In the quietude of the Winterbell Archives, Flynn traced his fingers over ancient scrolls sealed with frost-worn wax. The royal historians had long preserved the records of both allies and enemies tales of bloodshed, treaties, betrayals. It was a place Caelan had once avoided, seeing it as a museum of mistakes.
But now, Flynn hunted for names. Clues. And perhaps… redemption.
"Seren," he whispered under his breath as his eyes scanned the parchment. "Why are they whispering your name now?"
He didn't expect an answer. Seren had been silent since the last encounter. Watching, perhaps. Calculating.
Elior entered quietly, a tray of warm tea in his hands.
"You haven't rested since last night," he said gently, setting the tray beside the stacks of scrolls.
Flynn didn't respond immediately. His violet eyes shimmered with both weariness and something harder resolve. "They're planning something. This... isn't just about revenge. Someone's stirring the ashes of Elaris. That name appearing again isn't coincidence."
Elior's brow furrowed. "You think it's a distraction?"
Flynn shook his head. "No. A signal."
Meanwhile, beyond the palace gates, in the abandoned outpost near the northern ridge, a cloaked figure stood before a line of kneeling men. A dim lantern illuminated only his mouth.
"They believe Elaris has fallen," the figure said, voice smooth, calculated. "But kingdoms rot slowly. Their bones, if buried right, still bite."
He handed each man a token a metal ring shaped like a serpent swallowing its tail.
"Deliver our message in three kingdoms. The heir has returned."
The men departed like whispers on the wind.
---
Back at the palace, Khalid stood before a mirror. He had removed his duke's cloak. Only a black tunic clung to his form, revealing the faint scar beneath his collarbone one he'd earned long ago.
He stared at his reflection. Golden eyes flickered with a shadowed memory.
"Caelan," he murmured under his breath. The name still clung to his tongue like poison.
Behind him, the door creaked open. A servant peeked in. "Your Grace, the prince has summoned you."
Khalid donned his cloak again, masking the faint tremor in his hand. He hadn't heard that name in years. But something about the way the wind howled through Winterbell's towers tonight made him uneasy.
Something from the past was clawing its way back.
And he wasn't sure if he was ready to face it.