The echoes of the council chamber still rang in Serenya's ears long after the doors had closed behind her. Lord Malrik's voice—honeyed and venomous—clung to her mind like smoke. His promises of security through marriage, his veiled threats to the throne, his insinuations that Solareth could not survive without compromise.
She pressed her palms against the cool stone of the corridor, grounding herself in its solidity. The citadel's golden light, pouring in from high-arched windows, felt suffocating rather than comforting. Every shadow seemed to whisper. Every noble's bow felt like a dagger angled toward her back.
"Highness," Lyra murmured, walking at her side. "Are you well?"
Serenya forced her lips into a smile that did not reach her eyes. "As well as one can be when one's fate is debated like the price of grain."
Lyra frowned. "The people saw your strength today. They'll remember it. You stood against Malrik when no one else dared."
Strength. Serenya felt none of it. She felt like porcelain—painted, polished, but always one crack away from shattering. And yet, she could not allow herself to break. Not when her father's health waned. Not when Kaelen's grim report of the northern forests still weighed heavy on her heart.
Kaelen.
Her steps faltered as she remembered the way he had looked at her in the chamber—steady, unflinching, as if she were not a princess but simply Serenya. She had seen fear in his eyes too, though not for himself. Fear for the villages, for the Veil, for a world unraveling at its seams.
"Summon Sir Kaelen," she said suddenly.
Lyra blinked. "Now? The court—"
"Now," Serenya repeated, steel slipping into her tone. "If the council will not act, then I must. And he is the only one I trust to speak plainly."
Kaelen was waiting in the courtyard by the time she arrived. He had shed his ceremonial armor, but even in the simple leathers of a soldier he carried himself with the quiet authority of someone who had bled for his oaths. His sword rested against his hip, his hand never straying far from its hilt.
When he bowed, it was shallow—respectful, but not groveling. Serenya found she preferred it.
"You summoned me, Princess?"
"Yes." She gestured toward the far archways that opened into the garden. "Walk with me."
They moved in silence at first, the murmur of fountains filling the space between them. Serenya's hands itched to pluck the roses that lined the path, but she restrained herself. It felt wrong to touch something so fragile when the world outside burned.
"You spoke truth in the council," she said at last. "About the villages. About the shadows."
Kaelen inclined his head. "They will not believe until it is too late."
"Then we must make them believe." She stopped, turning to face him. "Kaelen, I would ride north. I must see the truth with my own eyes. If I return with proof, the council cannot deny me."
His expression hardened. "Highness, the Veilspawn are not raiders to be parleyed with. They are nightmares given form. To ride north is to invite death."
"And yet," she said softly, "our people already die. If I hide here while they vanish, what kind of ruler am I?"
For a moment, his mask cracked. He looked at her—not the princess, but the woman—searching her face for hesitation. He found none.
Finally, he exhaled. "If you go, then I ride with you. No argument."
Serenya's lips curved despite the storm inside her. "I would expect nothing less."
By dawn the next day, the expedition was prepared. A small band of Solareth's scouts, hardened men who had seen too much war to fear shadows, gathered at the citadel gates. Lyra rode among them, her bow strung and ready. And at Serenya's side, astride a dark stallion, was Kaelen.
The journey north was a blur of weary villages and empty roads. Farmers bowed low as Serenya passed, their eyes filled with both reverence and desperation. Children peeked from behind their mothers' skirts, hollow-cheeked, too thin. The sight gnawed at Serenya more deeply than Malrik's barbs ever could.
"See them?" she whispered to Kaelen one night as they camped beneath the stars. "That is why I cannot sit idle. They look to me for hope, yet I give them only silence."
Kaelen stirred the fire, his face lit in flickering orange. "You give them more than you know. They do not see a princess riding north. They see someone willing to bleed as they do. That is worth more than all the council's decrees."
She studied him, his scarred hands, his steady gaze. In that moment, she felt the prophecy's weight more keenly than ever—two marks, two hearts, bound by something greater than themselves.
On the fifth night, they reached the village Kaelen had spoken of.
It was worse than she imagined.
Houses lay in ruins, their walls charred black. Wells were poisoned with a foul stench. Doors creaked on broken hinges, swinging in the cold wind. And not a single living soul remained.
Serenya dismounted, her silken cloak trailing across the ash-stained ground. She stepped into what had once been a home. The table was still set with bowls, as if a family had sat down for supper and vanished between breaths. A child's doll lay discarded near the hearth, its painted smile cracked.
Her throat tightened. "Gods…"
Kaelen knelt near the doorway. His fingers brushed over the dirt where faint claw marks scarred the earth. "They didn't flee. They were taken."
As if in answer, the ground beneath them shuddered.
The air thickened, humming with unnatural energy. The shadows stretched unnaturally long, curling like serpents. And from the earth itself, a fissure split open, spilling violet light.
"The rift," Kaelen growled, drawing his blade.
From the wound crawled the Veilspawn. Dozens of them, their silver eyes gleaming in the night. They moved with eerie grace, circling like predators.
"Formation!" Kaelen barked. The scouts drew close, shields raised. Serenya's heart pounded, but she drew her sword. Lyra was already nocking an arrow, her expression grim.
The first wave struck.
Steel met shadow, screams tore the night. Serenya fought as Kaelen had taught her, blade steady, strikes precise. Yet the creatures pressed harder, their claws tearing through armor as though it were parchment.
Kaelen was everywhere at once—shielding a scout, cutting down a beast, his Seal blazing with blinding light. The whispers clawed at his mind, urging him to unleash more, to surrender, to burn everything. But Serenya's voice cut through the storm again and again, steady as an anchor.
"Kaelen!"
Her call was not fear, but command. Trust.
He clung to it, forcing the fire into focus. Together, they cut a path through the horde. Lyra's arrows rained silver, piercing skulls. The scouts roared defiance, though their numbers thinned with every clash.
And then—the ground shook harder. From the rift rose something greater.
A colossus of smoke and bone, horns curling like a crown of nightmares, its chest glowing with the same violet light as the rift. Its roar split the night, rattling the ruins.
The soldiers faltered. Serenya's breath caught.
Kaelen lifted his sword. "With me!"
They charged.
The battle blurred into fire and shadow, each moment balanced on the edge of despair. Serenya's blade found its mark again and again, but the beast's wounds sealed as fast as they were made. Lyra shouted warnings, arrows striking its eyes, buying moments but not victory.
Kaelen's Seal blazed brighter, his strikes faster, harder. But with each surge came the whispers, louder now, promising victory if only he let go. His vision wavered—until Serenya's hand touched his arm.
Her eyes, steady and fierce, locked with his. "We fight as one."
And together, they struck.
Kaelen drove his sword into the monster's chest while Serenya thrust hers beside it, their marks flaring in unison—sun and shadow, dawn and twilight.
The colossus shrieked, its body unraveling in a storm of ash and fire. The rift shuddered, light flickering before collapsing in on itself.
Silence followed.
Serenya swayed, exhaustion pulling at her limbs. Around them lay ruin—both of the village and their men. Too many lives lost. Too many questions unanswered.
But as she met Kaelen's gaze, his chest heaving, his eyes burning with the same fire she felt, she knew one thing:
This was only the beginning.