Part A
The horn's echo did not disappear.
It stayed in Kael's head long after the air fell silent, vibrating behind his eyes, sinking into his chest like something alive had crawled inside him and refused to leave.
They ran downhill toward the valley until his lungs burned.
The road was already filling.
People poured from the villages in broken groups—families dragging children by the arm, elders leaning on sticks, men carrying sacks that tore open and spilled grain they didn't bother to pick up. Some cried openly. Others didn't speak at all, their faces empty in a way that frightened Kael more than screams ever could.
A woman nearly collided with him.
"Please—have you seen my son?" she gasped, clutching his sleeve. "He's ten, dark hair, he was right behind me—"
Kael opened his mouth, but no words came.
Lyra gently pulled the woman away, whispering apologies that sounded hollow even to her own ears.
Smoke drifted over the trees.
Not thick yet. Not choking.
But it was coming from too many places.
Kael climbed onto a broken stone wall near the road and looked out over the valley.
His stomach twisted.
Fires burned at the edges of three villages. Small now, but growing. He could see people still running between houses, trying to save belongings that would never matter again.
And far beyond them—
Movement.
Lines. Organized. Slow.
An army didn't rush. It advanced.
The Dominion of Ash marched as if the world already belonged to them.
Their banners caught the wind—black cloth split by a jagged red symbol. A crown cracked down the center.
Kael's fingers curled.
"That symbol…" he murmured.
The Crown beneath his cloak responded instantly.
A dull throb passed through his skull.
His vision shimmered.
For a heartbeat, the marching soldiers were no longer strangers. He saw flashes—boots moving in rhythm, shields locking together, voices chanting a vow he almost remembered.
Almost.
He dropped back down, gasping.
Lyra was at his side immediately. "What did you see?"
"Nothing," he said too fast. Then, quieter, "Something. I don't know."
She studied him, worry tightening her expression. "The Crown is reacting faster now."
"I can feel it," he admitted. "Like it's… waking up."
They moved again, pushing through the crowd until they reached the old watchtower ruins near the forest edge. It had collapsed years ago, but the hill still offered a clear view.
More horns sounded.
Closer this time.
Shorter. Sharper.
Orders.
"That's not a scouting force," Lyra said. "That's a full invasion."
Kael exhaled slowly. "They're not even pretending anymore."
A group of village guards gathered nearby—men with mismatched armor and fear in their eyes. One of them recognized Lyra and rushed over.
"My lady," he said breathlessly, bowing his head. "What do we do? The river bridge won't hold them long."
Lyra hesitated.
Kael noticed.
She didn't hesitate because she didn't know the answer.
She hesitated because she did.
"Get everyone across the river," she said finally. "Burn the supplies you can't carry."
The guard stiffened. "Burn… our own stores?"
"Yes," she said firmly. "If the Dominion takes them, this valley dies slower. Don't give them that."
The man swallowed and nodded before running off.
Kael stared at her. "You've seen this before."
Lyra didn't deny it.
"I grew up hearing stories," she said. "I just didn't think I'd live to see them become real."
A child cried nearby.
Then another.
Fear spread faster than fire ever could.
As night crept in, the refugees made camp along the forest line. Small fires burned low, hidden beneath cloaks and overturned pots. No one wanted to be seen from the plains.
Kael sat apart, knees drawn up, staring at his hands.
They didn't look different.
But they felt heavier.
The Crown pulsed faintly beneath the cloth, once every few breaths, matching his heartbeat.
"You're thinking too loudly," Lyra said softly as she sat beside him.
He gave a weak breath that might have been a laugh. "I didn't know that was possible."
She nudged his shoulder. "What's going on in your head?"
He hesitated.
Then spoke anyway.
"When I looked at them… part of me wasn't afraid."
Lyra's expression tightened.
"That part felt… familiar," he continued. "Like I'd seen that formation before. Like my body knew what was coming even if I didn't."
"That's the Crown," she said carefully. "It remembers things you shouldn't."
"Then why does it feel like I remember them?"
She didn't answer right away.
Around them, the camp murmured with quiet grief—prayers whispered to absent gods, arguments spoken through clenched teeth, the soft sounds of people realizing their lives had already changed.
Finally, Lyra spoke.
"The Crown doesn't create power," she said. "It awakens what's already there."
Kael looked at her sharply. "Meaning?"
"Meaning it didn't choose you randomly."
The words landed heavily between them.
Before he could respond, a sudden cry rose from the edge of camp.
A scout stumbled into the firelight, bleeding from the arm.
"They're moving faster than expected," he panted. "Forward units crossed the plains already. By dawn—"
He stopped when he saw Kael.
His eyes widened.
"…they're asking for him."
Silence crashed down.
Kael stood slowly. "Asking how?"
The scout swallowed. "They say the Crown-bearer must present himself. That resistance will be… remembered."
Kael felt the Crown warm sharply, as if pleased.
Lyra stepped in front of him instantly. "You tell them nothing."
The scout nodded quickly and staggered away.
Kael stared into the darkness beyond the trees.
They weren't just invading.
They were hunting.
And somehow—
they already knew his name.