The third dream-walk began without warning.
Kaelan was training in the yard, hourglass in hand, when the world dissolved around him.
Not by choice.
Not by Frosthael's guidance.
The Gate of Memory pulled him in.
He stood before the ice archway once more.
But this time, something was different.
The gate was cracked.
A hairline fracture ran from top to bottom, pulsing with faint violet light.
"The scout," Frosthael warned in his mind. "He's been here. His presence weakened the seal."
Kaelan's blood ran cold. "Can he enter?"
"Not yet. But if he returns with others… the gate will fall."
Kaelan stepped through the archway.
The mist of memories swirled around him—familiar, comforting.
But ahead, the path darkened.
A figure stood waiting.
Tall. Cloaked in shadow. Crimson eyes burning like embers.
Kaelan's breath caught.
It was him.
But not him.
This version was older. Harder. Eyes empty of everything but rage.
"You," the shadow said. Its voice was Kaelan's—but twisted, broken. "You think you're better than him. Better than your father."
Kaelan didn't move. "I am."
"Liar." The shadow stepped forward. "You hunger for power just like he did. You dream of revenge just like he does. The only difference… is that you haven't had the chance to betray anyone yet."
Kaelan's hands tightened into fists.
"You will," the shadow continued. "When the time comes, you'll choose power over people. Survival over truth. Just like him."
"Shut up."
"Make me."
The shadow lunged.
Kaelan barely dodged, rolling sideways as a blade of pure darkness sliced the air where his throat had been.
He landed on his feet. Drew his glacial blade.
The shadow mirrored him—same stance, same weapon, same cold fire in its eyes.
"You can't win," it taunted. "I am you. Every doubt. Every fear. Every secret desire to burn the world that broke you."
Kaelan lunged.
Their blades clashed—ice against shadow, light against dark.
The impact sent shockwaves through the dream-realm.
Kaelan struck again. And again.
But the shadow matched him—move for move, breath for breath.
"You can't defeat me," it hissed. "Because I am the truth you refuse to see."
Kaelan's arms burned. His breath came in ragged gasps.
He was losing.
Not because the shadow was stronger.
But because it was him.
Every insecurity. Every rage. Every moment he'd wanted to destroy everything that hurt him.
The shadow pressed forward, blade inches from Kaelan's throat.
"Admit it," it whispered. "You want to be just like him."
Kaelan's eyes burned.
And then—he remembered.
His mother's locket. Darok's loyalty. Ryn's sacrifice.
The hourglass in his pocket.
He wasn't just his pain.
He was his choices.
Kaelan dropped his blade.
The shadow froze.
"What are you doing?"
"I choose," Kaelan said softly. "Not power. Not revenge. Not even survival."
He reached out. Placed a hand on the shadow's chest.
"I choose to carry the pain… without letting it define me."
The shadow screamed.
Light erupted from Kaelan's palm—pure, blinding, blue.
The shadow dissolved into mist.
The gate shuddered.
And for the first time, the crack began to heal.
Kaelan gasped awake in the Hall of Echoes.
Sweat froze on his brow.
Darok knelt beside him, knife in hand. "You were shouting."
Ryn stood nearby, arms crossed, face grim. "What did you see?"
Kaelan's voice was raw. "Myself. The version I could become."
Ryn's gaze darkened. "And?"
"I didn't kill him," Kaelan said. "I chose not to."
Ryn studied him for a long moment. Then nodded. "Good. Because the strongest warriors aren't those who destroy their shadows. They're those who learn to walk with them."
That afternoon, Darok trained alone in the snow.
He moved differently now—not just silent, but aware.
Every shift in the wind. Every tremor in the ground. Every breath Kaelan took from fifty paces away.
He'd been watching. Learning. Absorbing.
And now, he could feel danger before it arrived.
When a corrupted wolf emerged from the tree line—eyes violet, veins black—Darok didn't draw his knife.
He simply stepped aside.
The wolf lunged—
—and impaled itself on an icicle Darok had positioned hours earlier.
Silence.
Darok looked at the dead beast. Then at his hands.
"I didn't plan that," he murmured.
"You didn't need to," Frosthael whispered in Kaelan's mind from across the yard. "He's developing instinct. True killer instinct."
Kaelan watched from the porch, hourglass in hand.
"He's becoming what I can't," Kaelan said softly.
"A shadow that protects instead of destroys."
That night, Ryn called them to the ruins.
"The First Watchers," he began, voice low. "They didn't just guard the gate. They maintained it. Their bloodline was tied to the seal."
Darok frowned. "What happened to them?"
Ryn's face darkened. "They vanished. Overnight. Five hundred years ago. One day they were here. The next… gone. No bodies. No traces. Just… silence."
Kaelan's blood ran cold. "The Karthians?"
"Perhaps," Ryn said. "Or something worse. Something that learned to hide in plain sight."
He looked at Kaelan. "Which is why you must master the gate before they find it. If the seal breaks…"
He didn't finish.
He didn't need to.
Later, by the fire, Darok sharpened his knife.
"You faced your shadow," he said. "What was it like?"
Kaelan poked the flames. "Like looking into a mirror that only shows your worst self."
"And you didn't break."
"I almost did."
Darok nodded. "Good. Means you're still human."
Kaelan looked at him. "What's your shadow?"
Darok's knife stilled. "The desert. The chains. The men who sold my tribe into slavery." He looked up, eyes burning. "My shadow doesn't want power. It wants blood."
Kaelan placed a hand on his shoulder. "Then we'll make sure it never gets the chance."
At dawn, Kaelan stood on the eastern cliffs, hourglass in hand.
Frosthael coiled around his shoulders—unseen, unfelt by any but him.
"Time is running out," the dragon warned.
Kaelan's grip tightened on the hourglass. "I know."
"The scout will return. And next time, he won't be alone."
Kaelan looked south—toward the empire, toward the man who broke his mother's heart.
"I'm not ready."
"No one ever is."
Kaelan closed his eyes.
And for the first time, he didn't dream of revenge.
He dreamed of standing so tall, so unbreakable, that no shadow—his or anyone else's—could ever touch him again.
And deep beneath the island, the Heart of Frost pulsed in time with his resolve.