The world burned again.
Julian's hands were slick with blood — his own, his mother's, it didn't matter anymore. The rain came down in sheets, washing red into the cracks of the floor. He could hear her voice calling his name, distant, echoing through walls that no longer existed.
"Julian… run."
He turned, desperate, but the room was gone — replaced by that old apartment, walls rotted and peeling, the ceiling leaking like before. His mother stood at the far end of the room, her back turned.
"Mom?" he whispered.
She turned slowly. Her smile was there — tired, kind — but her eyes were hollow. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth. Behind her, a shadow moved — his uncle, knife gleaming in the dark.
Julian tried to move, but his legs wouldn't obey. The world thickened around him like molasses. The blade came down, bright and final—
He screamed.
And woke.
The stable's air rushed into his lungs, sharp and cold. Sweat clung to his skin, his chest heaving, hands shaking as if still covered in blood. For a heartbeat, he didn't know where he was — only that he was alive again, and that somehow felt worse.
"Julian…"
Her voice — soft, real. He blinked, eyes adjusting to the dim orange of the dying lantern. Lira leaned over him, her brow furrowed with worry. Her hand rested on his chest, feeling the wild rhythm of his heart.
He was shaking.
"It's all right," she whispered, brushing his hair from his forehead. "You were dreaming."
His breathing hitched. "It wasn't a dream," he rasped. "It was—"
Before he could finish, she leaned forward and kissed him. Not out of passion, but to still the tremors in his body — a quiet, grounding touch. A reminder that he wasn't trapped in that dying world anymore.
The chaos in his chest began to slow. He exhaled shakily, eyes closing as her lips lingered just long enough for the nightmare to fade.
When she pulled back, her voice was barely above a whisper. "You're safe. With me."
Julian swallowed hard, tears stinging the corners of his eyes. "It felt so real," he muttered. "Every time I close my eyes, I see her die again… and me right after."
Lira cupped his face gently. "Then keep your eyes open," she said softly. "Stay here. With me."
He let out a quiet laugh — broken, but real. "You make that sound easy."
"It isn't," she said. "But it's worth trying."
They stayed like that for a long time — the world silent except for the crackle of the dying fire and the slow rhythm of their breathing. The storm in his mind began to ease, replaced by the fragile warmth of her presence.
Julian finally lay back, eyes tracing the dark rafters above. "Taron wants me to fight for his kingdom," he said quietly. "But I don't even understand this world yet. I barely understand myself."
Lira rested her head against his shoulder. "You will," she said. "And when you do, you'll know where you stand."
Julian looked down at her, his expression softening. "Then until I figure it out," he whispered, "I'll stand beside you."
Her hand found his, fingers intertwining once more. "Then you'll never fall."
Outside, dawn crept over the mountains, the light brushing against the edges of the old fortress. A new day — and a promise — had begun.
By the time the sun had fully breached the horizon, the camp was already stirring. The cold morning wind carried the clatter of armor, the murmurs of soldiers preparing to march, the dull ring of a blacksmith's hammer echoing from somewhere beyond the tents.
Julian and Lira stepped out of the stable together, the faint smell of smoke and rain clinging to the air. The sky was washed in pale gold, but the ground beneath their feet still held the chill of night.
Julian adjusted the cloak Lira had wrapped around him. Its fabric was coarse but warm, smelling faintly of hay and her perfume — a grounding scent amid the chaos of this strange world.
He looked around. The camp was vast, rows of tents and training grounds stretching across the valley floor. Men and women moved with purpose, some tending to their mounts, others sharpening blades or donning armor marked by the black crown sigil — Taron's banner.
At the far edge, beyond the campfires and supply wagons, Taron stood with a few soldiers, giving orders. His presence was unmistakable — tall, composed, cold as iron.
Lira noticed Julian's hesitation. "He's been waiting for you," she said softly.
Julian nodded, his throat dry. "Yeah. I can feel it."
They walked across the camp together, the crowd parting slightly as they passed. Whispers followed them — the stranger who'd survived the massacre, the girl who fought beside him, the ones Taron had spared.
Taron turned as they approached. The light caught on his armor, the black steel etched with faint, rune-like patterns that pulsed when the sun touched them. His eyes, hard and gray, studied Julian in silence.
"You came," he said finally.
Julian met his gaze. "I said I would."
Taron's expression didn't shift, but there was something in his tone — faint approval, buried under years of command. "Then you've made your choice."
Julian nodded once. "I'll fight. But I want to know what I'm fighting for."
Taron's eyes narrowed slightly, measuring him. "You'll learn soon enough. This world isn't kind to those who demand answers before earning them."
He turned away, gesturing toward the distant mountains where ancient ruins loomed. "For now, come with me. Both of you. There's something you should see."
Julian exchanged a look with Lira. Her hand brushed his arm in reassurance, though he caught the unease in her eyes.
They followed Taron down a narrow path that led away from the camp. The air grew colder, quieter — only the crunch of gravel beneath their boots and the distant calls of crows filled the silence.
Finally, they reached a ridge overlooking the valley below. Beyond it stretched a broken city, half-buried in mist and ruin, its towers shattered and crumbling.
Taron stood at the edge, gazing down at it like a man staring at a grave.
"This," he said quietly, "was the capital of the kingdom that once stood here. My kingdom."
Julian's eyes widened. "Yours?"
Taron nodded slowly. "Before the crown fell. Before the ash consumed everything."
Lira's voice came soft behind him. "You're showing him too soon."
"He deserves to know," Taron replied. Then he turned back to Julian. "You want to understand this world? Start here. Everything we fight for — everything we've lost — began in those ruins."
Julian stared down at the fallen city, a strange ache stirring in his chest. He didn't know why, but something about it — the broken towers, the echoing silence — felt almost familiar, like a memory that wasn't his.
Taron's voice cut through the wind. "Return to camp when you're ready. I'll have a place prepared for you. Decide if you'll stand with me, Julian — not just as a survivor, but as one who'll help reclaim what was stolen."
And with that, he turned and walked back toward the camp, his soldiers following without a word.
Julian and Lira remained on the ridge, the wind tugging at their cloaks.
Lira looked at him, her expression unreadable. "You don't have to decide today," she said softly.
Julian didn't answer right away. His gaze lingered on the ruins, on the faint smoke still curling from the distant city, as if it still remembered the fire that had consumed it.
"I don't know what any of this means yet," he said finally, "but I know one thing."
"What?"
He looked at her, eyes steady. "If I do fight, it won't be for his kingdom. It'll be to protect you."
Lira's breath caught — and for a moment, the world around them seemed to still.
The sun rose higher, bathing the dead city in gold and ash. And in that quiet light, a new resolve took root in Julian's heart — fragile, uncertain, but burning all the same.