Briar's Hollow was the kind of town people forgot existed.
It sat between the jagged peaks of the Orrath border and the blackstone walls of Valmyr, too small to matter, too poor to conquer.
Merchants passed through on their way to richer markets, soldiers only came when chasing deserters, and trouble rarely stayed longer than the rain.
Kaelen liked it that way.
He moved through the dim tavern with practiced ease, sliding mugs of cheap ale to tired miners and dust-covered hunters. The scent of roasted boar clung to the air, masking the sharper tang of spilled drink and unwashed bodies. He kept his hood low, his eyes down, the way he had for the past two years.
If the customers noticed the faint flicker of shadows following him, they never said a word.
It was nearing closing when the door slammed open.
Cold air swept in, carrying with it the smell of wet earth and… blood. Kaelen's gaze snapped up. A man staggered inside, armor dented and blackened, his dark braid matted with sweat and dirt.
Every step he took left a droplet of crimson on the wooden floor.
Kaelen noticed. He always noticed.
The tavern fell silent. Conversation died, replaced by the creak of floorboards under the man's boots. His eyes—wild, fever-bright—scanned the room until they locked on Kaelen.
He reached into his belt and pulled out a tightly rolled parchment bound with a silver clasp. His hand shook as he thrust it forward.
"The Crown…" His voice was little more than a rasp, like dry leaves scraping across stone. "They… know."
Before Kaelen could speak, the man collapsed, blood spreading across the floor in a dark, sticky halo.
The parchment rolled from his grip, bumping against Kaelen's boot.
A sharp voice split the air.
"Valmyr soldiers — tear this place apart!"
The tavern erupted into chaos. Shouts, overturned tables, the crash of mugs hitting the floor. Boots pounded against the boards as half a dozen armored men shoved through the doorway, their black-and-red cloaks snapping in the wind. The leader's eyes swept the room like a blade.
Kaelen's fingers brushed the scroll.
He didn't think. He moved.
In one motion, he snatched it up, spun toward the back door, and bolted.
"After him!" the captain roared.
The night air was sharp in Kaelen's lungs as he sprinted through the narrow back alley. The soldiers' armor clanged behind him, their shouts growing louder. A shadow to his left shifted—he reached out with the smallest whisper of magic, and darkness thickened around him, wrapping him in its cold embrace.
The world dimmed, his body seeming to melt into the walls.
But the Valmyr soldiers were relentless. One caught sight of him, shouting, "He's here!"
Steel hissed from its sheath.
Kaelen ducked under a low archway, the alley spitting him out onto the rain-slick main road. Ahead, the old market square loomed, its stalls abandoned for the night. He wove between them, boots splashing through puddles, heart hammering.
A crossbow bolt whistled past his ear.
Another slammed into a barrel beside him, splitting wood.
Kaelen cursed under his breath and cut sharply toward the stables. Horses whinnied in protest as he shoved the door open, the scent of hay and manure thick in the air.
He didn't have a mount. But he didn't need one.
Shadows pooled beneath the stalls, stretching unnaturally toward him. Kaelen stepped into them, letting the darkness swallow him whole—
—just as the stable doors burst open behind him.
"Surround the building!" a soldier barked.
Kaelen slipped out the far side, reemerging in the quiet street beyond. The scroll was still clenched in his fist, its silver clasp faintly warm against his palm.
What in the gods' names was The Crown?
And why did it feel like the clasp was… pulsing?
He looked down. The metal shimmered, a faint sigil burning itself into the skin of his hand. The mark faded after a moment, but the heat lingered.
Somewhere behind him, the soldiers' voices grew fainter. He'd bought himself a few minutes, nothing more.
Kaelen tucked the scroll inside his cloak and started toward the narrow path that led out of Briar's Hollow. The town's lanterns glowed dimly through the mist, like watchful eyes.
He didn't know it yet, but this night would shatter the quiet life he'd built.
And the name Kaelen Dravaris—the name he'd buried—was about to rise again.