Kael couldn't sleep.
Avarin's night was usually gentle, marked by wind chimes and laughter echoing through torch-lit alleys. But tonight, there was only silence. The kind that settles before a storm.
Seriyah sat on the balcony wrapped in silk, her belly round beneath the moonlight. Kael stood beside her, arms crossed, watching the valley below. Neither spoke for a long time.
"I'm going to be a father," he finally said.
Seriyah smirked. "Terrifying, isn't it?"
"I barely survived being a son."
She reached over, took his hand, and placed it gently on her stomach. "Then make sure our child never has to survive us."
Kael nodded. But his eyes drifted to the horizon.
The scouts had brought news: strange banners in the east. A rising war cult called the Ashen Veil. They wore red masks, burned cities, and preached of a coming purge. Their leader was said to ride a white lion and drink poison like wine.
They were heading toward Avarin.
Kael gathered his council—Tavo, Ilya, Rashad, and Seriyah's generals. He laid out a plan:
Evacuate villages near the borders.
Dig tunnels beneath the valley.
Forge weapons hidden in wells and bakeries.
But this time, he wasn't laughing. The chaos in his heart felt different. He wasn't protecting a dream anymore.
He was protecting a future.
Later that night, Ilya approached him alone. "You're not ready for this kind of war."
"I wasn't ready for love. Or leadership. Or dancing on rooftops. But I did all that."
She leaned in. "Then start being honest. Because if we lose you, we lose everything."
Kael looked to the stars, remembering the mirror's warning.
"You won't lose me," he whispered.
But far to the east, the Ashen Veil chanted his name like a curse.
Kael of No-Name. Fire-born. He who defied blood.
And they marched with blades that glowed like embers.