The Rally
Morning broke in shades of pale gold, washing the camp with light that seemed too gentle for a world at war. The soldiers stirred with unease; whispers of prophecy clung to the air heavier than the mist. Only one shall shine… only one shall shine.
When Aelion stepped onto the rise overlooking the encampment, all eyes turned to him. He wore no crown, only the steel of a prince who had bled beside his men. Kaelen stood just behind, armor strapped across his healing wound, refusing to let weakness keep him hidden.
Aelion lifted his hand, and the murmurs died.
"You've heard the whispers," he said, voice carrying like the toll of a bell. "That the heavens have chosen one, and only one, to stand against the shadow. You look at me, and you wonder—will it be him? Will the guard beside him fall? Will we all be nothing more than fuel for a prophecy written in stone?"
Silence pressed heavy, the truth unspoken in their eyes.
Aelion's voice sharpened, fierce and unyielding. "But I tell you this—prophecy is no sword, no shield, no chain. It binds only those who surrender to it. We are not shadows of destiny—we are its defiance. You, every one of you, are the flame of this kingdom. And together, no darkness can consume us."
A murmur rose—hesitant, then stronger. The soldiers straightened, fire rekindling in their eyes.
Aelion raised his blade high, sunlight flashing against steel. "Let the shadow hear this: we are not waiting for doom. We march to meet it—and we will not fall."
The camp erupted in cheers, the sound rolling like thunder across the valley.
Kaelen's lips curved faintly as he watched the soldiers rally behind their prince. His chest ached—not from his wound, but from pride.
The Private Oath
Later, when the camp quieted and the men returned to their duties, Aelion slipped into Kaelen's tent. The guard sat against his cot, a faint sheen of sweat on his brow from forcing himself to stand through the rally.
"You shouldn't have pushed yourself," Aelion said softly, kneeling beside him. "The wound is deep."
Kaelen gave a low chuckle. "You stood before the camp and spat in the face of prophecy. I couldn't very well lie down and miss it."
Aelion's eyes softened. He reached out, fingers brushing the bandages along Kaelen's side. "You frighten me more than any prophecy ever could. Not because of destiny—but because you'd burn yourself to ash for me."
Kaelen caught his hand, pressing it against his chest. His heartbeat thudded strong beneath Aelion's palm. "And you'd do the same. That's why the prophecy fears us. Alone, perhaps only one may shine. But together…" His voice dropped to a vow, quiet but unbreakable. "…we blaze."
Aelion's breath trembled. He leaned forward, resting his forehead against Kaelen's. The closeness was a balm, an anchor in the storm. "Then let us swear it, here and now. Whatever fate demands, whatever gods decree—our light will not be divided."
Kaelen's lips brushed his in the barest whisper of a kiss—soft, fleeting, yet filled with fire restrained only by duty.
"Our oath," he murmured. "Yours and mine. Until the last dawn."
And for a moment, prophecy itself seemed to falter.