A cold wind slipped through the high windows of the infirmary, brushing against Kairos' damp forehead.
He stirred.
The sterile scent of herbs and ink filled his nostrils. He opened his eyes to the ceiling of an unfamiliar chamber—domed, silver-veined, with soft golden lanterns glowing in the corners like patient watchers.
A dull throb pulsed at the center of his skull.
"...Finally awake," came a voice.
Kairos turned his head slowly.
Lysander sat by his bedside, her armor discarded, replaced by a deep navy tunic. Her expression was unreadable. That alone made his chest tighten.
"Did I...fail?" His voice came out cracked, like an old door swinging open.
She looked away, fingers tightening around a folded cloth in her lap. "…You did."
Silence.
The words rang louder than a scream.
Kairos stared at the ceiling again. His hand still bore the faint sting of the cut, but the pain now was rooted deeper—behind the eyes, beneath the skin.
"I remember the crown forming. Halfway. Then…"
"The mirror cracked," Lysander said softly. "The blood turned black. And you collapsed."
A dry laugh escaped him. "So dramatic."
"No," she said quickly. "Not dramatic. Wrong. It wasn't supposed to happen."
Kairos sat up, slowly. "I felt…someone else. Something else. Like another soul trying to crawl into my body. My mind wasn't…mine. I couldn't even hold on to who I was."
Lysander met his gaze. "Father's not said a word. He hasn't left the throne room since the ceremony ended."
A heavy silence fell again.
Then: "Do they think I'm unfit?"
"They won't say it," she whispered. "But they're thinking it. The nobles. The council. Even the scribes who took notes during your ritual. The throne rejected you. That's never happened before."
Kairos ran a hand through his hair, noticing it was still damp with sweat.
"I wasn't even supposed to be King," he muttered.
"No," she agreed, standing. "That was supposed to be me."
There it was. A truth laid bare. Yet her voice held no malice. Only ache.
He looked up at her. "I'm sorry, Lys."
She shook her head. "You didn't ask for this. He gave it to you. And then didn't even show up when it mattered."
Footsteps echoed outside the chamber. A knock followed.
Zephyrus stepped inside, his usual aloof expression replaced by something far more serious.
"Father's summoned all four of us," he said, eyes flicking between them. "Now. Throne room."
Kairos stood, legs unsteady. Lysander offered her shoulder, but he refused it. He had to walk this one himself.
---
The throne room was dimmer than usual, the massive stained-glass windows veiled by thick curtains. The torches burned blue, casting long shadows that jittered like ghosts along the walls.
The King stood beneath the shattered mirror.
Not seated. Not adorned. Just standing, hands clasped behind him, his cloak trailing like a ripple in still water.
Beside him were two unfamiliar figures. One wore gold-rimmed glasses and a surgeon's calm smile. The other, a short-haired woman in a cloak stitched with runes and feathers.
Kairos stopped beside his siblings—Lysander, Zephyrus, and the quiet fourth, Seraphina. Her eyes never blinked. Never moved from the King.
"I see you've recovered," The king said, not turning.
Kairos nodded. "Barely."
"You were rejected by the throne."
It wasn't a question. It was a sentence.
Kairos straightened. "Yes."
"Do you know why?"
"No."
"Then you've learned nothing."
He turned.
His face was as serene as a dead lake.
"There are things in this world that lie beneath the surface of blood, Kairos. Things older than paint, older than names. The throne recognizes more than lineage."
Kairos didn't respond.
The King stepped forward, then addressed all of them.
"The Veil is thinning. Our time is shortening. The beasts that prowl the roads near the Valor Region are not mindless creatures. They are scouts. Echoes of something greater."
He paused.
"You four will leave at dawn. You will travel with minimal escort. Consider this your first act of unity—your first test."
Lysander stepped forward. "And Kairos?"
"He leads the group," The king said.
Shock rippled through them like lightning.
"But—" Zephyrus started.
"Rejected or not," He continued, "he is still my chosen heir. Whether the throne accepts him now or later is irrelevant. If he dies, then the throne was right."
Cold. Merciless. Final.
Kairos clenched his fists.
The King turned back to the shattered mirror.
"Fix it," he said to the woman in feathers. She stepped forward without a word.
Then they were dismissed.
They all stood for a moment too long.
Then Kairos turned and walked out.
---
Night fell quickly.
The courtyard hummed with final preparations. Horses readied. Maps sealed. Provisions loaded with quiet urgency.
Kairos stood on the balcony, looking over the city. Torches flickered along the walls like fireflies caught in a storm.
Lysander joined him, silent at first.
Then: "You're not the same boy from yesterday."
Kairos smiled faintly. "Good."
She placed a hand on his shoulder. "You know I'll follow you."
"I know."
He looked toward the north.
To the Valor roads.
To the unknown.
To whatever test the throne still had for him.
This time, he would not flinch.