The vow changed Kael without altering his face.
To the people of Eldoria, he was the same unwavering figure who stood at the head of the royal guard, armor polished, posture unbroken, gaze sharp enough to cut through lies. To the court, he was stability given form, a man who had surrendered a crown so the realm could breathe. Songs were written of his sacrifice, though none dared sing them in his presence.
Inside, something had gone quiet.
Kael moved through his days with precise intent. He trained soldiers before dawn, corrected commanders by noon, and stood beside King Aldric in council chambers thick with politics and restrained ambition. He listened more than he spoke, and when he did speak, his words carried weight because they were never wasted.
Mira watched him closely.
As queen, she learned quickly how power truly moved. It was not carried only by thrones and titles, but by those who could stand unmoved when pressure was applied. Kael was such a man. She respected him, and that respect unsettled her more than open defiance ever could. At times, she wondered if Eldoria had chosen the wrong ruler, but such thoughts were dangerous and she buried them beneath duty.
Children were born to the royal family in time.
Princes with Aldric's eyes and Mira's ambition. They ran through the corridors with careless laughter, unaware of the fragile balance that allowed them such freedom. Kael trained them personally, not as heirs, but as defenders of the realm. He taught them discipline before pride, restraint before desire. They admired him deeply, though they did not understand why he never smiled when they succeeded.
Aldric aged faster than Kael expected.
The king's hair silvered, his shoulders stooped, and guilt etched itself into the lines of his face. At night, he sometimes called for Kael, speaking as though the boy still stood beside his bed, asking questions about duty and honor. Kael answered every time, never reproaching, never softening the truth.
"You did what you believed was right," he told his father once. "So will I."
But Aldric heard the distance in those words, and it haunted him.
Beyond Eldoria, the world did not remain still.
Neighboring realms began to test borders. Old alliances weakened as new rulers sought glory rather than balance. Merchants brought rumors of gathering armies, of banners raised not in defense but in hunger. Eldoria remained strong, yet strength drew challenge as surely as blood drew wolves.
Kael sensed it before the first envoy arrived.
War had a presence. It moved like a shadow just outside the edge of vision, patient and inevitable. When the envoys came with false smiles and sharpened demands, Kael stood behind Aldric's throne and felt the truth settle into his bones.
Peace was ending.
The first skirmish broke out near the eastern plains, small enough to be dismissed, violent enough to leave bodies in its wake. Kael rode out personally to assess the damage. He stood among the fallen, listening to the wind pass over broken spears and abandoned shields, and understood something with unsettling clarity.
This was only the beginning.
That night, Kael returned to the river.
It flowed as it always had, unchanged by time or blood. He stood at its edge, armor removed, sword planted into the earth beside him. For the first time since his vow, he allowed himself to ask a question he had long buried.
Was this all he had been made for.
The river offered no answer.
But as Kael turned away, a feeling followed him, cold and certain. The realm would soon demand more than his obedience. It would demand his life, piece by piece, until nothing remained but legend.
And when that day came, Kael knew he would not refuse.
Because the age of peace had ended.
And the epic war had begun.