The wind smelled of smoke.
Kael noticed it before he saw the ruins. It drifted through the trees like a warning, faint but persistent, curling into his cloak and clinging to his skin. He slowed his horse, letting the others pass him, and turned his face toward the breeze.
The forest was quiet. Too quiet.
Birdsong had vanished days ago. Even the insects had gone still. The trees here were old — twisted things with bark like cracked stone and leaves the color of rust. They whispered when the wind passed through them, but it wasn't the sound of nature. It was something else.
Kael didn't trust whispers.
He rode at the rear of the column, as he always did. Not because he feared ambush — though he did — but because it gave him space to think. The men ahead were loud, armored, and tired. They joked to keep the silence away. Kael preferred the silence.
It gave him room to remember.
The king's orders had been clear: ride north, find the citadel, retrieve the girl. No details. No questions. Just a name — Lyra — and a warning: She is not what she seems.
Kael had heard that before.
He'd heard it about witches, rebels, priests, and once, about a boy who could speak to wolves. That boy had vanished. The wolves hadn't.
The path narrowed as they climbed. The forest thinned, revealing glimpses of the valley below — scorched fields, broken fences, the skeletons of homes. Kael saw no bodies, but he knew they were there.
The king's war had reached this far.
He didn't speak as they passed the remains of a village. The others did. One of the younger knights spat into the ashes and muttered something about traitors. Another laughed.
Kael kept riding.
He remembered this village. Not its name, but its shape. He'd passed through it years ago, escorting a caravan. The baker had given him a roll for free. It had smelled of honey and smoke.
Now the only smell was fire.
They made camp near dusk, beneath a ridge of black stone. The men unpacked slowly, their movements stiff. Kael didn't join them. He took his bedroll and walked a little way off, settling beneath a crooked tree.
He didn't sleep.
Instead, he watched the stars emerge, one by one, behind a veil of smoke. They looked dimmer than he remembered.
He thought of the girl.
Lyra.
He didn't know her. Had never seen her. But her name had weight. It lingered in the air like a spark waiting for flame.
The king feared her. That was enough.
Kael had learned long ago that fear was the truest measure of power.
He woke before dawn.
The fire had burned low, and the men were still asleep. Kael packed quickly, quietly. He didn't wait for orders. He didn't need them.
The citadel was close. He could feel it.
Not in the air, or the land, but in his bones — a pressure, like the moment before a storm.
He rode alone, leaving the camp behind. The path was narrow, winding through stone and ash. The trees thinned, then vanished.
And then he saw it.
The citadel.
It rose from the earth like a wound — jagged towers, broken walls, gates torn from their hinges. Smoke drifted from its highest spire, curling into the sky like a question.
Kael didn't approach. Not yet.
He dismounted, tied his horse to a dead tree, and walked forward slowly. His boots crunched against blackened stone.
The air was heavy here.
Not just with smoke, but with something older. Something deeper.
Magic.
Kael didn't believe in magic. Not in the way priests did. But he believed in power. And this place had it.
He could feel it watching him.
He stopped at the edge of the courtyard.
There were no guards. No signs of life. Just silence.
And yet…
Something moved.
Not in the shadows, but in the air itself — a flicker, like heat above a flame.
Kael reached for his sword. Slowly.
He didn't draw it.
Instead, he stood there, breathing smoke, listening to the wind.
And he waited.
The silence stretched.
Kael's thoughts wandered, unbidden. He remembered the oath he had sworn as a boy — to serve the crown, to protect the realm. He remembered the faces of those who had fallen beside him, their loyalty repaid with graves.
He wondered if loyalty was worth the ash it left behind.
The citadel loomed above him, broken but defiant. It had stood through wars, storms, and fire. It would stand still, long after men like him were gone.
Kael felt small beneath it.
And yet, he felt chosen.
The wind shifted.
It carried a sound — faint, distant, but unmistakable. A voice.
Kael froze.
It wasn't human. It wasn't animal. It was something older, something that belonged to the stones themselves.
He couldn't understand the words, but he felt them. They pressed against his chest, heavy and insistent.
He closed his eyes.
And for the first time in years, Kael prayed.