The King's Guard

Chapter 22

Kael didn’t sleep well.

He drifted between half-states: his eyes shut, his mind alert, and his breath shallow. Every creak of wood or shifting wind across the eaves felt deliberate. The whisper had marked something or opened it.

He had moved slowly towards the door albeit cautiously to get a grasp of what was happening to him at that moment. Where the whisper came from, the memories, everything that followed suit.

But, his curiosity was far from satisfied. He had found nothing.

He hadn’t told anyone. Not Reyna, Kyna, and certainly not Darius. When Jared returned to the room late that night, boots scuffed and gaze unreadable, Kael didn’t ask. The silence between them had become its own kind of code.

At first light, Kael dressed and left before the bell. The halls were still dim. A few early risers muttered to each other in passing, but no one stopped him. He found himself walking without direction, feet drawing him past the archive corridor again.

The sigil-lock was quiet. Dull. The runes etched into its frame gave off no glow, no sense of presence. Just carved stone.

Kael didn’t touch it.

He stood a while, watching the quiet archway like it might suddenly pulse to life. But nothing did. Eventually, he turned away.

Training that day felt longer.

Jared barked, “Circle up. Blades out.”

Kael fell into formation without a word. Flank, again.

“Pair. Rotate after each set.”

The drills snapped forward like clockwork: clean, sharp, merciless. Kael’s boots scuffed the mat. His stance wavered.

“Parry, Kael. Don’t hesitate.”

He adjusted. Too late. The strike tapped his shoulder.

He fumbled a parry, and missed a cue.

“Again.” Jared said, voice flat.

They reset. Kael moved slower than usual. The rhythm slipped.

“Reset.”

Reyna shot him a look across the line: nothing dramatic, just the faint pull of her brows. He nodded back, as if to say I know.

When the session ended, Kael stayed back, asking for a solo routine. The hall cleared slowly, the shuffle of boots and scattered chatter fading down the corridor.

He began the forms again, alone this time. Left, pivot, upward slash. Anchor the heel. Reset. Again.

Halfway through the second set, his breath caught.

Not from exertion, but from that pressure. That familiar wrongness. A kind of fold inside the air, like something trying to stretch in a direction that didn’t exist.

His fingers trembled around the hilt. The blade wavered.

The torchlight near the far wall flickered, then paused as if mid-breath.

Kael dropped the blade. It clattered loud against the mat.

He backed away a step, eyes fixed on the distortion. But it was already gone. The light resumed its normal flicker. The warmth of the room returned.

He sat on the bench, hands flat on his knees, and let the feeling pass.

Later, in the refectory, Kyna slid onto the bench beside him.

“You look like someone stuffed a shadow under your skin,” she said, picking apart her bread.

Kael didn’t answer.

“Sleep trouble?” she asked. Her tone was lighter now. Less pointed.

Kael tore a piece of his own bread and didn’t look at her. “Something like that.”

Kyna shrugged. “Maybe lay off the Rift tea.”

He forced a weak smile. She didn’t press.

Across the hall, Reyna was speaking with one of the senior tacticians near the east windows. She caught his glance but didn’t move toward him. Still, she saw. He knew it.

Darius said nothing in the afternoon strategy session. But he watched.

Kael could feel his glance. A glance that lasted too long when he answered a question. A pause between comments. As though Darius was measuring something behind the words Kael spoke.

The maps, the models, the chalkboard lines—they all blurred by the end of it. Kael left the room without speaking.

That night, he didn’t write.

He sat on the edge of his bed, fingers drumming lightly on the hilt at his hip. Jared was already asleep, or pretending to be. The room was quiet. Still. But the air had that same stretched quality to it.

Kael didn’t open the journal. He didn’t light the candle.

Instead, he reached into the inner seam of his jacket and pulled out the small coin-sized tracker, the same one he’d retrieved at the mission site weeks ago. Its central light still blinked. Slow. Steady.

He turned it over between his fingers.

What was it calling? Or who?

The next morning, during archery drills, Kael’s focus drifted again. His second shot missed the centre by a full hand’s width. The third clipped the edge of the target entirely.

“You’re off,” Reyna said quietly as they retrieved arrows. “More than usual.”

Kael didn’t look at her. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

He didn’t respond.

Reyna didn’t press it then. But she walked beside him back to the hall, silent and steady. The kind of silence that weighed more than speech.

On the third night, it happened again. Not exactly a dream.

He had sat up late, staring at the ceiling beams, mind tracking old patterns. At some point, the silence shifted. A pressure curled behind his eyes. The same pull, the same twist.

The candle at the far desk flickered once, then twice. Then it froze. Flame caught mid-motion, locked in a static curve.

Kael stood slowly. His limbs felt heavier than they should. Time lagged just slightly but enough to notice.

The Temporal Rift stirred. He knew the signs now. He stepped to the window, opened it. Cold air rushed in.

Somewhere across the courtyard, a bell chimed the second hour. The candle resumed burning.

He found Darius the next morning before drills.

The commander was reading from a narrow file, standing near the edge of the practice yard.

“I need to talk,” Kael said, without preamble.

Darius didn’t look up. “Then talk.”

“It’s happening again.”

Darius folded the file shut, finally turning.

“Define it.”

Kael hesitated. “Neither dreams nor visions. It’s not passive. The Rift is responding without my call. It’s not stable.”

“Describe the last occurrence.”

“Last night, time slowed. Flame froze. There was no pulse… just drift.”

Darius nodded once. “Symptoms escalating. You’re suppressing it.”

“I have to,” Kael said. “I can’t control it.”

“Control is an illusion. What you need is grounding.”

“I thought training was grounding.”

Darius stepped closer. “Training is what you do before the storm hits. Not during.”

Kael didn’t answer.

Darius looked at him for a moment longer.

“You’ll report to the lower chamber at dusk. Come alone, and ensure you bring your blade when coming along.”

Kael gave a tight nod. He didn’t ask what the chamber was. He had a feeling he’d find out.

At dusk, the lower chamber smelled of dust and iron. The walls were circular, unadorned. A single torch burned near the far end, casting long shadows along the stone.

Darius waited inside, arms crossed. Kael stepped in. His boots echoed faintly.

Darius gestured to the centre of the room. “Stand there.”

Kael obeyed.

“The Rift isn’t your enemy,” Darius said. “But it will break you if you keep treating it like one.”

Kael said nothing.

“You’re not the first to bear it,” Darius added. “And you won’t be the last. But none of us were given choice.”

He moved toward a lever embedded in the wall and pulled it.

With a grinding noise, the walls shifted slightly. A faint ring of runes ignited around the floor Kael stood on—blue, pale, pulsing.

“Containment field,” Darius explained. “Won’t stop you. But it’ll slow things if they go wrong.”

Kael swallowed. “What am I supposed to do?”

“Nothing. Just be.”

Kael stared at him.

“You came to me,” Darius said. “So let it happen. Whatever it is.”

The hum began again: low and steady. Kael could feel it under his skin, in his throat, behind his eyes.

He let it come. He didn’t resist. The flame bent sideways. The air thickened.

Kael closed his eyes, and let the Rift open. The world buckled.

For a moment, he felt everything. The corridor. The archive. The chamber. The dreams. The voice. Kyna's company. Reyna’s hand on his shoulder. Jared’s stare. Darius’s silence.

Then it snapped shut. Kael staggered. Darius caught him.

“You felt it?” the commander asked.

Kael nodded, breathing hard. “It didn’t pull me this time.”

“No,” Darius said. “You pulled it.”

They stood a while in the quiet. Then Darius added, “You’re not ready, but you’re not lost.”

Kael leaned against the wall, letting the cool stone anchor him.