The smell of smoke still lingered in the air. Days had passed since the siege, yet Solareth's heart had not stopped bleeding. Once-proud spires bore scorch marks, their once-gilded tips blackened by flame. The streets, where merchants once bustled and children laughed, echoed instead with the cries of the wounded and the grief of the mourning.
Kaelen stood atop the shattered battlements, his hand tightening around the hilt of his blade. Its edge was chipped, its glow dulled, but it had survived — just as he had. Yet survival felt hollow when so many others had not.
Below, funeral pyres burned. Rows upon rows of soldiers — men and women who had given everything to defend their queen and their people — were honored with flame. The smoke coiled upward like prayers, vanishing into the heavens.
"Kaelen."
The voice was soft, but it carried like a thread of warmth through the heavy air. Serenya approached, draped not in her regal gowns but in a simple cloak of mourning black. Her golden crown rested crooked on her brow, tarnished by soot. She looked less like a queen and more like a woman weighed by the burdens of loss.
He bowed slightly, though his gaze never left the horizon. "Your Majesty."
She frowned. "After what we've endured, you would still call me that?"
Kaelen exhaled, his breath visible in the cool night air. "It feels safer than calling you by name."
Her lips curved, but it was not a smile. "Safety is a fleeting thing now."
They stood in silence, listening to the crackle of the pyres. The city breathed grief around them. Kaelen felt it seep into his bones, as though the very stones of Solareth were mourning.
Finally, Serenya spoke. "We must rebuild."
Kaelen turned to her then. Her eyes, though rimmed with exhaustion, blazed with the fire of a queen who refused to yield. "The people need us strong," she continued. "They need to see that Solareth is not broken, that its spirit is unshaken."
"And what of the betrayal?" Kaelen's voice was edged with bitterness. "Veradis was not merely a man. He was your councilor. Your friend. And he nearly delivered your city into the Veil's grasp."
Her hands tightened into fists. For the briefest moment, her composure cracked — grief mixed with rage. "Do you think I do not know the weight of his treachery? Every time I close my eyes, I see him standing beside me in the council chamber, whispering counsel I once trusted. I feel the sting of my own blindness."
Kaelen regretted his harshness, but the words had already left him. "I only mean—"
"I know what you mean," she interrupted softly. "But if we linger too long in grief, Solareth will not have the strength to survive the next storm. And you and I both know it will come."
He could not argue with that.
The great hall was dim, lit only by the sputter of oil lamps. Its marble floors bore cracks from the siege, its banners torn and stained. Where once a full council gathered, now only a handful of shaken survivors remained.
Serenya took her place at the head of the long table, her posture regal though her eyes betrayed her fatigue. Kaelen stood at her right, a silent guardian whose very presence commanded attention.
One of the nobles — Lord Ceryth, his arm in a sling — leaned forward. "Majesty, the city bleeds. Our grain stores are half-burned, our armories depleted. The people are frightened, starving. We must prioritize rebuilding within our walls."
A grizzled commander shook his head. "If we huddle behind walls, we only invite the next blow. The Veilspawn will strike again, and harder. We must rally the armies of our allies, send word to the kingdoms beyond."
Another councilor — Lady Nyara, whose silver hair framed a sharp face — scoffed. "Allies? What allies? The neighboring lords already whisper that Solareth is doomed. They will not commit their forces to a sinking ship."
The voices rose, clashing like swords. Kaelen's jaw tightened. He had spent enough years in war to know the danger of division.
Finally, Serenya raised her hand. Silence fell, heavy and uneasy.
"We will do both," she said, her tone leaving no room for doubt. "We will rebuild Solareth's strength, but we will also seek aid. The Veil's corruption spreads across the realms — if our neighbors do not yet see it, they soon will. Better they stand with us now than face ruin alone later."
Lord Ceryth frowned. "And who will lead such an embassy? You cannot leave the city, Majesty."
Her gaze flicked, almost instinctively, toward Kaelen.
A murmur rippled through the chamber.
Kaelen's brow furrowed. "You would send me?"
"You are not bound by Solareth's politics," Serenya said firmly. "You have walked as an outsider, yet fought as one of us. You carry no noble sigil, no family oath. That makes you… untainted."
He almost laughed, but the sound was bitter. "Untainted? You saw what I did during the siege. The Veil's corruption touched me. You cannot be certain it hasn't left its mark."
Her gaze softened, though her voice remained strong. "If the Veil had claimed you, Kaelen, I would not be standing here now. I trust you. And more importantly — the people trust you."
The council exchanged uneasy glances. No one dared challenge her decree.
So it was decided: Kaelen would ride beyond Solareth's borders, seeking allies for a war that was no longer confined to one kingdom.
That night, Kaelen prepared in silence. His armor, dented and scorched, had been reforged by the city's remaining smiths. His blade was sharpened, its edge gleaming in the firelight. Yet as he strapped his gauntlets, a heaviness pressed upon him.
Serenya entered quietly. She wore no crown now, only a cloak of midnight blue. For the first time in days, she looked less like a queen and more like the woman who had once spoken to him beneath Solareth's starry skies, confessing her fears and her hopes.
"You doubt this path," she said softly.
"I doubt many things," Kaelen admitted. "But not the need for it."
She approached, her hand brushing against his arm. The touch was brief, almost hesitant, but it sent a ripple through him stronger than any sword strike.
"You carry more than a soldier's burden," she whispered. "You carry the bond we share. Whether you wish it or not, the prophecy ties us together. Whatever you face beyond these walls, know that you do not face it alone."
Kaelen swallowed, his throat tight. He wanted to tell her how dangerous that bond felt, how much he feared the darkness within himself, how much he feared dragging her down with him. But words failed.
Instead, he bowed his head. "I will return."
Serenya's eyes glimmered with something unspoken — faith, fear, longing. She turned before the moment could linger, leaving him with the weight of silence.
The morning came shrouded in mist. Soldiers and citizens gathered at the gates, weary but determined, to see him off. Murmurs rippled through the crowd as Kaelen mounted his steed, the black stallion snorting impatiently.
To them, he was more than a warrior. He was a symbol — the man who had fought beside their queen, who had held the walls when all seemed lost. His presence stirred a fragile hope in their broken hearts.
Serenya stood at the gates, her cloak flowing in the dawn breeze. She lifted a hand, not as a queen commanding her knight, but as a woman sending someone precious into danger.
Kaelen met her gaze. For a heartbeat, the world narrowed to just the two of them — bound by fate, bound by choice, bound by something neither fully understood.
Then he turned his horse and rode into the mist, toward an uncertain future.