Warmth.
That was the first thing Kael felt—not the dry heat of flame or the smothering kind that came with fever, but something gentler. A blanket, thin but carefully tucked over him. It carried the faint scent of smoke and herbs, and beneath it, the softness of straw-filled bedding.
The air was heavy with the smell of cooked barley and damp earth. Somewhere nearby, water dripped in slow, patient rhythm. Rain tapped the roof above like a tired lullaby.
He blinked.
The ceiling above was wooden, aged and cracked with time. Shadows moved along the beams where the lantern flickered near the door. The walls were close, the room unfamiliar. No marble floors. No stained glass. No velvet banners bearing the sigil of House Viremont.
This was not the manor.
Kael tried to move, but the dull weight of exhaustion anchored him. His arm slipped as he shifted, and pain bloomed across his side—a slow, dragging burn that made his breath catch.
Then a voice broke the stillness.
"Don't move yet, young master."
It was calm. Steady. A whisper of familiarity carried on a current of care.
He turned his head, slowly.
A woman stood in the doorway, framed by soft lantern light. Her rose-pink hair spilled over one shoulder in elegant waves, not the hurried braids of a servant, but something deliberate, graceful. Her skin held a sun-warmed bronze, and her dark eyes studied him with quiet intensity.
Her sleeves were rolled up, and she carried a bowl of steaming broth in both hands. For a moment, she didn't move, as if seeing him awake had pulled her breath from her chest.
"…Lira?" he rasped, throat raw.
She blinked. Then nodded, moving forward and kneeling beside the bed. The bowl dipped slightly in her hands as she lowered it to a wooden stool.
"You shouldn't be awake," she murmured. "But… thank the stars."
Kael shifted again, trying to sit up. His body protested, pain crawling along his spine. Lira moved quickly, her arms steady as she caught his shoulders.
"Careful," she said, her voice firmer now. "You've been unconscious for nearly two weeks."
Two weeks.
The number barely registered. Time had lost meaning since the night everything fell apart. The courtyard, the fire, the screaming—those moments had stretched into something endless in his mind.
He forced himself to speak. "Where are we?"
"My uncle's house," Lira said. "In the eastern lowlands. Far from the capital. Quiet. Safe… for now."
Kael let his gaze drift across the room. The walls were rough timber, patched in places. A simple rug covered the floor, and a faded curtain hung across a doorway to another room. There were no servants. No guards. Only silence and the low murmur of rain.
"Why here?" he asked.
Lira's eyes darkened.
"Because there's nowhere else," she said quietly. "Everyone else is either dead… or searching for those loyal to your Family ."
The words landed like stones in his chest.
He closed his eyes.
He saw again the flash of blades in the moonlight. His father's roar. His mother's final cry. Blood pooling on polished marble.
"My family?" he asked.
Lira sat back on her heels. Her expression was unreadable.
"There are… rumors. Most were killed in the purge. But some say a few were taken alive. Nobles who didn't agree with the betrayal. Maybe allies. Maybe… some of your kin."
Kael stared down at his trembling hands beneath the blanket. He had always imagined death would come in battle, or old age, or sickness. Not like this. Not erased. Forgotten. Stamped out like a mistake.
His voice was barely audible. "Why?"
Lira didn't answer.
Instead, she reached for the bowl again and held it out to him.
"Drink," she said gently. "You need your strength."
He took the bowl with shaking fingers. The broth was thick and bitter, but warm. He drank slowly, and each swallow grounded him a little more in the present.
But something else lingered.
At the edge of thought, just beneath the silence, something pulsed. A whisper that didn't come from the room. A presence that hadn't left him.
Not since the void.
Not since that voice.
It was still there, waiting. Coiled like smoke in the back of his mind. Not hostile. Not kind. Just… watching.
And deep within his chest, beneath the ache and the grief and the slow healing, Kael felt something different.
A shift.
As if part of him was no longer his alone