Rowenne stomped into the Hall of Valor, her movements swift and sharp. There was an urgency in the way she moved—controlled but fierce.
The Hall of Valor was a grand chamber, its walls lined with deep red curtains that flowed like banners in a breeze that wasn't there. The polished wooden floor gleamed under the golden light pouring from the stained-glass windows above. Tall, flat-faced pillars rose in pairs from one end of the room to the other, evenly spaced like soldiers at attention.
Each pillar bore the frame of a knight—his name engraved in bronze, his deeds etched below in fine lettering that had dulled with time. Beside each frame stood a full suit of armor, preserved and upright, as though waiting for battle. In front of each was a sword on a low, angled stand—some plain, some ornate, all once wielded by legends.
Halfway through the hall, Rowenne spotted Alaric and Edmund standing beside Sir Caidric. They were staring up at a large frame at the far end of the room. She rushed toward them.
"My lady, is something wrong?" Caidric asked, noticing the expression on her face.
"No, Sir Caidric," she answered quickly, forcing a smile that didn't reach her eyes. She turned to the children. "We have to get moving. At once."
"But Mother," Alaric said, "we're yet to know about the last knight—"
"Another time. You'll get to see it," she cut him off, grabbing him and Edmund by the wrists.
She began to lead them out in haste. Caidric stood there, confused. That morning, Rowenne had arrived at the palace calm—cheerful, even. Now her expression was a storm of fear and anger, and she moved like someone being hunted.
He glanced back toward the frame the boys had been looking at before she pulled them away.
"Sir Ashbane Thoryen, Knight-Commander of the King's Knights during the reign of King Aerion the Resolute, the 6th Monarch."
The rest of the inscription was hidden beneath a weathered bronze sheet bolted to the frame. It had always been that way. None of the knights ever knew what was written there.
Caidric gently touched the hilt of the sword on the stand, then turned and walked off.
Rowenne, Alaric, and Edmund hurried down the steps into the outer chamber—only to be stopped by four guards bearing long spears.
"Mother, what's happening?" Alaric asked, stepping behind her with Edmund.
"What is the meaning of this?" Rowenne demanded.
"We have orders from the king to safely escort you to the guest chamber," one of the guards said. "His Majesty is concerned for your safety, since nightfall is near. He's asked that you remain in the palace until morning."
"I don't care what your king has demanded," Rowenne snapped. "I can worry about my own safety. I will not be stopped by someone who stays hidden behind walls all day, never knowing what the night is like beyond them."
The guards exchanged a glance before one of them stepped forward again.
"I'm sorry, my lady. I'm only following His Majesty's orders. You may leave at first light tomorrow—but not before."
Rowenne stood still for a moment, weighing her options. Her eyes shifted to Alaric, who clung to Edmund, nervous and unsure. She looked back at the guard.
"First thing tomorrow morning, we leave," she said. "And not even the king himself can stop us."
The guards bowed silently and led the way. Rowenne and the boys followed.
They stopped outside a standalone building in the Lady's Quarters. One of the guards gestured for Rowenne and the boys to enter. She opened the door and stepped inside with Alaric and Edmund close behind. Once they were in, the guards returned silently to their post.
Inside, the building was quiet—and luxurious. There were two rooms. The first held three finely carved chairs arranged around a round table made of polished mahogany. A fireplace had been built into the wall, its warm glow making the room feel cozy and calm.
The second room contained three neatly made beds, spaced evenly across the walls as if the room had been prepared in advance just for them. In each corner stood a tall scented candle, its gentle flame casting a soft, golden light and filling the air with a faint trace of lavender and cedar.
Rowenne immediately collapsed into one of the chairs, leaned her head back, and closed her eyes without saying a word. Edmund sat on the chair beside her, looking tired but curious. Alaric wandered the room slowly, running his fingers along the edges of the furniture and the fabric of the drapes.
Where he lived with Rowenne wasn't poor—it was decent, warm, and homely in its own way—but this was different. The marble-tiled floor, the thick velvet curtains, the quiet hum of candlelight… it all felt like something out of a tale. Still, even as he admired it, he knew—it wasn't home. No matter how grand the place was, without Rowenne by his side, no other comfort could match the feeling of home she brought with her.
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"Your Majesty," said the guard, bowing as he entered the throne room.
Kaelion turned slightly. "Yes?"
"They are all in the guest chamber now," the guard replied. "She also… threatened to leave at first light. With or without your permission."
Kaelion's expression didn't change.
"That's fine," he said calmly. "Post guards around the building. And make sure I hear of any strange movement or event before anyone else does."
"Yes, sire," the guard replied with another bow, then left.
____________________________________
It was late into the night when Alaric felt a soft tap on his leg. He stirred, blinking sleepily. Rowenne stood over him, already dressed, gently nudging Edmund next.
Still half-asleep, Alaric closed his eyes again, pulling the blanket over his head. But the second tap was firmer.
"Come on, get up. This is important," Rowenne whispered in a hushed voice.
Grumbling, Alaric sat up and rubbed his eyes, while Edmund sat on his own bed, clearly still in the middle of a dream.
"Come, this way," Rowenne said, quietly dragging them both into the first room.
She led them to a bowl of cool water and dipped their faces in it one after the other until they were fully awake.
"Sit," she ordered. "And listen carefully."
She placed the bowl aside and sank into the last empty chair, her face serious.
The nearly burned-out candle cast a dim flicker across the room as Rowenne began to speak.
"I hate to say this, and I know you may not understand it now… but I have to say it anyway, because this might be the only chance I get. I don't know what the next minute holds."
Her voice was low but steady. The boys stared wide-eyed. It was clear Rowenne hadn't slept since they arrived—her face was tired, her eyes dim with exhaustion.
"You'll need to leave Eryndral. Go far away. You don't belong here… you never did. They rejected you once, and they will do it again the moment they get the chance." She turned to Alaric, speaking directly to him now. "Don't let what you see fool you. All of it—the kindness, the warmth—it's fragile. It's fake. None of it is real."
Then she turned to Edmund, reached for his hands, and stared into his eyes.
"Promise me, Edmund. From now on, you'll watch over Alaric. Protect him. Stay by his side, no matter what it costs. Promise me the two of you will never leave each other."
"I promise," Edmund said quietly, though he had no idea what the promise truly meant—or what it might cost him later.
"Mother?" Alaric asked softly. "Is something wrong? Are you leaving?"
"No," Rowenne said, shaking her head. "I will never leave you."
She paused, swallowing hard.
"When the sun rises, maybe the king will let us go. If that happens, we'll continue with our plans from yesterday. But… if he doesn't… I only have a rough idea of how that might end."
She took a breath. Her voice was trembling now, but she fought to keep it calm.
"I want you to promise me something too, Alaric."
"What is it, Mother?" he asked, still confused, sensing something heavy in the air.
"Promise me that no matter what happens in the morning… you'll do exactly as I say. You'll leave Eryndral. Leave Erythoria. And never look back."
Alaric hesitated, his face turning pale.
"But why, Mother—?"
"No, Alaric," she cut him off gently. "Just promise me."
"I promise," he said quietly, the words catching in his throat when he saw the pain behind her eyes.
"But where will we go, Mother?" he asked.
Rowenne gave a faint smile.
"Don't worry about where to go. All you need to worry about is leaving Eryndral. Wherever you are… home will always find you."
"I don't understand, Mother," Edmund said quietly, glancing between her and Alaric. "How will home find us? How can a place know where we are?"
Rowenne gave a tired smile, full of sorrow.
"I wish I could explain everything," she said softly, "but we don't have enough time. And even if we did… I don't think either of you would fully understand. Not yet."
She turned to Alaric, her gaze steady.
"Listen to me, Alaric."
He sat up straighter.
"A lot is going to happen. Danger is coming. Darkness. Dire times. The wheel of time is turning again, and fate… fate is beginning to unravel. The universe is stirring. Destinies are colliding. Shadows are waking, and the light must burn brighter."
Her voice lowered.
"Blood will meet fire… where the dead walk among the living. And at the center of it all—will be you."
She paused. Her breath trembled. For a moment, it seemed like she was trying to convince herself that what she was saying wasn't true before daring to speak again.
"But you don't have to be at the center, Alaric. That choice is still yours. You can step away from the middle. Stand at the edge. Walk away entirely if you want to."
She reached up and began untangling the necklace she always wore around her neck.
"Everything begins here. Eryndral. This palace. The throne room. But you can try to stop it before it begins… by leaving this kingdom."
The necklace slipped free from her fingers, glinting in the candlelight.
"The world is going to come for you, Alaric," she said, her voice trembling with quiet urgency. "The living… and the dead. They will seek you. Life and death will fight over you. Fate will chase you. It may never let you go. But you—" she touched his shoulder—"you can fight it. You are stronger than you think."
She suddenly stilled, her ear catching something outside. Footsteps—the slow, distant thump of guards on night patrol.
She waited until the sound passed, then continued in a whisper.
"The universe chose you. Fate chose you. Even the world chose you. But don't let it make you feel special, Alaric. Because the same world that chose you… once tried to have you killed."
Alaric's brows drew together in confusion. His lips parted, but no words came out. None of it made sense yet.
Then she turned to Edmund again, her tone soft but serious.
"And you, Edmund… your role is just as important. You'll stand at many crossroads in your life, face many choices. But no matter how far you go, you will always find your way back. You must."
Rowenne opened her hand to reveal the necklace—an intricate pendant shaped like a phoenix, its wings spread wide within a delicate ring. The moment she leaned forward and placed it on Alaric's neck, it gave off a faint, warm glow, as if awakening to something long dormant.
She froze. A single tear slipped down her cheek, betraying the calm she tried to hold. She quickly wiped it away, then clasped the necklace around his neck.
"Stay together," she whispered. "As long as you stay together… you'll be safe."
She looked at them both, her voice quivering with love she could no longer contain.
"And never forget this: I am your mother. I have always loved you, and I will always love you. That is my promise to both of you. Wherever you go… I will be with you."
She leaned forward and kissed each of them gently on the forehead.
"Now go back to sleep," she whispered, her voice breaking. "It's going to be a long day."
Alaric and Edmund returned to bed silently, glancing back at her once more before pulling the covers over themselves. Rowenne watched until they settled, their breathing slowing, their tiny bodies tucked safely into the warmth of the bed.
Then she turned away, lowered herself into the chair, and buried her face in her palms.
Tears slipped quietly down her hands.