Two days had passed since the attack, and already the village began stitching itself back together. Broken walls were patched, smoke-stained homes cleaned. But the wounds in people's hearts—those would take longer.
Kael had no time for rest.
Every morning, he trained.
Under Edrin's relentless eyes, he swung his sword until his arms felt like stone. Every afternoon, he sat with the page of Divine Magic, watching it glow, trying to make sense of the strange runes. And every night, he dreamed of fire—of faceless figures, of a screaming mother, of a pendant falling into bloodied hands.
The truth waited for him somewhere ahead.
He had to be strong enough to reach it.
That morning, as Kael practiced strikes in the clearing, the thundering of hooves broke the silence. Edrin's head snapped up.
From the woods, three armored riders emerged, clad in silver and red. The crest of the royal family blazed on their cloaks—lion and sun.
The lead rider dismounted, his eyes cold beneath a polished helm.
"I am Sir Renhart of the King's Guard," he announced. "We are here to investigate the incident in Graymist Village."
Edrin stepped forward. "The beasts are dead. We've buried our dead. You're late."
Renhart ignored him. His eyes locked on Kael.
"You. Name."
"Kael."
"Surname?"
Kael said nothing.
"Interesting," Renhart muttered. "You match the description. Brown hair. Quiet stare. No crest. No rank."
Kael's grip on his training sword tightened. "Why are you really here?"
"To protect the realm," Renhart replied flatly. "There are rumors of ancient magic resurfacing. Forbidden magic. The kind that gets kings killed."
Edrin stepped between them. "He's just a boy."
"No," Renhart said, eyes narrowing. "He's something else."
He turned to leave. "We'll be watching."
That night, Edrin paced the cottage like a caged beast.
"He knows," he muttered. "He knows. Or at least suspects."
Kael stared at the glowing page on the table. "So what now?"
"We keep training. And you stay out of sight."
"I'm not hiding."
Edrin turned sharply. "You're not ready."
Kael rose from his seat. "They came for me. My parents were murdered. You said so yourself. They won't stop until they have what they're looking for."
"I know," Edrin said quietly. "Which is why you need to survive."
Kael clenched his jaw.
"I don't want to just survive."
Edrin studied him a moment. Then, without a word, he crossed the room, opened a hidden chest, and pulled out a sheathed sword.
It wasn't like the others Kael had trained with. The hilt was old but elegant, the blade wrapped in black cloth.
"This was your father's," Edrin said. "It's not ordinary steel."
Kael took the sword carefully, unsheathing it halfway.
The blade shimmered faintly—like moonlight trapped in metal.
"I'm not giving it to you as a gift," Edrin said. "I'm giving it to you because the path ahead won't care if you're ready."
Kael nodded.
He knew.
The next day, Lady Arienne approached him behind the training field.
"They're leaving soon," she said. "The knights. But they're suspicious. I heard them talking… about your parents. The book."
Kael's chest tightened. "Did you tell them anything?"
"Of course not."
"Why are you helping me?"
She hesitated. "Because you saved me. Because you're not like the nobles I've grown up with. You're… honest. And brave. And because—"
She paused, face flushing slightly. "Because I believe in you."
Kael blinked, unsure how to respond. He looked away, feeling heat rise in his own cheeks.
"Thank you," he said softly.
She smiled. "Just don't die before I get to see you become someone legendary."
That night, Kael stood in the woods, sword in hand.
The pendant around his neck pulsed faintly. The page of Divine Magic glowed brighter than ever before, runes beginning to shift, to rearrange themselves—as if preparing for something.
Kael didn't know where the road would take him.
But he could feel it now.
Something was coming.
A war.
A truth.
And the beginning of a legend.