The wind carried smoke and rumor in equal measure. Across the Shattered Marches, campfires glowed red against the night, where mercenaries, deserters, and broken knights whispered the same name.
Kael Rivenhart.
The boy marked in crimson. The warrior who had stood trial before the Oracle and survived.
Kael stood on a ridge overlooking the Marches, his cloak whipping in the cold wind. Below, villages lay in quiet ruin, some still burning from raids. He had not struck those fires, but his name was blamed for them nonetheless. Already, factions were dividing—those who believed he was a savior and those who swore he was a curse given flesh.
Behind him, his companions shifted. Lyra leaned on her bow, her silver eyes uneasy. Darric sat polishing his shield, though his gaze flicked to Kael often, as if measuring the young man's weight against the word king. Isryn lingered in shadow, her hands resting on the pommel of her blade, her expression unreadable as the flames reflected in her dark eyes.
"They fear you," Lyra finally said, breaking the silence. "Fear is a kind of loyalty, but it is fragile. You'll need more than whispers to unite them."
Kael turned his gaze from the valley. His crimson eyes burned faintly in the dark. "I'm not here to unite them," he said, his voice low but steady. "I came here to keep the fire from consuming them all. But they've already chosen sides in a war not yet begun."
"Wars don't wait for kings to be ready," Darric muttered, snapping his shield into place. "The moment you stepped into the Oracle's hall, you stopped being just a man."
Kael's jaw tightened. The weight of prophecy clung to him like chains.
Before he could speak further, a rider approached from the west, his horse foaming, armor dented. He fell to his knees before Kael, gasping for breath.
"My lord—" the man began.
"Don't call me that," Kael snapped, though the rider only bowed lower.
"The courts… the Sovereign Courts," the messenger wheezed. "They've heard the whispers. Already banners are being raised. Some march to crown you… others march to end you. Civil war, my lord, it has begun."
Silence spread over the ridge. Even the wind seemed to falter.
Lyra's hand tightened on her bowstring. "Then it begins."
Isryn stepped forward, her voice sharp as a blade. "The Sovereign Courts will test you. They will want to see if you are ruler or rabble. If you falter, Kael, your blood will stain their thrones."
Kael looked out over the horizon, where distant fires bloomed like stars fallen to earth. The world was shifting, cracking beneath the weight of prophecy.
"I didn't choose this," he murmured, almost to himself. Then louder, to his companions: "But if they come with chains, I will break them. If they come with blades, I will answer."
The ridge trembled with his words, as though even the earth had recognized the birth of something new.
The chapter ends with Kael and his companions riding toward the Courts, into the heart of betrayal, blood, and shifting thrones.