The palace of Calderis slept uneasily that night.
Moonlight spilled across the marble courtyards, painting the obsidian towers in silver and shadow. Guards patrolled the ramparts, their armor clinking faintly, their torches casting flickering halos on the walls. To most, it was an ordinary night of vigilance. But to Kael, seated in the silence of his chamber, the air itself felt heavy with expectation.
The ripple he had sensed was no longer a whisper. It was a pull—insistent, urgent, undeniable. Somewhere beyond these walls, a power had awakened that sang in harmony with his own. It called to him like a voice through a storm, and every heartbeat told him the same truth: he could not ignore it.
Rylan stood near the door, his sword laid across his lap as he sharpened it with slow, steady strokes. Sparks danced briefly with each scrape of stone on steel. His posture was calm, but his eyes—storm-gray and sharp—never left Kael for long.
"You've been pacing since sunset," Rylan said finally, his voice low but not unkind. "If you wear a trench in the floor, the king will have you flogged for damaging his marble."
Kael's lips twitched at the dry humor, though he did not stop pacing. His cane tapped rhythmically against the polished stone as he moved, each step measured, precise. "If my father valued his marble more than appearances, he might actually notice me. But he does not."
"He notices you plenty," Rylan muttered darkly. "Just never in the way he should."
Kael paused, head tilting slightly toward his friend. "He has sent Darius east, to crush rebellion with fire and steel. But I feel—no, I know—that there is more at stake. The unrest in Silverwood is not born of politics alone. Something has awakened there. Someone."
Rylan lowered the whetstone, studying the prince carefully. "You've spoken of this 'pull' before. But tonight you speak of it differently."
"Because tonight it is stronger." Kael's fingers curled against the wood of his cane. "I cannot stay here while the truth waits beyond these walls. I must go."
Rylan did not look surprised. He had known Kael long enough to recognize when his mind was set like steel. Instead, he asked the question Kael had been waiting for.
"When?"
A faint smile ghosted across Kael's lips. "Before dawn."
---
But leaving Fortress Valtheron was no small feat.
The palace was a labyrinth designed to keep enemies out and prisoners in. At night, patrols doubled, gates locked, and secret passages sealed with runes carved by the court magisters. For a blind prince to escape its walls was laughable—yet Kael was no ordinary prince.
From childhood, he had memorized the pulse of the palace: the guards' footsteps, the subtle drafts through hidden corridors, the faint scrape of stone where secret doors met the wall. While Darius had trained in tournaments, Kael had trained in silence, mapping the fortress with ears sharper than sight.
He turned toward Rylan, his veil gleaming faintly in the moonlight. "I know a way. The lower aqueducts—built long before my father claimed the throne. Most think them collapsed, but they breathe air still. If we reach them, we can follow the water out into the cliffs."
Rylan arched a brow. "And how do you intend to walk unseen across half the palace?"
Kael's lips curved into something dangerously close to a smirk. "With you, of course."
Rylan chuckled softly, shaking his head. "You are going to be the death of me."
"Not yet," Kael murmured. "Come. We must prepare."
---
While Kael plotted his escape beneath the palace's gilded shadows, the village of Silverwood simmered with fear.
The bandits' raid had been driven off, but not without scars. Charred huts smoldered still, the stench of smoke lingering in the air. Bodies lay covered in cloth near the square, their families weeping quietly in the dark. And in the center of the whispers was one name.
Liora.
She had not left her stepmother's house since the night of the attack. The villagers had seen too much: the way the flames bent toward her, the burst of silver light, the raider hurled backward as if struck by a god's hand. Some whispered she was blessed. More whispered she was cursed.
Inside the small cottage, Liora sat curled on her narrow bed, her hands trembling in her lap. She stared at them as though they belonged to someone else. They were calloused, raw from years of labor, and yet she could still feel the echo of power in them—the heat, the light, the terrifying force that had answered her scream.
Kaela paced near the door, her dagger never far from reach. Her face was taut with anger, her jaw clenched.
"They're afraid of you," she said at last. "The same people you grew up among. Cowards. If not for you, more would be dead. Yet they whisper like you lit the fires yourself."
Liora swallowed hard, her voice small. "Maybe they're right to be afraid. I don't know what I am, Kaela. When it happened… I didn't control it. It controlled me."
Kaela stopped pacing, crouching before her. Her eyes were fierce, unwavering. "Listen to me. You are not a curse. You are not a monster. Whatever that power is, it's yours. And I swear I'll stand between you and anyone who dares say otherwise."
Liora blinked back tears, clutching her friend's hands. "What if it destroys me?"
"Then I'll destroy it first," Kaela said, voice steady as steel.
The moment was broken by a harsh knock at the door. Madame Erynis swept in without waiting for permission, her sharp features twisted in disdain. Seraphine followed at her heels, eyes gleaming with cruel delight.
"There she is," Erynis sneered. "The little witch. The villagers murmur already, child. They say fire danced for you, that you glowed like a demon. Tell me, should I begin charging coin for your miracles, or must we all burn in our beds first?"
Liora flinched at the venom in her stepmother's tone, but Kaela stepped forward, dagger flashing as she positioned herself between them. "Enough. She saved this village. Without her, you'd be ash and bone."
Erynis's eyes narrowed. "And what are you, girl? Her guard dog? Do you think your knives will protect you when the village decides the girl is cursed?"
Seraphine laughed, the sound sharp and cruel. "Let them drag her to the square and see if she burns."
Liora's stomach twisted. She rose quickly, grabbing Kaela's arm before she could lash out. "Please. Don't." Her voice cracked, but her gaze was steady. "If the village fears me, I won't give them reason to hate me more."
Erynis smirked, satisfied by her submission. "Wise. Remember your place, child. Power or not, you live beneath my roof. And so long as you do, you will serve."
She swept out, Seraphine trailing with a final mocking glance. The door slammed shut, rattling the frame.
Kaela cursed under her breath, slamming her fist against the wall. "I swear, one day—"
"One day," Liora interrupted softly, "I'll be strong enough to leave them behind. Until then, we endure."
But as she sat back on her bed, heart aching, she could not ignore the way the warmth in her veins pulsed again—like an echo answering a call she could not name.
---
Back in Calderis, preparations moved quickly.
Rylan gathered supplies in silence—water skins, cloaks dark enough to blend with the night, and Kael's veil stitched with runes to mask his presence from magisters. Each movement was efficient, practiced, though his jaw tightened with each step.
"You've thought this through," Rylan muttered. "Almost as if you knew you'd leave one day."
"I did," Kael replied simply, slipping a small dagger into his sleeve. "This palace was never home. It was a cage."
"And what do you expect to find beyond it?"
Kael paused, his sightless eyes turned toward the window where the faintest glimmer of dawn threatened the horizon. His voice was soft, almost reverent.
"Someone waiting for me."
Rylan studied him for a long moment, then nodded. "Then let's get you to her before the king finds out."
Together, they moved into the corridors, shadows among shadows. The palace slumbered, but danger was everywhere—patrolling guards, magisters sensitive to magic, courtiers who would sell secrets for a coin. Yet Kael's steps were sure, his mind mapping each sound, each echo. He led them through servant passages, down spiraling staircases, into the dark belly of the fortress.
At last, they reached a hidden archway, half-buried in rubble. A faint trickle of water ran beneath it, cold and steady. The air smelled of moss and damp stone.
"The aqueducts," Kael whispered. "Our way out."
Rylan shifted the rubble aside with brute strength, clearing the passage enough for them to slip through. Darkness swallowed them, but Kael moved forward without hesitation, his cane tapping softly. The water lapped at their boots as they descended deeper.
Behind them, the palace loomed silent. Ahead, freedom waited—along with dangers neither had yet imagined.
And in the village of Silverwood, beneath the same rising dawn, Liora sat awake, clutching her blanket, heart pounding with the certainty that something—or someone—was coming.
The threads of destiny tightened, pulling prince and peasant closer with every breath.
The storm
had not yet broken, but its first winds whispered through the land of Eryndor.
And soon, nothing would be the same.
---