Three months after his first battle, Kael stood before the war council and saw the future written in their grim faces.
"Malkor knows," Commander Theron said without preamble, spreading a map across the table. Red markers dotted the highlands like drops of blood. "His forces are converging on this region. Not random patrols anymore—actual military movements. He's hunting for us."
Kael studied the map, his tactical training allowing him to see what he would have missed months ago. The pattern was clear: a noose slowly tightening around their position. "How long do we have?"
"Two weeks. Maybe three if we're lucky." Lyra's finger traced one of the marked routes. "This is a full legion—a thousand Shadowbound soldiers plus regular troops. They'll sweep these mountains clean, and when they find us..."
She didn't need to finish. Everyone in the room knew what happened to resistance camps when they were discovered. Kael had read the reports, seen the aftermath in his dreams. No survivors. No mercy. Just ash and silence.
"We could retreat further north," one of the council members suggested. "The Frostpeak Mountains are more remote, harder to reach."
"And harder to supply, harder to defend, and impossible to recruit from." Theron shook his head. "We'd be trading one death for another, just slower."
"Then what do you propose?" The question came from an older woman named Mira, one of the few survivors who remembered Aethermoor's glory. "We can't fight a legion. Even with the heir's power, we're seventy souls against a thousand."
Kael felt all eyes turn to him. In the months since his arrival, the camp's attitude toward him had shifted. The initial resentment had given way to cautious respect, then something approaching loyalty. They'd seen him train until he collapsed. Watched him fight Shadowbound and win. Heard him listen to their stories of the old kingdom with genuine interest rather than royal condescension.
He'd earned his place among them, one brutal day at a time.
But earning respect and being ready to lead them to war were different things entirely.
"We don't fight the legion," Kael said slowly, an idea forming as he spoke. "We make them fight each other."
Theron's scarred face showed interest. "Explain."
Kael pointed to a location on the map where two of Malkor's forces would converge. "The Shadowbound follow orders perfectly because they have no will of their own. But regular troops are still human, still subject to fear and confusion. What if we made them think they were under attack from their own side?"
Lyra leaned forward, understanding dawning in her eyes. "A false flag operation. We hit one force while making it look like the other did it."
"Exactly. If we can trigger infighting between the regular troops and the Shadowbound, or better yet between different Shadowbound commanders, it buys us time and thins their numbers."
"It's risky," Sera warned. "If they realize what we're doing, they'll hunt us even harder."
"They're already hunting us as hard as they can," Kael countered. "At least this way we're taking the initiative instead of just reacting."
The council members exchanged glances. Finally, Theron nodded. "It could work. It's insane and desperate, but so is our situation. We'll need detailed intelligence on their movements, their command structure, everything."
"I can get that," Lyra said. "I have contacts among the resistance cells in the lowlands. They've been tracking Malkor's forces for years."
"How long will it take?" Kael asked.
"Four days. Maybe five."
"Do it. Commander, start preparing our strike teams. I want our best fighters ready to move the moment we have solid intelligence."
Theron raised an eyebrow at Kael's commanding tone, then smiled slightly. "As you command, Your Majesty."
Kael winced at the title but didn't correct him. That battle was one he'd lost weeks ago when the survivors had started calling him "my king" instead of "boy" or "heir." He still didn't feel worthy of it, but he was learning that leadership wasn't about feeling worthy—it was about making decisions when no one else could.
The council dispersed, leaving Kael alone with the map and his doubts. His plan was solid in theory, but theory had a way of shattering against the reality of combat. If he was wrong, if his strategy failed, everyone in this camp would die.
No pressure.
"You handled that well." Sera's voice came from the doorway. "You're starting to sound like a king."
"I'm faking it," Kael admitted. "Half the time I have no idea what I'm doing."
"That's what leadership is—making confident decisions based on incomplete information and hoping you guessed right. Your grandmother was the same way, you know. She used to pace these very halls, second-guessing every choice."
Kael looked up sharply. "You knew her personally?"
"I was her handmaiden before the fall. Young, idealistic, completely unprepared for what was coming." Sera's expression grew distant. "She tried so hard to prevent the war, to find a diplomatic solution with Malkor. She believed, right up until his armies appeared on the horizon, that peace was possible."
"Was she wrong?"
"No. She was right that peace should have been possible. But she underestimated how far Malkor would go to get what he wanted. Some people can't be reasoned with, can't be appeased. They have to be stopped, no matter the cost."
The words hung heavy between them. Kael thought about all the history he'd learned, all the accounts of his family's final days. His grandmother had been brilliant, compassionate, beloved. And she'd died screaming while her kingdom burned.
Compassion alone wasn't enough to win against darkness.
"The Void," Kael said suddenly. "My grandmother wrote about it in her journal, but only in fragments. Commander Theron knows something, I saw it in his face when I mentioned it. What aren't you all telling me?"
Sera was quiet for a long moment. When she finally spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper. "The Void is what your ancestors bound beneath Aethermoor's foundations five hundred years ago. A darkness from before the age of men, a hunger that could swallow entire kingdoms. Your bloodline was created specifically to keep it imprisoned—the silver flames in your veins are the key to the seal."
"And when Malkor destroyed the kingdom..."
"The seal weakened. Not broken, but cracked. For twenty years it's been slowly failing, held together only by the residual magic in Aethermoor's ruins. When you awakened your power, when the bloodline magic flared back to life, the seal recognized its keystone and stabilized. Temporarily."
Kael felt cold understanding wash over him. "That's why Malkor is hunting me so desperately. Not because I'm a threat to his rule—because I'm the only thing standing between the world and whatever's locked beneath my family's castle."
"Yes. And the terrible part? The seal will eventually fail anyway. It's been deteriorating too long. Your grandmother knew this. She foresaw that one day, probably in your lifetime, the Void would break free. And when it does, the realm will need a king with the power to fight it. A king tempered by war and loss, strong enough to make the sacrifices necessary to protect what remains."
"She knew I'd have to become this," Kael said softly. "Knew I'd have to stop being a simple farmer and turn into... whatever I'm becoming."
"She gave you a choice," Sera corrected. "The journal, the instructions to find us, the knowledge of what you are—all of it was so you could choose whether to embrace your birthright or walk away. You chose this path, Kael. Own that choice."
Kael looked at his hands, at the silver flames that flickered beneath his skin whenever his emotions ran high. He thought about the farmer he'd been, the simple life he'd lost forever. That person was gone, burned away in the forge of necessity.
In his place stood something harder, something that could make the choices no one else wanted to make.
"When the Void breaks free," Kael asked, "will I be strong enough to stop it?"
"I don't know. No one does. But you'll be stronger than you are now, and that's all we can ask for."
Sera left him alone with the maps and his thoughts. Kael spent the next hour studying troop movements, memorizing terrain, planning contingencies. This was his life now—war councils and desperate strategies, gambling with lives and hoping the dice fell in his favor.
Four days later, Lyra returned with intelligence that confirmed their worst fears and best hopes. Malkor's forces were indeed converging on the highlands, but their command structure was fragmented, competitive. Different Shadowbound commanders vying for glory, regular troops resentful of their corrupted officers.
It was exactly the weakness they needed to exploit.
Kael assembled the strike team—twenty of their best fighters, including himself and Lyra. The plan was simple in concept, nightmarishly complex in execution. They would hit a supply convoy belonging to one Shadowbound commander, leave evidence pointing to a rival commander, then fade into the mountains before the enemy could organize a response.
Simple. Suicidal. Their only real chance.
The night before the mission, Kael couldn't sleep. He walked the camp perimeter, nodding to sentries, checking defenses out of nervous habit. Eventually he found himself at the cliff edge where he'd spent so many evenings reading his grandmother's journal.
The stars blazed overhead, cold and distant and beautiful. Somewhere out there, Malkor sat on his throne of bones, commanding armies and plotting the realm's subjugation. And beneath the ruins of Aethermoor, something ancient and terrible waited for its chains to break.
Kael was just one young man with barely trained magic and a head full of tactical lessons. What chance did he really have against forces like that?
But then he thought about the survivors in the camp behind him. Thought about Lyra's grudging respect, Theron's scarred smile, Sera's quiet faith. Thought about all the people he'd never meet who were counting on him to become strong enough to protect them from the darkness.
One person couldn't change the world.
But maybe one person could start a fire that would spread, could light a beacon that others would rally to. Maybe that was enough.
Kael stood and turned back toward camp, toward his duty and his destiny. Tomorrow they would strike the first real blow against Malkor's empire. Tomorrow they would prove that the resistance wasn't dead, that Aethermoor's legacy lived on in silver flames and stubborn hope.
Tomorrow the realm would learn that its rightful king had returned.
And the darkness would learn to fear the light.