The cart rocked with every turn of the wheel, creaking under the weight of three worn travelers. The morning air was cool, painted in a haze of gold and dust, and somewhere beyond the valley, Dravenhart loomed — black towers and iron gates glinting faintly in the distance.
Zelene sat at the edge of the carriage bed, her cloak drawn tight, hood low. Beneath the coarse weave of commoner's garb, her heartbeat thudded unevenly — not from fear, but memory.
Ray sat across from her, quiet, recovering. His arms rested over his knees, and though his color had returned, his body still bore the fatigue of their last encounter. Beside him, Finn tried his best to look brave, though his face still had traces of dirt — and maybe pride — from the bandit skirmish earlier that morning.
"Dravenhart…" Finn muttered under his breath, adjusting his satchel. "Didn't think we'd end up here this soon."
Ray hummed. "You sound like you've read about it."
"I have," Finn said, eyes bright despite the exhaustion. "Home of the Iron Guard. Seat of Duke Kael Dravenhart, they called him. Ruthless. Unbeaten. Well—" his tone softened, "almost unbeaten."
Zelene didn't speak.
She simply looked out — beyond the rattling wheels, the rise of the road, the faint shadows of forges that burned even in daylight. Kael. His name rang in her chest like the echo of a sword strike. She hadn't thought of him since the fall — since the night the fires swallowed the capital and the Auryn seals were broken.
Now she was heading back toward him.
Toward danger.
Toward someone who once swore to protect her — and nearly lost everything because of it.
She pressed her fingers to her pendant and whispered, "Please let him be safe."
Meanwhile — Somewhere in the Wildlands
The sound of running water echoed faintly through the pines. Kael crouched by the riverbank, his reflection fractured by the current. His cloak was dusted with ash and dirt; his sword, slung across his back, gleamed faintly beneath the dawn.
Darius stood a few paces behind him, scanning the treeline. "No tracks past this ridge," he said. "They've gone east, maybe three days ahead. If we push before dusk, we can still—"
"No."
Kael rose slowly, the light catching the scar that cut across his cheek. His gaze was distant, fixed somewhere beyond the horizon. "She's not heading east."
Darius frowned. "Then where, Your Grace?"
"Dravenhart."
The Darius blinked. "That's your territory."
"I know," Kael muttered. "That's why she'll go there."
"You're certain?"
"It's what I would do if I were her," Kael said, his voice low, steady. "She'll think the prince's men might target my land next. She'll want to warn me before they do."
Darius exhaled, shaking his head. "You make it sound like you can read her."
Kael gave a faint, humorless smile. "You don't forget the way someone thinks when you've fought beside them… or when they've nearly died for you."
Darius fell silent, then adjusted the strap of his pack. "We'd best not be late, my lord."
Kael turned toward him. "You can still use your gift?"
Darius's expression darkened. "I used it once, my lord. It took days before I could stand again."
Kael's eyes hardened — not with cruelty, but urgency. "Then use it again."
Darius hesitated. "You'd risk it? For her?"
Kael stepped closer, his tone leaving no room for question. "She's not just anyone, Darius. She's our responsibility — your milady. And if she walks into Dravenhart unaware of what's coming… she'll walk into the lion's den."
Darius's shoulders slumped slightly — but he nodded, resigned. "As you command, my lord."
Kael glanced once more toward the horizon — toward where the sun rose over the mountains, painting the sky in the same crimson hue that once marked the banners of her house.
"Hold on, Zelene," he whispered.
"The world's not done burning yet."