On the Pilgrim's Path
The night after the battle, the camp was eerily quiet. Tents were patched with torn banners, the scent of smoke still clinging to the soldiers' armor. Every man and woman carried the weight of what they'd seen—their first taste of the shadow's true fury.
Aelion sat apart, staring into the dying embers of the campfire. The whispers still lingered in his head—Your light feeds me. He pressed his hand to his chest, as though he could smother the echo.
Kaelen approached, lowering himself onto the log beside him. His arm was bandaged, blood seeping faintly through the cloth, but his expression held steady.
"You saved them," Kaelen said.
"I nearly doomed them." Aelion's voice was hoarse. "If you hadn't—"
Kaelen cut him off with a sharp look. "I will not hear it. You held the line. You burned away the lieutenant's shadow. Without you, they'd all be ash."
Aelion turned, meeting his gaze. The firelight made Kaelen's eyes glow like molten bronze. For a moment, neither spoke, the silence thrumming with something heavier than words.
Finally, Aelion whispered, "I fear the prophecy more than the enemy. It waits in every shadow, reminding me I may have to sacrifice you… or myself."
Kaelen reached out, his hand brushing Aelion's shoulder—an anchor. "Then let the prophecy wait. We have battles enough in daylight."
The simple certainty of his words was a balm. Aelion exhaled, leaning slightly closer. They did not touch beyond that single steadying hand, but the closeness was its own defiance.
---
In the Capital
Far away, the palace echoed with laughter and music. Nobles feasted under gilded chandeliers, their conversations circling wealth, marriages, and power, while outside the walls the kingdom bled.
Varros sat at the king's right hand, his smile gracious, his words dripping with honey.
"My lord, reports tell of Aelion's shining victory," Varros said, bowing his head. "He destroyed a shadow lieutenant and scattered the foe."
The king's chest swelled with pride, but Varros's eyes gleamed cold.
"Yet, one must wonder," he continued, voice soft, dangerous. "If the prince shines too brightly… does he not risk burning the kingdom itself? Fire consumes as easily as it warms."
The courtiers murmured, some nodding. Doubt trickled through the hall like wine spilled on silk.
Later, in the shadows of a private chamber, Varros met with cloaked figures—merchants, generals, priests whose loyalties were for sale.
"The prince grows stronger with each step," Varros hissed, pouring wine into his goblet. "If he returns crowned in light, there will be no place for us. We must bind him before his fire consumes all."
One of the cloaked men shifted uneasily. "He is beloved. If he falls too suddenly, the people will rise."
Varros's lips curved into a predator's smile. "Then we shall not cut him down. We shall guide him… into ruin."
---
The Road Ahead
Back on the path, dawn broke over the forest, streaking the sky with crimson. Aelion rose with Kaelen at his side, watching their weary soldiers assemble once more.
They had survived their first clash.
But in the capital, unseen strings were already tightening around them.
The light was rising, but so too were the shadows.