Night blanketed the kingdom like a velvet shroud, pierced only by the cold glow of scattered lanterns and the distant flicker of a dying moon. Within the capital city of Caer Dannon, the heart of the realm beat slow and steady, unaware of the storm that brewed in its forgotten corners.
Far from the palace walls and marble towers, beyond the gilded districts where nobles drank away their conscience, the lower wards stirred with unrest. The slums buzzed with whispers—about a man once called hero, a blade once feared, a ghost who had returned from the grave.
Kael moved through those shadows now, cloaked in ragged brown, hood drawn low. Lysara walked beside him in silence, her aura unnervingly calm. Behind them, Revik kept pace, eyes sharp, the limp in his step now masked by sheer will. The trio had slipped into the city under forged identities, guided by the growing network of sympathizers Kael had gathered over the past week.
Tonight, their target wasn't a battlefield. It was a message.
They were going to rob the crown.
Not for coin—but for truth.
In the merchant ward, nestled between an apothecary and a wine shop, sat a seemingly insignificant stone building. Weathered, ignored, and patrolled only once every hour, it was the repository for Royal Writs—documents, decrees, trial transcripts. The place where Kael's life had been rewritten in ink and sealed with a traitor's brand.
"I want the trial record," Kael said quietly as they crouched in the alley across the street.
Revik frowned. "We could break into the palace itself easier than this. These buildings are charm-locked. There'll be alarms."
Lysara tilted her head. "Alarms for ordinary thieves. Not for those carrying older keys."
She raised her hand and drew a sigil in the air, crimson energy trailing behind her fingers like a comet's tail. The ward shimmered briefly on the building's face—an arcane lock designed to burn intruders from the inside out. But under her magic, it pulsed... and blinked out.
Kael grunted in approval. "Let's move."
They crossed the street swiftly, slipping inside through the back entrance. The building was dark and quiet, thick with the scent of old parchment and candle wax. Rows upon rows of shelves rose around them, packed with dusty scrolls and bound tomes.
"Split up," Kael ordered. "Look for anything marked under the trial codes. Year 127 of the Flame Concordat. Case number…" He paused, memory flashing like lightning. "147-B. High Treason. The trial of Kael Varin."
Revik peeled off to the left, Lysara to the right. Kael moved forward, fingers brushing worn spines and sealed scrolls. The anger in his gut simmered like embers, quiet but ever-burning.
He found it tucked between two forgotten decrees—an unassuming scroll bound with a red cord and a broken royal seal.
He pulled it free.
And read.
It was worse than he remembered.
The document painted him not as a hero who led the king's armies, but as a madman who had colluded with enemy forces, endangered the realm, and attempted to assassinate the royal family. It referenced fabricated letters, paid witnesses, forged accounts of secret meetings and poison deals. Every lie stacked on another, a careful architecture of ruin.
But one detail stood out.
A name: General Halreth, the man assigned to oversee the trial.
Kael's stomach turned.
Halreth had served under him during the Wars of the Western Reaches. The man had once sworn to follow Kael into death. Yet here, his signature gleamed beneath the guilty verdict.
"They bought him," Kael muttered. "Or blackmailed him. Either way…"
He rolled the scroll and tucked it under his cloak.
"We move now."
Back in the shadows of the alley, Kael handed the scroll to Revik.
"Distribute it. Copies. Everywhere. Use our people in the smithy quarter and the old refugee barracks. By dawn, I want the truth nailed to every post in Caer Dannon."
Revik's eyes gleamed. "You think this'll be enough?"
"It's not about being enough," Kael said. "It's about reminding them that the cracks are spreading."
Revik nodded and vanished into the dark, already calling upon their hidden runners.
Kael and Lysara turned north—toward the noble district.
Their next destination was far more dangerous.
The House of Elen Verris stood like a blade amid velvet. A mansion of marble and gold, guarded not just by steel but by legacy. Elen—once Kael's trusted second-in-command—now sat as Warden of the Royal Vanguard, and had inherited her family's estate after her father's death during the eastern campaigns.
She was also the one who'd driven the final nail into Kael's coffin.
"I need to know what she's planning," Kael said. "The trial scroll said she was involved in a project called Black Gale. Whatever it is, it started weeks before my trial."
Lysara narrowed her eyes. "And if she's there?"
"Then she'll see her ghost."
They climbed the garden wall under moonlight, avoiding the rotating guards and magical surveillance spheres humming faintly overhead. Lysara's presence muted the spells, cloaking them in a silence deeper than nature.
Inside, the halls were quiet, opulent, lined with silken banners and ancestral portraits. Kael moved like a shadow through the corridors, his memory guiding him toward Elen's study. He'd been here before—long ago, when they were allies. When trust had not yet curdled into poison.
The door to her study was locked.
He pressed his hand against it. His power surged, subtle but lethal.
The lock melted.
They slipped inside.
Maps lined the walls—military zones, trade routes, and weather patterns. In the center of the room stood a long oak table littered with scrolls and letters. Kael scanned them quickly.
He found it.
A sealed document, marked with the sigil of the king himself.
Project: Black Gale
Initiated: Flame Concordat 126
Objective: Deployment of weather-bound magic across contested territories.
Commander: Elen Verris
Oversight: Darian Korvane.
Kael's blood went cold.
Weaponizing storms. Using magic to raze entire enemy cities without setting foot on their soil. And they'd framed him, a general known for restraint and honor, so no dissent would remain in the ranks.
"This wasn't about me," Kael whispered. "It was about what I stood in the way of."
He tucked the document away.
Then froze.
Bootsteps.
The door creaked.
Kael vanished into the shadows just as Elen entered the room.
She looked older—harder. Her once-golden hair now streaked with silver, her face carved with stress and sleeplessness. She closed the door behind her and lit a lantern, sighing as she poured a glass of wine.
Kael watched her silently, emotions warring inside him. This woman had fought beside him for years. Bled beside him. Had once sworn to die for him.
Now she served his enemies.
She moved to the desk, rummaging through her reports.
"Looking for this?" Kael said, stepping from the shadows, holding the scroll.
She spun, wine crashing to the floor. Her eyes widened.
"Kael?"
The fear in her voice was real. And that gave him pause.
"You… you're dead. You were—"
"Framed. Betrayed. Cast out."
She backed against the desk, hand inching toward a concealed dagger.
"Try it," he growled, eyes glowing faintly red. "See if your blade is faster than regret."
Her hand stopped.
"You don't understand," she said. "I had no choice."
"There's always a choice."
"I was ordered—"
"You had no orders when you stabbed me in the back. You knew me. You knew me, Elen."
She swallowed, shaking. "Darian came to me. Said you were compromised. That you'd met with the Elarian warlocks. That you planned to rebel."
"And you believed him?"
"I… I wanted to protect the realm."
Kael stepped forward. "Then why are you building storm weapons to wipe cities off the map?"
She froze.
"I know about Black Gale. I know who signed off on it. And I know why I was removed."
Elen's legs gave way. She collapsed into the chair behind her.
"It's gone too far," she whispered. "You don't understand, Kael. Darian… he's not working alone."
Kael's brow furrowed. "Who?"
Elen hesitated.
Then her head jerked violently to the side—eyes rolling back. Blood trickled from her nose. Her body convulsed, then fell still.
Kael was by her side instantly, but he didn't need to check.
She was dead.
Lysara entered a second later, eyes wide.
"What happened?"
"She was silenced," Kael said, standing. "A failsafe. Someone enchanted her to prevent betrayal."
He turned toward the window, fury simmering in his chest.
"They knew this would happen."
As dawn crested over Caer Dannon, its streets were no longer silent.
Scrolls littered the walls. Cries echoed in the markets.
The people were reading the truth.
The fallen champion had returned.
And the crown was bleeding.