Queen Maravelle stood by the arched window, draped in moonlight, watching the dark sky ripple with tension. She'd felt the tremor in the wards herself, faint, but undeniable. Something had breached the boundaries of the castle.
The chamberlain entered quietly, bowing low.
"Well?" she asked without turning.
"There was... an incident, Your highness. During the disturbance at the outer perimeter."
She turned then, sharply. "What kind of incident?"
The chamberlain's voice lowered. "It involved Lady Lara. A guard told me she collapsed during the flare."
Maravelle's eyes narrowed. "And Thornak?"
"Gone. He left with her."
The queen's fingers tightened around the edge of her cloak. "Something happened to that girl, and no one is telling me what. Find out."
The chamberlain bowed again, slower this time. "As you command, my Queen."
Maravelle turned back to the window, her reflection flickering in the glass. What are you hiding from me, Thornak?
....
Mira crouched beside Liam, straightening the collar of his tunic with practiced fingers. The boy yawned, rubbing sleep from his eyes as she combed through his unruly hair.
"There," she smiled, tucking the last strand behind his ear. "Handsome enough to charm the palace guards, I'd say."
Liam gave a half-hearted grin. "Is Lara coming for breakfast today?"
Mira hesitated, her hands stilling. "She had to go somewhere... with the King. Important grown-up things." Her voice stayed light, but Liam caught the sadness she tried to hide.
"Is she okay?" he asked, eyes suddenly wary.
"Of course." Mira placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.
Before he could ask more, footsteps echoed down the corridor.
Corin appeared in the doorway, grinning like a mischief-bound fox. "There you are! Come on, we're going on an adventure!"
"Where?" Liam asked, brightening instantly.
Corin only winked. "What's the fun in telling you? Hurry before someone notices."
Liam looked to Mira, half asking, half pleading.
She sighed but nodded. "Just be back before midday meal. And no climbing rooftops this time."
"No promises!" Corin called as he dragged Liam off, their laughter echoing down the hall.
Mira watched them go, fingers tightening on the edge of the doorway. "Stay close, little one," she murmured. "There's darkness in the wind today."
Corin led Liam through the winding palace corridors, the boy's shoes pattering softly against marble. "Come on, slowpoke," Corin whispered, glancing around with exaggerated caution. "This is a real adventure."
"Where are we going?" Liam asked, eyes wide with excitement and a flicker of doubt.
"You'll see," Corin said with a grin. "Secret passageways. Hidden rooms. Maybe even a ghost."
Liam stopped. "A ghost?"
Corin snorted. "Not a scary one. Just an old story. My uncle says the royal wing used to have tunnels beneath it. We're going to find one."
He tugged Liam along by the wrist, past guards who didn't question the nephew of Queen Maravelle. As they turned into an older, less-used corridor, dust tickled their noses and the air grew cooler. Liam clutched Corin's hand a little tighter.
....
The king's office was thick with tension, lit only by the flickering torches that lined the stone walls. Maps were unfurled across the central table, marked with hastily drawn lines and blood red tokens indicating the rogue assault.
Dain braced his hands on the table, his face grim. Ruvan leaned against a column, silent and sharp eyed, while Commander Halrik traced the path of the incursion on the map. Kael stood nearby, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
"If we hadn't deployed the eastern patrol in time, they would have broken through," Halrik muttered. "That gate wasn't built for a frontal attack."
"They weren't trying to breach it," Dain said flatly. "They wanted to distract us, draw our attention and weaken another point in the perimeter. This was coordinated."
Kael scoffed. "Rogues don't coordinate. Not unless something or someone is controlling them."
"They came too close to Vargorath," Ruvan added. "Too close for it to be chance. This wasn't some hungry pack chasing scent. They knew where they were going."
Dain exhaled. "And if we hadn't responded swiftly, we'd be patching bodies from the castle gates. We can't rely on reaction anymore. We need to get ahead of this."
There was silence.
Kael broke it. "Where is the king?"
"He had something urgent to do. He left me in charge," Dain replied.
"And Lara?" Kael asked, voice quieter now.
"She's with him," Dain said, gaze hard. "And no one else needs to know more than that."
Kael nodded once. Ruvan's jaw flexed.
"Until the king returns, we hold the line. Double the perimeter watch. Send a message to the Temple, have the Silver Seers reinforce the outer wards and Prince Aedric sets off to Emberhall tomorrow, King's orders."
"And the council?" Ruvan asked.
Dain's jaw tightened. "We tell them what they need to hear. That the threat was repelled and that the king is expected shortly."
The room shifted with resolve.
"Then we prepare," Dain said, eyes cold. "Because this was only the beginning."
....
The gates of Emberhall opened with the groan of old iron, and Aedric Stormbite rode through them cloaked in silence. Emberhall, Border Stronghold of the North Lycan Kingdom was both magnificent as is wealthy. His armor bore no crest save the faint silver edge on his bracers—a nod to diplomacy, not allegiance. He flew no banner but his name.
And here, his name was enough to raise eyebrows.
Aedric's mother had been born here. A daughter of Emberhall, sister to the Northern King. She had married into Vargorath for power, for alliance. And she had returned only once, during the fall of the Moonguard.
The betrayal of that day had carved scars across kingdoms.
The current King of the North, stern and weathered, welcomed Aedric with politeness cold enough to frost steel. They shared blood, but not warmth.
"Cousin," the King had said with the smile of a man holding a blade behind his back. "May old grievances sleep, if not die."
Grievances do not die, Aedric thought. They wait in silence. They whisper through bone and blood.
That night, at the ceremonial feast, the high table was a cage of civility.
The northern nobles raised their cups and offered toasts laden with subtle venom.
Politeness never faltered. But behind every smile was the memory of the Moonguard massacre, the silent accusation: The Stormbites turned their backs.
Aedric drank but said little. His fists curled beneath the table, hidden beneath the weight of silk and legacy.
After the feast, he was sent to his chambers. A hearth crackled in the darkness, painting golden light across the stone walls.
He sat, breath heavy, cloak folded across his lap. The fire snapped.
It moved.
Not with the rhythm of wind or breath, but like a creature, inhaling. The flames rose, curved like claws and suddenly the hearth seemed far too deep, as if its heart opened to another world.
He couldn't look away.
From within the hearth, the fire flickered, not wildly, but with intent. The shadows lengthened. The warmth drained from the room.
And then the flames parted like curtains.
A vision took shape. Not smoke. Not dream.
A clearing beneath moonlight.
Aedric stood there, his expression softer than the mirror had ever shown. Beside him, Lara, radiant. She was laughing.
And between them, a boy. Messy-haired, stubborn grin. His small hand clutched Aedric's. His other tugged on Lara's sleeve.
Liam.
But then he looked closer.
The boy's laugh, carefree, full of life rang out across the phantom memory. His head tilted in the same stubborn way Aedric had seen in polished steel reflections all his life. And his eyes...
Aedric's breath caught.
Those were his eyes. That storm-grey hue that ran true through the Stormbite line, sharp as ice and just as cold when narrowed. He'd seen it in old portraits. In his own mirror. In his mother's weary stare.
Why had he never noticed?
A gust of heat snapped the image away. The flames devoured it, turning it to ash in an instant.
And just before the fire stilled, something ancient stirred behind the veil.
A voice, not cruel but cold:
Val'Razen
The name struck like thunder beneath his ribs. Aedric surged to his feet, heart racing. The fire snapped once, then calmed.
No sign of what he'd seen.
Only his breath, heavy and his chest, burning.
He tore open his shirt, pressing a palm to the ache above his heart. The skin there pulsed red, as if a brand had been seared into him. The shape was jagged some kind of crest but it faded before he could trace it. Did he imagine it?
He sank back into the chair, shaken. Staring into the now-quiet fire.
Lara and the boy? Why had he seen them? Infact he didn't even like them.
He pressed a hand to his chest, as though he could still feel the ghost of the boy's fingers wrapped around his own. His heart thundered like hooves on stone.
This wasn't prophecy. It couldn't be.
And yet… the way Liam looked at him. The quiet defiance. The wit. The eyes.
No. No, no. It was coincidence. Trickery. Emberhall was old, soaked in blood and whispers. And he was tired. He turned from the fire and poured himself a goblet of mead with a shaking hand. Drank it in one swallow, then lay down on the bed.
Dawn clawed its way through Emberhall with pale, wolf-grey light.
Aedric dressed in silence, the tailored black of Stormbite diplomacy sliding over his shoulders like a shroud. Silver trim at his cuffs. The name echoed again in the back of his skull, darker now, more insistent.
Val'Razen.
He looked once at the hearth, now cold, quiet. No faces in the flame. No voice in the smoke. Yet he could still feel the boy's fingers in his palm, like frostbitten memory.
It had to mean nothing.
He told himself that again as he crossed the courtyard.
The great hall of Emberhall was carved from the bones of mountain and war. Pillars twisted with fang and iron. Banners that bore wolves with eyes of steel. And at the end of it, seated on a throne that had never known comfort, waited King Maelor.