The moon was still high when Aelion returned to his chambers, but sleep would not come. The war council's murmurs lingered in his head, sharp as knives. Every word Serath had spoken felt like a challenge, a tightening noose around his crown.
He sank into the velvet chair by the fire, hands pressed to his temples. The flames licked at the hearth, but their warmth did not reach him.
"Drink this."
The low voice broke the silence. Kealen stepped into the firelight, holding a goblet of watered wine. He set it down on the small table, his movements precise, controlled—as if his body could not rest unless Aelion did.
Aelion looked up at him, exhaustion etched deep into his features. "Do you ever wonder if I'm meant to rule at all?"
Kealen stilled, amber eyes hardening. "No."
Aelion gave a faint, bitter laugh. "That was quick."
"Because it's true." Kealen knelt slightly, lowering himself until his gaze met Aelion's directly. "They doubt you because you don't rule with cruelty. You think before you strike. That frightens them—because they can't control it."
The words should have soothed him, yet Aelion's heart ached. "And what if they're right? What if kindness isn't enough to win this war?"
"Then you'll have me," Kealen said simply.
The silence between them grew taut, heavy with all the unspoken truths pressing at their chests. For a moment, Aelion wanted to forget crowns, councils, and prophecies—to lean forward and close the aching distance between them.
But before he could, a horn split the night.
Low. Urgent. The sound of alarm.
Kealen was on his feet in an instant, hand flying to his sword. "That's the northern gate."
Aelion stood, his exhaustion burning away with the surge of adrenaline. "Shadows?"
"We'll find out."
They raced down the marble corridors, joined by soldiers pouring into the halls. Panic had already taken hold—the kind that spread faster than fire. Servants whispered of monsters breaching the walls, of screams carried on the wind.
By the time they reached the northern gate, the night sky had erupted into chaos. Flames devoured the wooden towers, black smoke curling into the heavens. Figures moved within the fire—twisted shapes of men, their skin gray as ash, eyes glowing like embers. Shadow-raiders.
Aelion froze for only a heartbeat before his training took hold. "Archers, to the walls! Spearmen—hold the line at the gate!"
His voice rang clear across the battlefield, and though fear clawed at their faces, the soldiers obeyed.
Kealen drew his blade, steel glinting under the firelight. "Stay behind me."
"No." Aelion grabbed a fallen spear from the ground, jaw tight. "I'm not hiding while my people die."
Their eyes met—Kealen's filled with fury, Aelion's with fire. For once, Kealen didn't argue. He only nodded, shifting to cover Aelion's flank as they plunged into the fray.
The first shadow-raider came at them with inhuman speed, blade of black iron cutting through the air. Kealen blocked with a grunt, sparks flying as steel met steel. Aelion thrust his spear into the raider's side, the weapon sinking deep.
The creature howled, black smoke hissing from its wound. But even dying, it clawed for Aelion.
Kealen's sword flashed, severing its arm before finishing the strike. "Stay sharp!"
They fought side by side, back to back, moving like two halves of a whole. Every time Aelion faltered, Kealen's blade was there. Every time Kealen was pressed, Aelion struck from the shadows he left uncovered.
Still, the raiders kept coming. For every one that fell, two more rose from the smoke, their eyes burning with mindless hunger.
"This isn't a raid," Aelion panted, wiping blood from his cheek. "It's a test."
Kealen cut down another, chest heaving. "Then we'll make them regret testing us."
At the center of the chaos, a figure emerged—taller than the rest, armored in jagged steel that pulsed with veins of black fire. His mask was carved with teeth, just as the envoy had warned.
The raiders parted for him, their howls lowering into silence as though even they feared him. His voice was a deep, cruel echo that seemed to crawl beneath the skin.
"Sun-born prince," he intoned, his silver eyes locking on Aelion. "The prophecy carries you here. But only one shall shine."
Aelion's grip tightened on his spear. He felt Kealen shift closer, ready to cut the figure down.
But the shadow-lord only laughed, a sound like breaking stone. "Not tonight. Tonight, you live. Because the heavens themselves crave your despair."
And with a sweep of his hand, the raiders dissolved into smoke, vanishing as though they had never been. The fire still raged, the wounded still groaned—but the enemy was gone.
Aelion stood trembling, his body aching with both fear and fury. "Why let us live?"
"To weaken you," Kealen said grimly, sheathing his blade. "To remind you that they can strike whenever they please."
Aelion's chest heaved as he looked at the destruction, at the soldiers dragging the wounded, at the smoldering gate. His kingdom was bleeding, and he knew this was only the beginning.
"Kealen," he whispered, voice breaking. "What if I can't stop them?"
Kealen turned him, gripping his shoulders tight, forcing him to meet his eyes. "Then we'll die fighting. But you won't face them alone. Not while I still breathe."
For a moment, the fire's glow made the world blur. The pull between them was undeniable, raw and urgent. But surrounded by soldiers and smoke, they could not give in. Not yet.
Instead, Aelion leaned forward just enough that their foreheads touched, a brief, stolen gesture hidden in the chaos.
"Then let us fight together," he whispered.
And as the first light of dawn crept over the ruined walls, the prince and his guardian stood side by side, knowing war had truly begun.