The court had a new scent today.
Not perfume. Not blood.
But anticipation—thick and bitter, like smoke before a fire.
Kaelen stood in the gallery of the eastern arena, where ancient stone columns surrounded a polished ring of marble. Above him, nobles leaned from their balconies like vultures circling a battlefield.
He wasn't the center of attention today.
But he would be soon.
"Why do they wear masks?" Kaelen asked.
Ren, standing quietly beside him, answered without looking up."It's tradition. Duels between nobles are not personal. They're political. A mask turns a man into a symbol. And symbols can be broken without consequence."
Kaelen studied the two figures below.
Both wore deep crimson cloaks. Their faces hidden behind identical silver masks shaped like wolves.
One held a blade upright.
The other trembled.
Lord Rhaen stepped forward as judge—robed in ceremonial black and gold, a sword at his hip. He raised a hand, and the crowd silenced instantly.
"The accused stands charged with treason," he announced. "He has chosen the ancient rite of the Duel of Glass and Fire."
Kaelen narrowed his eyes.
This wasn't justice. It was spectacle.A public killing, wrapped in silk and honor.
The match began.
The trembling masked man barely parried a single strike.
His opponent moved like lightning—trained, practiced. With each clash, the weaker man's defense crumbled.
Kaelen didn't know who the trembling figure was.
He only knew this was a message.
After three minutes, the victor disarmed his foe and plunged the blade through the man's chest.
The silver mask fell to the marble floor, stained in red.
Gasps echoed. Some nobles clapped politely.
Kaelen didn't move.
Not until he saw Rhaen smirk toward him—just for a second.
"They wanted me to see this," Kaelen muttered.
Ren's eyes lowered. "Everyone did. You were given the best view."
"And the message?"
Ren hesitated. "Lose… and no one will remember your name. Not even the walls."
After the duel, Kaelen didn't return to his chamber.
He walked the old garden paths—ones no noble tread anymore. Ivy strangled the statues. Old thrones of stone stood cracked and forgotten. The remnants of kings erased from memory.
There, beneath a twisted oak, Kaelen found a plaque half-buried in moss.
"Caeryn. The Last Rebellion."
His blood turned cold.
His mother's house.
His true bloodline.
Erased in marble, like it had never mattered.
He traced the letters with his fingers.
And whispered:
"You buried me in shadow…But I was born for fire."
That night, he stood before a mirror.The silver wolf mask lay on his desk.
He held it in his hand. Studied it.
And smiled.