The sky was calm the night Kaelstrid died.
The winds whispered low across the cliffs. Snow drifted gently, cloaking the hold in soft silence. Riven stood on the northern wall alone, watching the trees sway beneath the stars. His blade rested across his back, untouched. His mind, restless.
His mother, Veyra, had grown quiet in recent weeks. Her eyes lingered too long on shadows. His father, Darnic, paced more, sleepless. Something brewed beneath the surface of their domain—something unspoken.
Riven could feel it. Like steel before a storm.
The fire began at the granary.
It rose fast, furious. Screams cut through the calm like sharpened steel. Bells rang. Soldiers scrambled.
Riven moved without hesitation.
He raced down the tower steps, through the side courtyard, when he heard the crash of steel—inside the walls.
Then he saw them.
Men in Kaelstrid colors—but not loyal. Mercenaries, blades painted with treason. One he recognized: a former oathbound to House Kaelstrid. Another—once a guest. And leading them was the last face he expected.
Elira.
His betrothed.
She stood in the gatehouse, pale hair lit by flame, eyes hollow.
"You were never going to be king of anything," she said, voice cold. "You and your family stood in the way of a future this world needs. One ruled by strength, not legacy."
Riven stared at her in disbelief. Then at the corpses of the guards. Then at the fire.
"Did they pay you?" he asked.
She didn't answer. Only nodded to the men behind her.
"Kill him."
The first came fast. Riven was faster.
He dropped one with a parry and counter, his green-bladed sword flashing in the firelight. The second lasted longer—trained, brutal—but Riven struck low and finished him with a twist of the blade.
He turned to Elira—only to see her vanish behind the flames.
He fought his way to the keep, step by blood-soaked step.
Inside, he found his father, wounded, dragging himself through a shattered doorway. His sword was broken. His voice hoarse.
"Riven," Darnic rasped, pressing a dagger into his son's hand. "They knew where to strike. From within."
Riven caught him as he fell.
Moments later, he found his mother, Veyra, cornered in the hall by assassins.
She killed two before Riven reached her.
The third she let Riven take.
When it was done, she touched his cheek, eyes fierce even as she bled.
"Survive. Then become what they fear."
And she fell.
Riven did not scream.
He stood in the fire and blood, looking at the ruin of all he loved.
He did not cry.
He walked out of the burning hold, sword in hand, smoke in his lungs, and silence in his heart.
He did not look back.
By dawn, Kaelstrid Hold was ash.
Riven Kaelstrid was alone.
And now—now he would begin.
Not to rebuild.
To march.