The night was unnaturally quiet.
Even the forest dared not breathe.
Lucian and Kyrell had gone to visit the ribcage of ancient ruins deep in the moorlands, where the scent of old blood still lingered in the stones. Kyrell moved beside him—tuned to him—like a second heartbeat walking in the shape of a man.
"I don't like this silence," Kyrell muttered, eyes scanning the horizon.
Lucian said nothing. His gaze was fixed on the blood-stained stone in the center of the altar. It wasn't just a ruin. It was a site of memory. Something had happened here long ago, and the land hadn't forgotten.
As Kyrell reached out to touch it, the air shifted.
Lucian grabbed his wrist—tight. "Don't."
Too late.
A tremor cut through the ground beneath them, cracking the altar open in a shuddering gasp. Out of it spilled smoke, red as spilled wine. Something answered. Not from the earth—but from within Lucian.
His chest tightened. Breath caught.
Kyrell stepped back, staring at him in horror.
"Lucian," he whispered, "your eyes—"
They weren't silver anymore.
They were glowing crimson.
And from the dark rise of the forest, an inhuman shriek echoed through the trees.
---
(The Council's Temple)
Renak slammed the scroll down. "We have less time than I thought."
One of the elders raised his head slowly. "The bond is sealed?"
"It is. But the seal did something more—it didn't just mark Kyrell. It awakened whatever's left of the First King inside Lucian."
Mara leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "Then perhaps it's not ruin we should fear," she murmured. "But resurrection."
Silence.
Then the High Elder said, "If Lucian becomes the First King reborn… he won't need a council."
---
(Damien—At the Northern Border)
Damien stood in the middle of a dead field, eyes half-mad with desperation.
Behind him, the spectral woman—The Pale Flame, the one the council buried—walked barefoot over thorned earth.
"You asked for a way to sever their bond," she said.
"I asked for him back," Damien spat. "I asked to be seen."
She tilted her head. "Then burn it all down. The bond. The heir. The prophecy. And when there's nothing left—he will look at you."
Damien turned his hand upward. In it, a blade flickered—a dagger made of mirrorstone.
A weapon that could cut through fate.
---
(Lucian and Kyrell—Back in the Moorlands)
Lucian doubled over, coughing. When he looked up, blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.
Kyrell caught him. "What's happening to you?"
"I don't know," Lucian breathed. "It's like something… inside me is remembering its throne."
Kyrell pulled him closer. "Then let it. You've always been more than what they told you."
Lucian looked up at him—lips bruised, eyes wild with power.
"I can feel every inch of you now," he said. "Your breath. Your rage. Your desire. It's like we're… no longer two things."
Kyrell pressed their foreheads together. "Then let's burn as one."
They kissed hard, desperate, pulling at each other like they could forget what was coming.
But just as Lucian pinned Kyrell against the altar stone, something whistled through the air—
A blade.
Lucian turned too late.
The dagger hit the stone beside his face, barely missing.
From the mist ahead, Damien stepped forward, his face unreadable.
"You've ruined everything," Damien said.
Lucian rose slowly, fangs glinting. "You came to die, then?"
"No," Damien said, voice shaking. "I came to take back what was mine."
---