"He's risen?" Alaric asked, letting go of the sadness that clung to his heart.
"I don't know. That's what some people say," Rowenne answered. "Some claim he will never rise again, that what is dead remains dead. Others believe he has already risen—only with no memory of who he is."
"And which is the truth, Mother?"
"I don't know the truth, Alaric. I've only heard the rumors. You see, rumors travel farther than truth—and sometimes the truth lies buried in one… or in none."
Alaric stared at the ground, trying to digest all that Rowenne had told him. This day alone, she had revealed more than she usually allowed, and for the first time he was beginning to face the weight of dual perspectives.
On the other hand, Edmund's eyes bore such heaviness it seemed they might crumble beneath it. His shoulders slouched, his thoughts drowning inside his own head. He did not feel as though he had simply heard the tale of the Phoenix Heir—he felt as though he had lived it. And though some part of his mind tried to shield him from the storm, he could not help but search for its source. He needed to understand the burden pressing on his heart.
And then, like an answered prayer—he did.
Unfortunately.
The memories of his parents' death surged before his eyes. The same numbing void gripped him, the same horror of seeing their lifeless bodies hanging, pupils blown wide and empty. Eyes that had once looked into his that very morning, whispering I love you—now cold, distant, unreachable.
He shut his eyes tightly, desperate to silence the flood, but the memories poured on like an endless stream. He wished he could drown them in tears, bury them forever—but even tears failed him. Only a single drop escaped, sliding down to his hand. The cold sensation jolted him back to the present, like surfacing from a storm. Slowly, he opened his eyes only to realize they had stopped riding. Rowenne was by his side.
"Did you get lost again?" she asked softly, placing her hand over his. Edmund only nodded.
"It's okay. It's going to be okay," she said. "But don't get too lost in the past, Edmund. If you do, you may miss what's in front of you now and never catch up to the present."
Edmund closed his eyes again, trembling.
"Open them," Rowenne urged. "See what's here, right in front of you. I'm sorry about your parents, but you have me now. And you have Alaric. We'll make it through this—together. Okay?"
"…Okay, Mother." He forced a smile, fragile and wavering amidst the chaos.
Alaric, watching from the side, realized then that he had never once asked Edmund about his parents. And though a thousand questions burned in his chest, he knew this was not the time. He simply looked at his friend—the boy who always smiled so easily—now cloaked in a sorrow Alaric could barely begin to understand.
"Alright, it's getting dark," Rowenne said as she mounted her horse. "We're close to Myrridral, but God forbid we remain out when night falls. And the clouds are gathering. Pray, boys—pray we find shelter before the sky breaks open upon us."
They rode on, hooves striking the dirt in steady rhythm. But not far behind, hidden in the thickening shadows, a pair of eyes watched their every move. Patient. Predatory.
The figure lingered, unmoving, like a hunter waiting for the precise moment to strike. His hand drifted upward, fingers brushing the dagger resting against his shoulder. The last ray of sunset cut through the clouds, glinting across the weapon—and for the briefest instant, it lit the star-shaped scar etched into his hand.
An omen in flesh, waiting in silence.
*********************************************
"Celine, what's the progress so far?" Zyrelle asked as they walked through the streets of Myrridral.
The people of Myrridral were known for their regal grace and sophistication. Dressed in flowing white apparel, they moved through the streets in pairs, trios, or alone, their steps measured and elegant. Nightfall was close, and smokey lights hung from each building, flickering to life one after the other in a smooth, flowing sequence, as though the entire city had rehearsed the moment. What powered these lights, no one knew—save Zyrelle and a select handful. In a realm of seers protected by strange forces, the lights were among the least of Myrridral's mysteries. Only the Arcane Sanctuary, Dravenloch, came close in wonder.
"She's trying her best," Celine replied. "Right now, she's struggling to control her visions. They come on her out of nowhere and leave just as suddenly, as if she were only a vessel and nothing more."
"Give her time," Zyrelle said softly. "I'm sure she'll learn to control it soon."
"But the Wheel of Time spins endlessly… do you think she's on pace?"
"We'll see. I believe we are worrying over nothing. Does she remind you of anyone?"
Celine hesitated, her gaze distant, before answering: "Lyrris."
"Yes. Lyrris," Zyrelle said, her lips curling into a faint smile. "She had the same problem Veyra faces now. But she overcame it, just as Veyra will."
"We both know Lyrris never fully mastered it," Celine countered with a half-smile. "It still comes on her out of nowhere, just like when she was training."
They both chuckled lightly.
"Oh, please, give her a break," Zyrelle teased. "She was sent into the world without being fully prepared for it. And yet, she survived. She found her way. Amazing, really."
But her smile faltered, dimmed by a shadow of sorrow.
"You know, Celine, I still feel guilty about it all. She was just a young girl—sent into the world to face her struggles, to shoulder burdens alone while bearing the burdens of the world. In solitude, she grew… but how lonely it must have been for her."
Celine reached out, her hand brushing Zyrelle's back, her gaze steady. "We are not going to let Veyra face the same fate."
Zyrelle smiled faintly.
"Strange, isn't it? The successor facing the same problem as her predecessor. It rarely happens."
"Well," Celine said with a wry smile, "they will be our doom."
The two laughed together.
"My lady," a young girl's voice called.
They turned to see Seraphine approaching swiftly.
"Yes, Seraphine, what is it?" Zyrelle asked.
"It's Veyra. I think she's having one of her visions again."
"Well," Zyrelle said with a dry chuckle, "she never fails to keep us on our feet. You better go check up on her, Celine."
"My lady," Seraphine added quickly, "this is not like the other visions. I believe your presence is highly needed."
Zyrelle and Celine exchanged a sharp glance before turning swiftly, their steps urgent as Seraphine hurried after them.
**********************************************
Rowenne, Alaric, and Edmund rode in silence. The only sounds were the crunch of brittle leaves and the snap of twigs beneath their weary horses. Exhaustion weighed on them; hunger gnawed at their bellies, and the darkness of night had already swallowed the forest whole.
Not far behind, flames flickered. Multiple torches—drawing closer with every heartbeat.
"Mother… I think we are being followed," Alaric whispered, terror tightening his voice.
"Sshh." Rowenne pressed a finger to her lips. "Keep quiet. Don't look back."
They rode further until a shadowed outline appeared ahead—a small hut, half-buried in darkness. Rowenne dismounted quickly, pulling her satchel free, then fastened her torch to the horse's side. She helped Alaric and Edmund down, clasped their hands, and hurried them into the deeper shadows, careful to skirt every pool of light. Their horses, left behind with the glowing torch, were the sacrifice. A lure to buy them time.
The ruse worked—for now.
When the bandits saw movement cease, they slowed, dismounted, and shifted into position, their attack unfolding as if rehearsed a hundred times. Meanwhile, Rowenne and the boys pressed deeper into the woods, toward the hut. Behind them, the torchlight circled their abandoned horses, hemming them in, waiting for the kill.
The sight sent a chill through their bones. Rowenne quickened their pace, though every step risked betraying them. The crunch of leaves beneath their feet seemed loud as thunder compared to the faint rustle of the bandits closing in.
Then at a sharp whistle from their leader, the bandits lunged. But instead of screaming prey, they found only startled horses, breaking free and bolting into the forest. For a moment they stood dumbfounded, torches flaring in the dark, no trace of their quarry in sight.
"Spread out. Search for them," growled the leader, his voice coarse and deep. "They can't have gone far."
At once, the torchlight fractured, scattering through the woods in all directions.
Rowenne's breath caught. Watching the glow spread, she knew it was only a matter of time before the bandits closed in.
Far off in the distance, Draven spotted the scattered flames. The pattern told him all he needed to know: the bandits had begun their attack. Urging his horse to greater speed, he prayed he would not arrive too late.