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The imperial capital of Vironthel was a city made of ivory and command.
Its towers scraped the sky like blades drawn against the heavens.
Its soldiers did not bow — not to kings, not to gods.
And its crowned prince had never once seen the stars.
He didn't remember them.
Not in his dreams.
Not in his scrolls.
Not even in the sacred texts his tutors made him read until dawn.
And yet — this morning, he woke with the taste of ash on his tongue.
"Kaelren," someone had whispered in his sleep.
That name meant nothing to him.
But it burned through his chest like it belonged there.
---
Prince Rhaelor IV, heir to the Vironthel throne, was not known for dreams or doubts. He was a commander of brutal efficiency, a scholar of unmatched memory, and a swordsman so precise his own tutors feared to spar with him.
But today, his hand shook as he dressed.
Not from weakness.
From a feeling he couldn't name.
From a memory he didn't possess.
---
He stood before the obsidian mirror in his private chamber. Golden light filtered through cathedral-length windows. The capital buzzed beneath, preparing for a ceremony in his name.
But the mirror showed him something else.
Not his armor.
Not his medals.
Not his raven-black hair or winter-cold eyes.
No.
In the reflection — just for an instant — he saw another version of himself.
Wearing robes lined with constellations.
Blood on his hands.
Ash on his shoulders.
A woman's voice screaming in the distance.
A battlefield that had no end.
He stepped back, heart pounding.
The vision vanished.
The mirror showed only a prince again.
Only Rhaelor.
But the name from the dream echoed in his skull like a curse:
Kaelren.
---
Moments later, his most trusted guard entered — Ser Veyel, a man raised from the southern ruins.
"Your Highness," he said, bowing. "The Grand Astrologer has arrived for the Omen Reading."
Rhaelor frowned. "I don't believe in omens."
"Nor do I," Veyel replied, "but the council insists. It is tradition for the heir's first eclipse."
"Fine," he muttered.
But as he turned away from the mirror, his voice dropped into something quieter — almost broken.
"…Do you know the name Kaelren?"
Veyel's body stiffened.
His silence answered everything.
Rhaelor narrowed his eyes.
"I asked a question, Ser."
But Veyel only bowed deeper, voice tight with fear.
"It is not a name meant for this world, Your Highness."
And then he said no more.
---
Far away, the stars turned again.
And the girl with ash-filled palms traced a constellation she'd never studied…
but somehow always known.
---
End of Chapter 4
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