They ran.Lex's lungs burned. His legs ached. The forest blurred past—branches that slapped his face, roots that tried to trip him, darkness that swallowed everything. Dorian ran beside him, his earlier jokes forgotten, his face pale in the dying light. Cedric led the way, his armor clanking with every stride, slowing them down but refusing to fall behind.Behind them, the sounds of the undead army faded. That was worse than hearing them. At least when you heard them, you knew where they were. Silence meant they were moving faster than anything that dead should move.They burst from the tree line to find chaos.The edge of Ironstead had become a battlefield. Barricades made from wagons and furniture blocked the main road, but they were already buckling under the weight of the undead pressed against them. Hunters fought from behind the barriers, their swords and axes rising and falling in desperate rhythm. Town guards who had never seen real combat stood shoulder to shoulder with veter

Dawn broke over Ironstead like a hesitant visitor, unsure if it was welcome.The light crept across the battlefield, touching the frozen statues that still stood where Lex had left them. In the morning sun, they looked almost beautiful, crystal soldiers frozen in eternal battle, their faces locked in silent screams, their armor glittering like diamonds. But as the warmth spread, they began to crack. Hairline fractures spread across their surfaces, growing, deepening, until with soft, almost musical sounds, they crumbled to dust.By the time the townsfolk emerged to survey the damage, there was nothing left but grey ash and empty armor.Lex sat on the inn's roof, watching it happen.He had been there since before dawn, unable to sleep, the grey warrior's words looping through his head like a song stuck on repeat. Two souls that don't belong. The heavens don't like competition. He had killed Kaelthas. He had closed a portal. He had saved a town. And now someone—something—was telling him

The room the king had given Lex was too nice for him. That was his first thought when Cedric led him through the palace corridors, past guards who pretended not to stare, to a door that opened into a chamber with actual windows. Actual glass windows. A bed with sheets that didn't itch. A desk with paper and ink. A fireplace that was already lit, casting warm shadows across the stone floor. Lex saw a glimpse of his past life."You need anything else?" Cedric asked from the doorway.Lex shook his head. "This is... fine."Cedric smiled tiredly. "Try to sleep. The king will want to talk again tomorrow. All of us."He left. Lex stood in the middle of the room, looking at his reflection in the dark window glass. He looked tired. Older than he had when he arrived in this world. There were lines around his eyes that hadn't been there before.He sat on the edge of the bed, not sure what to do with himself. The silence was strange. No Borin snoring in the next room. No hunters arguing downstair

Lex knelt beside the old man's chair, the fire casting dancing shadows across both their faces. Milo stood by the door, uncertain whether to stay or leave. The kettle hissed softly on the hearth, its steam curling toward the ceiling like ghosts escaping a grave.For a long moment, no one spoke. Old Man Tam stared at the flames, his cloudy eyes reflecting the orange light. His lips moved, but no sound came out—the same endless muttering, the same fragments of prophecy that had filled the dungeon cell where Lex first met him."Tam," Lex said quietly. "Where is the book? The Book of Ages. Where is it hidden?"The old man didn't respond. His hands twisted in the blanket. His head tilted, bird-like, as if listening to something no one else could hear."The dark tide rises," he whispered. "They will return. We must prepare. We must—""Tam." Lex reached out and touched his hand. "Look at me."Slowly, painfully, the old man's eyes focused. The cloudiness didn't clear completely, but something

Lex didn't run.That was his first thought as he left the bathroom—don't run. Running meant panic. Panic meant he wasn't in control. And if he wasn't in control, no one would believe him. He had learned that lesson a long time ago, in boardrooms filled with men who smiled while they stole from him.So he walked.He walked through the corridors of the palace, past guards who nodded at him, past servants who stepped aside with curious glances, past tapestries depicting battles he didn't understand. His heart was pounding against his ribs. His hands were steady. His mind was racing.The great hall doors were still open. He could hear voices inside—the king, the advisors, the knights. Prince Aldric's smooth laugh echoed off the stone walls, bouncing between the pillars like a stone skipped across water.Lex stepped inside.Every head turned toward him. Cedric's hand went to his sword, a reflex, not a threat, but his knuckles were white on the hilt. The advisors leaned away from him, as if