The city of Velmire didn't remember its prince, but not everyone had forgotten.
Kael walked its backstreets like a ghost, wrapped in silence and ash, drifting through markets and alleys without leaving a name. He ate little. Slept less. The flame inside him didn't hunger the way his body did.
But he still needed answers.
The whispers said a man named Darin Solmere had returned to Velmire after a decade abroad. A former captain of the Flameguard. Loyal. Fierce. Once a brother to Kael in all but blood.
Now, he ran a smithy near the city's edge — quiet, tucked into stone, far from the gilded heart of the capital.
Kael stood across the street from it for an hour before entering.
The forge's heat hit him like memory — real heat, not divine. Charcoal and iron. The honest kind. A hammer fell. Sparks flew.
Darin stood at the anvil, older now. His beard had gone silver. Scars marked his forearms. But Kael recognized him immediately.
"Be with you in a moment," Darin called without looking up.
Kael said nothing.
The hammer rang again. A long breath.
Then Darin paused.
The silence stretched.
Slowly, he looked up. His eyes narrowed.
Kael pulled back the hood.
Time stopped.
"…No," Darin whispered.
Kael didn't move.
"Tell me I'm dreaming," the blacksmith muttered, backing up. "Tell me this is an Echo. A trick. You— You're dead. I buried you."
"You buried a lie," Kael said quietly.
Darin stared.
Then, before Kael could speak again, the man stepped forward — and hit him across the face.
The sound cracked like thunder.
Kael didn't raise a hand. He just stood there, blinking once as the pain passed.
"You bastard," Darin said, voice hoarse. "You're alive. You were alive, and you didn't send word? You didn't— You let us believe—"
"I couldn't." Kael's voice was barely above a whisper. "I wasn't… ready."
Darin looked him over. Slowly. The eyes. The scar. The fire that lingered just beneath his skin.
"You're not him anymore."
"No."
"What are you?"
Kael paused.
"I don't know yet."
Darin sat down heavily on a bench beside the forge. The metal on the anvil hissed and cracked as it cooled.
"I stayed silent at your trial," he said after a long pause. "I wanted to speak. I almost did. But they told me… they said the evidence was overwhelming. That you confessed."
"I didn't," Kael said flatly.
"I know that now."
Another silence.
"They used your father's death as the excuse," Darin said. "Said grief made you unstable. That you lashed out. That you burned the priest."
Kael clenched his fists. The flame flickered in his palm before he crushed it shut.
"They burned the truth."
"They burned your name."
Kael looked up. His eyes met Darin's.
"Do you still believe in justice?"
Darin hesitated.
"…No. But I believe in you. Or… I want to."
Kael nodded once.
"Then listen closely."
He told Darin everything. Not all at once — but enough.
The exile. The Ashfold. The whispering gods. The remnants that lived in him now, pulsing like second hearts. He didn't name them. Didn't dare speak the words aloud.
Darin listened, silent, jaw clenched.
When it ended, the fire in the forge had nearly died.
"I don't know if I can help you," Darin said finally.
"I don't need help. Just trust."
"That's a hard thing to ask, Kael."
"I know."
Another pause.
Then Darin stood. Walked to a locked chest. Unlatched it.
He pulled something out and turned.
A black cloak. Frayed. Stained with blood and fire.
Kael's.
"Found this after the execution order was passed," Darin said. "Couldn't bring myself to throw it away."
Kael took it slowly.
"Thank you."
Darin looked at him one last time.
"When the fire spreads, just… remember who you used to be."
Kael said nothing.
He left the forge behind as the first flakes of ash began to fall again — though no one else saw them.
In the sky, one of the red stars blinked.
Far away, something ancient stirred.