The storm had calmed by the time Kael stepped outside the citadel—but the silence it left behind felt far heavier than the thunder ever had.
Lyra was waiting for him at the foot of the steps, arms crossed, foot tapping impatiently. The moment she saw him, her expression shifted from annoyance to concern.
"You look like you saw a ghost," she said. "Or ten."
Kael didn't answer immediately. His mind was still spinning, still replaying the glowing symbols, the whisper that felt impossibly old, impossibly close.
Lyra stepped closer, lowering her voice. "Kael… what happened in there?"
He opened his mouth—then stopped.
If he told her about the Primordial Gate responding to him…
If he told her about the title Seraphine whispered—Ashen Sovereign…
Would she believe him? Or worse—would he put her in danger by knowing too much?
Lyra raised an eyebrow. "You're doing that thing where you think too much and say nothing."
Kael managed a weak smile. "It was just… a test."
"A test that made you look like your soul crawled out of your body and ran away?"
"Something like that."
Lyra sighed, grabbed his wrist, and tugged him away from the citadel.
"Come on. You're not going to class like this. I'm dragging you to the terraces."
"Lyra, I—"
"No arguing. Consider this a command."
She didn't let go of his wrist the entire walk.
The Terraces of Dawn
The two reached a quiet viewpoint hanging over the cliffs. It was a place few came to this early—most students were in morning drills.
The terraces were carved directly into the cliff face, a series of long platforms overlooking the abyss. The sun was finally rising, burning through the last remnants of the storm, turning the clouds gold and crimson.
Lyra leaned over the railing. "Talk."
Kael stared at the rising sun.
He wanted to lie.
He wanted to say it was nothing.
But the memory of the black flame curling around his arm…
The ancient whisper calling him Heir…
The Primordial Gate waking at his touch…
Everything inside him was screaming that pretending nothing happened would only make things worse.
"Lyra," he said softly. "Have you ever heard of the Ashen Sovereign?"
Lyra's expression froze.
Slowly, she turned to look at him. "What did you say?"
"The Ashen Sovereign."
Her eyes narrowed, the joking edge in her tone evaporating. "Where did you hear that name?"
Kael hesitated. "The High Arbiter said it."
Lyra went very still.
"That can't be right," she said, voice barely above a whisper. "Kael… the Ashen Sovereign isn't a myth. It's a curse."
Kael's pulse quickened. "What do you mean?"
Lyra's gaze drifted to the horizon as she spoke.
"It's a legend whispered in the Shadow Kingdom. Something our elders say to keep assassins from becoming arrogant. The Ashen Sovereign was a being born from void-flame—a power that could burn through reality itself. They say his awakening meant the fall of an age."
She turned back to him.
"And they say anyone tied to the Sovereign dies young."
A knot tightened inside Kael's chest.
"That's… reassuring," he muttered.
"Kael," Lyra said, stepping closer, "why would the High Arbiter use that name? What did you do?"
Kael took a slow breath.
This was the moment he decided how much truth to reveal.
"I touched something," Kael said quietly. "A door. And it reacted."
Lyra blinked. "A door? What kind of door—"
Before she could finish, the air split.
Not literally—but the shift was abrupt enough to feel like it.
A cold pressure slid across the terraces, a presence that made Kael's instincts scream. Lyra stiffened instantly, one hand sliding toward her dagger.
Kael turned.
A man stood behind them.
He hadn't made a sound—not a single footstep.
He wore long dark-gray robes embossed with silver trim. His eyes were hidden beneath a hood, but Kael could feel them—sharp, dissecting, ancient.
Lyra reacted first, stepping between Kael and the stranger. "Who are you? This area is restricted—"
The stranger raised one gloved hand.
Not to attack.
But in greeting.
"Peace, child of shadows. I mean no harm."
His voice was smooth—too smooth.
Lyra's posture didn't relax. "State your name."
The stranger turned his unseen gaze toward Kael.
"I am Valdus Ren."
The name meant nothing to Kael.
But Lyra's reaction was immediate.
She froze. Blood drained from her face.
"You're lying," she whispered. "Valdus Ren is dead."
A small smile tugged at the stranger's lips.
"Many assume so."
Kael glanced between them. "Lyra… who is he?"
Lyra swallowed.
"He was the High Shadow of Nighthaven. Leader of our entire assassin order. The greatest illusionist our kingdom produced in centuries."
Kael felt his heart skip.
That title alone was terrifying.
But Lyra wasn't finished.
"He vanished forty years ago. They say he betrayed the throne and was executed by our own blades."
Valdus chuckled. "Rumors are fascinating things, aren't they?"
Kael forced his voice steady. "Why are you here?"
Valdus regarded him calmly.
"Because the moment the Primordial Gate stirred, I felt it."
Kael's breath caught.
He knew.
This stranger knew exactly what happened.
Lyra reacted instantly, stepping in front of Kael again, blade drawn. "If you come near him—"
Valdus did not move, did not flinch, did not even blink.
"Relax, child. If I wished to strike, you would not see it coming."
Lyra tensed further, but Kael touched her arm gently. "Lyra… it's okay."
"No," she hissed. "It's not okay. This man is dangerous."
"I am," Valdus agreed. "But not your enemy."
His gaze, though hidden, turned toward Kael with a strange intensity.
"You have awakened something vast. Something older than this kingdom. And ancient forces have already taken notice."
Kael felt a chill.
"Ancient forces?"
Valdus nodded.
"Assassins are not the only ones who watch the shadows, Kael Draven Solaris."
He stepped closer—but not threateningly. More like a teacher approaching a curious student.
"Tell me, have you begun to dream?"
Kael stiffened.
The shattering moon.
The black flames devouring the sky.
The massive dragon coiled in eternal fire.
Yes. Oh yes, he had dreamed.
Valdus saw the change in Kael's expression.
"Ah," the shadow master said softly. "So the visions have begun."
Lyra grabbed Kael's hand unconsciously.
"What do the visions mean?" Kael asked, voice low.
Valdus lifted his head.
"They mean," he said, "that the chains around your soul are starting to crack."
Kael felt his breath catch. "Chains? Around my soul?"
"Placed long ago," Valdus said. "To seal what you once were. To keep your true nature from emerging."
Kael's heartbeat thundered in his ears. "You're speaking as if I lived before."
"You did," Valdus said simply.
Kael staggered a step back.
He had always thought his recurring dreams were symbolic. Just images. Memory echoes of fear or childhood trauma.
But Valdus wasn't speaking metaphorically.
"You are not becoming something new," the shadow master said. "You are returning to what you once were."
A wave of vertigo hit Kael.
Lyra grabbed his arm. "Kael—"
He squeezed her hand in silent reassurance, forcing himself to stand straight.
"What was I?" Kael asked.
Valdus paused, as if considering how much truth Kael was ready for.
Finally, he spoke.
"You were the heir of the Ashen Sovereign. The last of the primordial line. The one destined to either restore the balance… or break the world."
Kael's stomach dropped.
This was too much.
Too big.
Too ancient.
Too impossible.
"I don't believe you," Kael muttered.
"You will," Valdus said smoothly. "Soon."
He reached into his cloak and withdrew something small—an obsidian pendant with a burning-red sigil etched on its surface.
Kael recognized the symbol instantly.
It was the same symbol that appeared on the Primordial Gate when he touched it.
Valdus extended it.
"Take it. It will protect you until your next awakening."
Kael hesitated.
Lyra didn't.
She knocked the pendant aside with her blade, sending it skidding across the stone.
"We are not accepting cursed shadow relics from traitors."
Valdus didn't react. He only turned his unseen gaze toward her.
"You love him," he said softly.
Lyra froze.
Color rushed to her cheeks. "Th—that's not— I—"
"It does not matter," Valdus said. "Only that you understand the danger."
He stepped back.
"Kael Solaris, your destiny is spiraling open. Soon, more will come for you. Some to kill. Some to protect. Some… to claim you."
Kael's throat tightened. "Why me?"
Valdus tilted his head.
"Because you carry a legacy the world fears."
The shadow master's body began to dissolve—literally dissolving—into drifting black particles.
"Wait!" Kael called out. "Will we see you again?"
Valdus' fading silhouette gave the faintest hint of a smile.
"Oh yes," he said. "Much sooner than you expect."
Then he vanished.
Gone.
Not teleported.
Not concealed.
Just… gone.
Lyra gripped Kael's arm.
"Kael… we need to tell someone. The High Arbiter. The council. Someone."
"No," Kael said.
Lyra blinked. "What? Why not!?"
"If we tell them," Kael said slowly, "they'll lock me away… or worse. They already know something is happening. But if they think I'm dangerous—"
"They'll kill you," Lyra finished softly.
Kael didn't need to answer.
The truth hung heavy between them, sharp and cold like a blade.
Lyra took a slow breath, forcing herself to calm down. "Fine. But you're not dealing with this alone."
She stepped in front of him, grabbing his shoulders.
"I'm serious, Kael. I swear on my name as a Nightshade—if something comes after you, it comes after me too."
Her voice trembled.
Not with fear.
With determination.
Kael felt warmth spread through his chest—a grounding warmth that cut through the fear and confusion.
He nodded gently. "Thank you, Lyra."
She looked away quickly. "Don't thank me. I'm just… keeping an idiot alive."
He laughed softly.
But the warmth didn't erase his dread.
Something ancient had awakened.
Something that knew his name.
Something that called him Heir.
And it was coming.