Chapter Forty-Four: The Serpent's Whisper
Caedren sat alone in the high chamber of his fortress, the flickering shadows of torchlight dancing across the cold stone walls. His thoughts were a storm of contradictions—his duty, his secrets, his enemies, and, most of all, the unsettling knowledge that betrayal was closer than he had ever imagined.
The letter from Tarn had arrived hours ago, and though he had read it countless times, its meaning had yet to fully settle in his mind. The Assenters, they were not just distant figures or myths. They had woven themselves into the very fabric of his court. But the mention of a serpent—of a traitor so close that the betrayal would be indistinguishable from loyalty—had shaken him to his core.
Who among them was the betrayer?
A fire crackled in the hearth behind him, throwing long shadows that seemed to claw at the chamber walls. Maps were spread across the table before him, marked with tokens representing scouts, warbands, and supply lines. Everything was carefully ordered, meticulously planned. But treachery unraveled more than just strategy—it dissolved trust, and in its place, suspicion took root.
He rose from his seat, the heavy weight of his armor clinking with each deliberate step. His sword hung by his side, but it was not steel he sought. Not tonight.
He strode toward the balcony overlooking the courtyard, where the guards stood like statues, their faces impassive under their hoods. The cool wind whipped around him, carrying with it the scent of rain and distant smoke. Below, the castle's keep seemed to whisper, as if the stones themselves remembered something they were trying to forget.
He had built all of this—not with mortar and stone alone, but with belief. Belief in something greater. In a world rebuilt, not ruled. And now that world, that fragile dream, trembled at its foundation.
In the distance, the moonlight touched the winding river, but it was not the river that caught his eye. It was the dark figure slipping through the shadows—unseen by the guards, unnoticed by the world.
"You are a fool," a voice said behind him.
Caedren turned sharply, hand instinctively going for his blade—but it was not a foe who stood before him.
It was Neris.
Her eyes were hidden in shadow, her face unreadable. She was cloaked, her movements so silent she might have been the night itself. She crossed the room like a memory, her presence subtle but impossible to ignore.
"You've known," Caedren said, the words more a statement than a question.
She said nothing at first, only tilted her head slightly as though considering the weight of his gaze. Her silence was sharper than any accusation.
"You knew about the serpent," he continued, his voice cold now, as if testing her, as if seeking the truth he feared.
Neris' lips twisted in something like a smile. "I know many things," she replied. "But there are things even I cannot say."
Caedren's eyes narrowed. He could hear the subtle hints of tension in her voice, the carefully placed pauses that spoke louder than words. And the truth, buried deep beneath the surface of her response, made his stomach churn.
"You're not who you say you are," he spat. "Not anymore."
For the first time, Neris dropped her mask. She stepped closer, her presence now sharp, cutting through the silence. "You always wanted to trust me, Caedren. But you never asked the right questions."
The words stung, not because they were cruel, but because they were true. In his rise to leadership, Caedren had learned to weigh loyalty in deeds, not just words. But Neris had been there from the beginning—too close, too necessary.
He stepped forward, his jaw clenched. "Who are you?"
"I am the question you refuse to answer," Neris whispered. "I am the choice you've always ignored. The truth that haunts you."
She stepped back, her eyes gleaming with an unspoken challenge. The torchlight caught the edge of something—an insignia beneath her cloak, briefly visible. It was not one of the Ashen Oath. Nor any known house.
"Trust the wrong people, and the kingdom will burn before it even has a chance to rise," she said, before turning toward the shadows. "You'll learn too late, as all kings do."
And with that, she was gone.
Caedren stood alone in the chamber, the breath he hadn't realized he was holding finally escaping. His hand clenched around the railing of the balcony, knuckles white as the weight of betrayal settled on his shoulders.
The wind picked up, carrying with it the rustle of banners, the distant clang of swords on practice fields. The world outside continued, unaware—or perhaps uncaring—of the fractures deepening at the heart of its salvation.
Far below in the hall of banners, a single figure watched, concealed in the shadows, his heart drumming in his chest.
Tarn Virell had returned.
He stepped silently beneath the banners, his eyes never leaving the high chamber above. In his hand, he held the orb—the one that had revealed Neris's voice, faint but damning. And yet, he hesitated.
Because the voice he had heard in that orb wasn't speaking treason.
It was speaking warning.
And that terrified him even more.
Tarn melted back into the shadows, torn between the truths he carried and the man he had followed across fire and ruin. If Neris was not the serpent… then who was?
And if she was—
Would Caedren have the strength to do what must be done?
Above, the chamber stood silent again. But Caedren did not return to his maps.
He stood at the edge of the future, and behind him, shadows coiled tighter.