The capital had changed, but the rot still smelled the same.
Stone streets were polished, gold-plated banners shimmered from rooftops, and every marketplace sang with the sound of foreign trade. But beneath the noise was a tremor, faint yet persistent, like the pulse of a buried heart waiting to burst.
Three years had passed since the academy incident. Three years since Kael's death and resurrection beneath the vaulted ceilings of the royal temple. The people still whispered about it in corners. Some said he had been blessed by the gods, others that he had been hollowed by them. The truth never mattered. What mattered was that he lived, and the kingdom could no longer afford to question how.
Kael walked through the city each morning in silence. Children stared from the alleys, eyes wide with both wonder and fear. He wore the silver armor of the king's knights, polished but unadorned. His sword hung from his hip, etched with the same runes that once marked the cult's bladecraft. It hummed faintly as he passed through the crowd.
To most, Kael was an emblem, not a man. He did not eat in taverns. He did not speak unless addressed. He slept in the western keep, alone, beside the knights' barracks where the walls echoed with training cries and laughter that he never joined. When others looked at him, they saw discipline, purity, and divine purpose. When he looked back, he saw nothing at all.
Equito saw him differently. She had been reassigned as his overseer, not by choice, but by royal decree. Every week she submitted a sealed report to the king, filled with observations that never changed. He performs his duties with precision. He expresses no emotion. He speaks when spoken to. He does not pray.
Yet there were moments, brief and unsettling, when she caught him watching the sky. His gaze lingered not in thought, but in a silence that felt heavy, as if he were listening to something no one else could hear. Once, when the bells rang for morning prayer, she thought she saw his hand twitch toward the sword, only to stop halfway.
The kingdom had prospered under the shadow of his presence. The borders were quiet, trade had returned, and nobles toasted to the age of rebirth. But all it took was a closer look to see the cracks. Farmers vanished near the eastern frontier, and caravans went missing on the old mountain roads. Whispers spread of enemy scouts disguised as merchants, of cults returning beneath new names.
In the king's council chamber, the ministers argued behind polished marble walls.
"The Rhaegis have fortified their borders again," one said, his voice rising. "They are building for war. You cannot deny the scouts' reports."
Another scoffed, waving a jeweled hand. "Rumors. They rattle their spears every harvest. They will not risk open war, not while our champion still draws breath."
At that, every gaze turned to the far end of the table, where Kael stood silently beside the throne. The torchlight glinted across the pale line of the scar at his throat, the one Equito had left when she struck him down years ago.
The king looked older now. Lines carved his face, his crown hung heavier on his head. Yet when he spoke, his voice carried the same steel. "Whether they march or not, we prepare. The kingdom has relied too long on faith. We will remind them why our banners once cast shadows over their cities."
He turned to Kael. "You will oversee the reformation of the vanguard. Select your captains by dusk. I want the army ready to move within a fortnight."
Kael bowed slightly. "Yes, Your Majesty."
That was all. No question, no hesitation. The ministers exchanged uneasy glances.
When the meeting ended, Equito caught him in the corridor.
"Do you ever tire of it?" she asked.
He looked at her. "Of what?"
"Being used as a symbol."
He paused, his eyes flat and distant. "Symbols do not tire."
He walked away, leaving her standing in the quiet hall.
That night, the city glowed with festival lights, celebrating another year of peace. But outside the capital, in the silence of the plains, thousands of men gathered under black banners. Smoke rose on the horizon, faint but spreading. The peace was ending. It always had been.
Kael stood at his window, staring toward that smoke. His reflection in the glass did not move when he did.