The storm had passed, but its echo lingered.
The canyon was quiet now—eerily so. The corpses of the Black Sigil lay scattered like broken chess pieces across the mud. Smoke coiled from smoldering debris, and the faint scent of iron hung in the cold air. Dawn crept slowly over Dravenfall, staining the sky with fragile gold.
Kael stood at the edge of the ravine, cloak torn, blade nicked, the rain finally easing from his shoulders. His breath came slow and measured, but inside, his heart was still racing to the rhythm of battle.
Behind him, Liora moved among the wounded. Her hair clung in damp strands to her face as she knelt beside Rylan, binding his arm with a strip of her cloak. The rebels, exhausted yet alive, gathered their fallen and whispered the names of the dead into the wind. The storm had taken many—but not all.
When she finally approached Kael, her steps were quiet, almost hesitant.
"You should rest," she murmured. "You haven't stopped since the avalanche."
Kael tilted his head toward her voice, rainwater dripping from his lashes. "Neither have you."
She almost smiled. "I didn't command an army."
"No," Kael said softly, "but you kept it from breaking."
For a long moment, they stood together, listening to the soft hiss of rain against the rocks. In the aftermath of chaos, the silence between them felt both heavy and alive.
---
The Quiet Between Storms
By midmorning, the rebels had gathered what they could salvage—food, arrows, bits of armor—and lit small pyres for the dead. Kael helped lift one of the fallen, guiding him toward the fire though his muscles protested with every step. He could hear the gratitude in the rebels' voices, the quiet awe when they spoke his name.
The blind prince.
The one who broke the Black Sigil's line.
He didn't want to hear it, yet the words followed him like echoes bouncing from stone to stone.
When the last pyre burned low, Liora joined him beneath a jutting cliff where a faint warmth from the fire lingered. She offered him water. "They believe in you now," she said. "Truly."
Kael took the flask, fingers brushing hers. "Belief is fragile," he murmured. "It can turn to fear if I fail them next."
"You won't," she said firmly.
He turned slightly toward her voice. "You sound certain."
"I am," she said, and her hand, trembling but steady, found his. "You saw the field before anyone else did. You felt the avalanche, the shifts in the stone, the way the enemy would move. You saved them."
Kael's grip tightened just slightly. "And yet, somewhere in Calderis, my father will only hear that the Black Sigil fell. He won't know how—or why."
Liora studied him quietly, eyes tracing the faint scar at his jawline, the way the storm's chill had left his lips pale. "Then he will learn," she said softly. "Because this victory won't stay buried in the mud."
---
In the Shadows of Fortress Valtheron
In the capital city of Calderis, the sound of rain against stained-glass windows filled the throne hall. Fortress Valtheron stood tall against the dawn, its spires like black spears piercing the clouds. Within its marble heart, King Valtheron sat upon his throne, reading the sealed dispatch that had just arrived from Dravenfall.
His gauntleted hand trembled slightly as he unfolded the parchment.
> Black Sigil routed. Commander slain. Canyon held. Prince Kael led the defense and the avalanche trap. Minimal losses among rebels.
The King read the words twice, the rain tapping harder against the windows as though demanding he respond.
Around him, the court murmured. Councillor Rhegan—a broad, sharp-eyed man—stepped forward. "Your Majesty, it would seem the boy has done what even your generals could not."
"Boy?" Valtheron's voice was quiet, but it cut through the hall like a blade. "He is my son."
Rhegan bowed slightly. "Of course, sire. I meant no—"
"Save your apologies," Valtheron interrupted. He rose from his throne, the crimson mantle sweeping around him. "Summon the war council at dusk. And send word to Dravenfall—Kael is to return to Calderis immediately."
Rhegan hesitated. "You mean to commend him?"
The King's eyes darkened. "I mean to see him."
As Rhegan withdrew, the King turned toward the rain-lashed windows. His reflection stared back at him—older, wearier, shadowed by memories of lost queens and broken heirs. Somewhere deep inside, pride stirred, but it was twined with fear.
"What are you becoming, Kael?" he whispered to the storm. "A prince of light… or of ruin?"
---
Fires in the Canyon
That evening, the rebels camped beneath the cliff's shelter. The rain had stopped entirely, leaving the world washed and clean. Small fires flickered between the rocks, casting gold light over tired faces. Songs began to rise—low at first, then louder, voices trembling with relief and victory.
Kael sat apart from the fire, blade resting across his knees, tracing the pattern etched into its hilt. Liora joined him, her cloak brushing the wet earth as she sat beside him.
"Rylan says you could've been a legend even without sight," she said quietly. "He's already retelling the battle like a bard."
Kael's mouth twitched. "Then he's exaggerating."
"Maybe. But even exaggerations have roots in truth."
Silence stretched between them again. Then she asked, "Do you ever wish… you could see it? What you've done? What the dawn looks like after a battle like this?"
Kael's expression softened. "Sometimes. But then I think—if I saw it, maybe I'd stop listening. And it's the listening that's kept me alive."
Liora's breath caught. "You're not just listening to the world, Kael. You're feeling it. You make everyone else see what they've been blind to."
For a moment, the tension of battle melted away. Her voice trembled with something deeper—admiration, maybe something more—and Kael felt it thread through the air like music.
He turned slightly toward her. "Liora…"
But before he could speak more, Scarred Leader's voice thundered across the camp. "Prince Kael! Scouts returning!"
They rose at once, stepping into the firelight. The scout, mud-streaked and breathless, bowed quickly. "Messengers from Calderis, my lord. Bearing the royal seal. They say the King commands your return."
A murmur spread through the camp. Kael's jaw tightened. "So soon."
Liora glanced at him. "What will you do?"
He sheathed his blade slowly. "Obey. For now."
---
The King's Shadow
The ride back to Calderis took three days. The storm had cleared, but the skies remained gray, as if watching. Each night, Kael heard rumors in the wind—villagers whispering about the blind prince of Dravenfall, the one who turned stone and storm against the enemy.
By the time his party reached the city gates, the whispers had become stories. Banners of black and gold fluttered over the streets. Crowds gathered, some curious, some reverent. Kael could sense the weight of their gazes like heat upon his skin.
Inside the palace gates, silence replaced applause. The scent of polished stone and cold steel filled the air. The guards' armor clinked as they knelt, uncertain whether to bow to the returning son or fear the King's displeasure.
Valtheron waited in the throne room, standing rather than sitting—a rare gesture. When Kael entered, guided only by the faint echo of boots on marble, the King's heart clenched at the sight: mud-stained armor, tired stance, and the faint glow of something fierce beneath his calm.
"Father," Kael said, bowing low.
For a long heartbeat, Valtheron did not respond. Then, softly: "Rise."
Kael straightened, his blind gaze fixed somewhere just beyond the King. Valtheron studied him—how the boy's presence seemed larger, his voice steadier.
"You led an ambush," Valtheron said. "Defeated the Black Sigil captain. Turned the canyon itself into a weapon."
Kael inclined his head. "The rebels fought bravely. It was their plan as much as mine."
"Do not deflect praise," Valtheron murmured. "I have generals who could not do what you did."
Kael's brows drew together. "Then perhaps they should listen better."
A brief silence followed. Then, unexpectedly, Valtheron laughed—a short, rough sound that startled even the guards. "Perhaps they should," he admitted. His tone softened. "You have done Eryndor proud, Kael. Yet you have also made enemies within these walls. The court does not forgive easily when legends rise from the dust."
"I did not fight for their forgiveness," Kael said. "I fought for Eryndor."
Valtheron's expression darkened—half pride, half sorrow. "And that, my son, is what frightens them most."
---
Beneath the Same Sky
That night, Kael stood on the balcony overlooking Calderis. The air smelled of rain and stone, the city lights flickering like a constellation below. He could feel the hum of distant life—the clatter of hooves, the whisper of markets closing, the murmur of the river that cut through the capital.
Liora joined him silently. She had been allowed inside the palace as part of his escort, though she felt out of place among silks and chandeliers. Her gaze swept the horizon. "It's strange," she said. "The city feels so alive, yet so cold."
Kael tilted his head toward the sound of her voice. "Because here, everything has a price. Even loyalty."
She frowned. "And what about you?"
"I'm still learning the cost," he said quietly.
The wind carried the faint toll of the watch bells from the lower city. Liora turned toward him, her voice low. "Whatever it costs, Kael… don't lose yourself to this place."
He smiled faintly. "I'll have to see first if this place can stand against me."
Liora's heart skipped. The prince she had met in the ruins of Dravenfall—the uncertain, quiet one—was gone. What stood beside her now was sharper, tempered, dangerous. And yet, the same warmth lingered beneath his calm. She realized she trusted him more than anyone alive.
As thunder rumbled far to the east, both turned toward the horizon where the next storm brewed.
---