, the voice of grace and diplomacy. But to the Council of Ardentis, she was a pawn with a pretty face and a dangerous mind.Her hand rested on the cold glass of the window. Beyond the palace walls, smoke still rose from the southern quarter—the remnants of the magician’s rebellion.Kaelen.The name lingered in her thoughts like an ember refusing to die. She had only glimpsed him once, in a council report—a magician accused

The forest was quieter than usual. Too quiet.Kaelen noticed it first in the way the birds stopped singing. The air had gone still, heavy with the kind of silence that precedes storms or slaughter. He crouched by the embers of the night’s dying fire, staring at the pale morning light filtering through the canopy. His companions were still asleep—Dalia curled near the cart, two others keeping restless watch on the road. The forest of Maren Vale had sheltered them for weeks, but now it felt like a mouth closing.He reached into the pocket of his worn coat and drew out the letter.The seal was delicate—a vine coiled around a star. Not royal, but close enough to make his gut tighten when he’d first received it from a trembling courier two nights ago. The man had vanished before Kaelen could ask questions, leaving only the faint smell of rain on parchment.He’d read it once. Then again. Then again until the words had burned themselves into him.> The crown sees you. I see you. And the worl

The world burned slower than Kaelen expected.He had imagined that rebellion would roar — that the first strike would echo like thunder, that the empire would tremble overnight. But revolutions, he was learning, did not blaze; they smoldered. They crawled through whispers, through frightened faces and clenched fists, through the quiet decision of one farmer to hide grain from a tax collector, or one soldier to look away instead of obeying an unjust order.The fire spread, yes — but it spread in embers.Kaelen stood on the ruined balcony of what had once been a merchant’s estate, now claimed by the rebels as their temporary stronghold. Below him, the city of Veyra’s Hollow stretched into mist and ash. Lanterns flickered in the narrow streets, casting fractured light across the stone alleys. From this height, the rebellion seemed almost peaceful — until the wind carried the echo of shouting, the crack of weapons, the hollow ring of metal on stone.He closed his eyes. Another patrol ambu