Darkness stretched across the outskirts of Aeltheris, a thick, suffocating veil over the ruins. The silence hung heavy in the air—unnatural, like something waiting in the shadows, watching, calculating. It wasn't peace. It was a stillness with purpose.

  I stood in the middle of it all, the broken remnants of a forgotten world scattered beneath my boots. Moonlight spilled over the rubble, casting eerie shadows on the twisted forms of collapsed towers. My sword was still sheathed, its weight a familiar presence at my side, but my eyes—they were sharp, alert, a quiet storm simmering just beneath the surface.

  The battlefield had been silent for too long.

  I walked forward, each step stirring up fragments of the past. Shattered crystals and scorched earth crunched underfoot, remnants of a place once filled with knowledge and power. An outpost of the Etherion Order, if my memories—Theron's memories—were anything to go by. This was no dream. I remembered this place, not from this life, but from before.

  This was where the last resistance of the South was crushed.

  The words came unbidden, like a whisper in my mind. They weren't mine, but they were mine. A memory I didn't fully own, but that I couldn't escape.

  I stopped in my tracks, the weight of it pressing down on me. I wasn't just Kael Solhart anymore. I was also Theron Caylus—the Arcblade Captain of Elarion. Two souls. One body. A life continued... in pieces.

  And the burden wasn't just a shadow.

  It was a weapon.

  I felt the presence before I saw it—a flicker in the corner of my vision, something moving behind a crumbling wall. My hand hovered instinctively near my sword, but I didn't draw it. Not yet.

  A young man emerged from the shadows, his face scarred, clothes singed at the edges, left arm wrapped in tattered, blood-soaked fabric. His eyes—wide with awe, hesitating—met mine.

  "You're him," he said, voice shaking. "You're the one they call the Revenant Blade."

  Another title, it seemed. I sighed. "They can call me whatever they want."

  "They say you walked out of the Ashlands, that you carried the storm itself with you."

  I stepped closer, my gaze never leaving his. "I don't walk for stories. I walk for answers."

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  The boy—Deryn—dropped to one knee, his head bowed in respect or fear, I couldn't tell. "I was with the Silver Lanterns, once... before they turned."

  "Turned?" I asked, my voice quiet but edged with something darker. A thread of familiarity twisted at the back of my mind.

  He nodded. "They joined the Crimson Creed. They hunt us now... the Remnants."

  That word again.

  Remnants.

  I knew it. I felt it in the pit of my stomach. The name wasn't new to me. It was a ghost, haunting my thoughts. Elira—the woman with the eyes of someone who had seen too much, the leader of the Remnants. I hadn't seen her since that night, that collision of paths, but I felt her presence now, as if she were here in the ruins with me.

  "Where is your leader now?" I asked, my voice low and even, though my chest tightened.

  "She's gone," Deryn muttered. "Taken two nights ago during a raid. We... we don't know if she's alive."

  A knot twisted in my chest. I didn't say it aloud, but I knew. I knew Elira wouldn't go down that easily. If they had taken her, whoever did it wasn't some small threat.

  The wind shifted then, the chill creeping into my bones. A creeping, unnatural feeling, like a warning.

  Deryn flinched beside me. "They've found us."

  A low rumble echoed from the cliffs, distant but growing. Then a screech split the silence, chilling and savage.

  I unsheathed my sword, the runes along the blade faintly glowing in the dim light. There was no hesitation. I was already moving.

  Three figures emerged from the mist, their black robes stained crimson, metal masks glowing faintly red in the moonlight. The Crimson Creed.

  I stepped in front of Deryn. "Stay behind me."

  "You can't take them alone," Deryn said, his voice cracking.

  I didn't answer. There was nothing to say.

  The first of them lunged at me, fast, too fast. I sidestepped, steel flashing in the moonlight as our blades collided. Sparks flew. The clang of metal rang in the night. But it wasn't just a fight. It was a dance—a rhythm I had known for too long.

  I kicked him off balance and struck, driving my sword through the masked figure's face, the blade sliding through metal and bone.

  The other two hesitated, just for a moment.

  And then I was already moving again.

  Time slowed. I didn't need to think; I didn't need to feel. Theron's instincts—the battle mage's instincts—took over. I was precise. I was ruthless.

  A bolt of arcane energy burst from my palm, slamming into one of them, launching the man back with the force of a collapsing star.

  The third attempted to dodge, but I was already there. My blade cleaved through the air, and the masked head hit the ground before the body even realized it was dead.

  The battlefield fell silent again.

  I breathed out, the air heavy with the scent of smoke and blood, my breath curling in the cool night.

  Deryn stood there, wide-eyed. "What... what are you?"

  I didn't answer. I couldn't.

  I didn't know anymore.

  All I knew was this: the war wasn't waiting for me to understand. It was pulling me in, one battle at a time.

  And I couldn't afford to stand still.

  I turned toward the distant horizon. The capital's spires shimmered faintly in the distance, a beacon I could no longer ignore.

  It was time to move.

  Because out there, somewhere, Elira was still fighting.

  And if Kael Solhart had anything to say about it—

  —she wouldn't be fighting alone.