They found him trapped in a circle of thorns and flame.
A boy, no older than Briar, sat inside a ward carved into the stone floor—its lines glowing red, its barrier humming with violent energy. His eyes met hers, golden and wild.
"Help me," he rasped. "Please."
Corva caught up just as Briar stepped forward. "Don't touch the seal," she warned.
But Briar was already moving. Her hand pressed against the edge of the ward—and nothing happened.
No fire. No pain. The circle responded to her presence like a lock finding its key.
The thorns receded.
The fire dimmed.
And the boy collapsed into her arms.
Corva's face was thunderous. "You shouldn't have—"
"He knew me," Briar said.
The boy clung to her like she was the last familiar shape in a world gone mad.
"My name is Kael," he whispered. "You used to know me."
Something inside her cracked.
She saw flickers of his face in dreams—blurred by time and fire. A boy who once held her hand in a burning palace. A boy who died.
Except he hadn't.
"Why was he trapped?" she asked.
Corva looked away. "Because only your blood could free him. And some things were buried for a reason."