The morning broke pale and thin, as if the sun itself hesitated to rise over the wastes.
Kael had not slept. He rarely did, but last night had been worse than most. The citadel's looming shadow had pressed against him, heavy as armor, and every time he closed his eyes he saw fire — not the comforting glow of a hearth, but the consuming blaze of villages burning, towers collapsing, and faces he could not save.
He rose before the others, his movements quiet, deliberate. The men stirred slowly, groaning as they shook off sleep. Armor clinked, horses snorted, and someone cursed at the cold. Kael ignored them. His thoughts were elsewhere.
The citadel was close. He could feel it.
Not in sight yet, but in the way the land changed. The trees grew sparse, their branches skeletal. The soil turned black, brittle beneath his boots. Even the air seemed thinner, as though the world itself held its breath.
Kael adjusted the straps of his armor, the leather worn and cracked from years of use. His sword hung at his side, familiar weight against his hip. He touched the hilt briefly, not out of fear but habit. The blade had been with him longer than most men he knew.
He wondered if it would be enough.
The column moved slowly, the men uneasy. They whispered about the citadel, about the girl, about the king's decree. Kael heard fragments: sorceress, traitor, witch.
He said nothing.
Words were cheap. He had learned that long ago. Men spoke of loyalty, of honor, of destiny. But when the fire came, when the steel clashed, words vanished. Only choices remained.
Kael had made his choices. Too many of them.
The path narrowed into a ravine. The walls rose steep on either side, jagged stone streaked with ash. The horses grew restless, their hooves slipping on loose gravel. One of the younger knights swore loudly, tugging at his reins.
Kael dismounted. He preferred his own feet. The ground was treacherous, but he trusted his balance more than any beast.
The ravine stretched long, winding like a scar through the land. Shadows clung to its edges, and the air grew colder with each step.
Kael felt the silence deepen.
He remembered the king's words.
She is not what she seems.
It had been spoken with the weight of command, but Kael had heard something else beneath it — fear. The king feared her. Feared what she might become.
Kael had seen fear in rulers before. It was never about the people. It was always about power.
He wondered what kind of power Lyra carried.
The ravine opened suddenly, spilling them into a wide clearing. The citadel loomed in the distance, its towers broken, its walls scarred. Smoke curled from its spires, faint but steady, as though the ruins themselves still breathed.
The men halted, murmuring. Some crossed themselves, others spat.
Kael stood still, his eyes fixed on the citadel.
It was not just stone. It was memory. It was prophecy. It was a wound that refused to heal.
They made camp at the edge of the clearing. The men were reluctant, their movements slow, their voices hushed. Kael watched them, noting the tension in their shoulders, the way their hands lingered near their weapons.
Fear was a dangerous companion. It made men reckless.
Kael sat apart, as he always did. He cleaned his sword, the motions steady, precise. The blade gleamed faintly in the fading light, its edge sharp, its surface scarred.
He thought of the battles it had seen. The lives it had taken. The oaths it had upheld.
And he wondered if it would soon turn against the girl.
Night fell quickly. The stars were faint, hidden behind smoke. The fire burned low, its glow weak against the darkness.
Kael lay awake, listening. The men snored, muttered, shifted in their sleep. The horses stamped restlessly.
And beneath it all, he heard something else.
A whisper.
Not from the men, not from the wind. From the citadel itself.
It was faint, almost imagined, but it was there — a voice older than stone, heavier than silence.
Kael closed his eyes.
And he listened.
The whisper grew stronger.
It spoke no words he understood, but he felt them. They pressed against his chest, heavy and insistent. They carried weight, like the moment before a blade fell.
Kael's hand tightened on his sword.
He did not draw it.
Instead, he breathed slowly, steadying himself.
The citadel was watching.
Dawn came pale and cold. The men rose reluctantly, their faces drawn, their eyes shadowed. Kael rose with them, his movements calm, deliberate.
The citadel loomed closer now, its towers jagged against the sky.
Kael felt the weight of silence pressing down.
And he knew: the true journey had not yet begun.