PART I: Crossing Into Light
Night had fallen. The air was thick with the scent of burning wood, and the distant cries of owls echoed over the panic settling across the camp. Most of the guards had already left, scattered into search parties heading north, northeast—anywhere they believed Nex, Actaeon, and Tazan might have fled. Only a few remained behind, taking turns as lookouts near the remaining slaves.
Tazan was jolted awake by a quiet shushing. It was the diamond miner, crouched low beside him.
"Here. Take this," the man whispered, pressing a heavy two-handed axe into Tazan's hands—the same one he'd once used to chop trees under Alexander's orders. It was a weight most men struggled with, but in Tazan's grip, it felt light.
There was no time to waste. Tazan tied the infant to his chest with a cloth wrap and slipped into the night, moving low between flickering lanterns, ducking from shafts of moonlight that lit the clearing like spotlights.
Ahead, two guards stood watch—the same men who had once mocked and abused his family with poison tongues. Tazan didn't want revenge. He wanted safety. For the child. For his friends.
But the southern path was blocked. There was no way around.
He hesitated.
Then, with a quiet breath and clenched jaw, he made his choice.
He gripped the axe tight, angling it to the right of the two guards—then swung with all his might.
Steel met flesh with a sickening crack. Bone shattered.
Their bodies barely had time to react. One powerful strike, and both men were torn apart—torsos flung through the air before crashing hard against the ground, lifeless.
He stared down, chest heaving, unable to stop the bile rising in his throat.
Dropping to one knee, he vomited in the dirt—the weight of what his hands had just done settling heavy in his gut.
His grandmother's voice echoed in his mind:
"Always hold back. Never be the monster they think you are."
But not tonight.
Not when his friends' lives—and the child's—depended on him.
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, steeled his nerves, and rose.
Without looking back, he sprinted south, weaving between trees and thick underbrush that ran alongside the road. He kept low, fast, and silent—always out of sight, always moving.
Tazan disappeared into the thick shadow of the trees, his breath ragged but steady, the infant's quiet warmth against his chest the only comfort in the night.
To the northeast of the camp, the forest grew dense and dark.
Actaeon pressed his back against the rough bark of a towering pine, heart pounding. Every rustle of leaves felt like a whisper of death.
A voice echoed from deeper in the woods—a hunter, breathless and sharp—calling out a name.
"Loa's coming."
The name sent a cold shiver down Actaeon's spine. He had never met Loa, but the deserters he executed under the twin princess's command had whispered tales of the hunter's ruthless efficiency—a shadow stalking the empire's enemies with relentless precision.
Loa never failed to capture his quarry.
That certainty made Actaeon's blood run cold.
The hunters' footsteps grew louder. A sharp command pierced the air:
"Keep the trail north. Princess Abigail is close. She won't tolerate mistakes."
Actaeon clung to the tree, barely breathing.
From the edge of the clearing, a figure emerged—regal, composed, fierce. Princess Abigail herself, cloaked and calm, eyes scanning the forest with surgical intensity.
Near her, a small flock of pigeons stirred, each carrying a slender scroll tied to their legs.
"Send messages to the others," Abigail ordered. "They must not lose this trail."
"Send messages to the others," Abigail ordered. "They must not lose this trail."
Loa gave a sharp nod and turned to go, but his eyes passed over a broken branch and fresh heel-scrape in the dirt. Obvious signs.
He said nothing.
"North," he said again to the hunters.
Following orders was faster.
The group moved out in silence.
Only when the sounds of boots faded into the distance did Actaeon move, slipping deeper into the forest—one quiet step at a time.
Farther from danger. Closer to Lumen. Closer to hope.
Meanwhile, far to the south, Nex stepped into Lumen for the first time.
The city didn't feel real. It unfolded like a dream half-remembered—colors too bright, voices too kind, the warmth of the sun almost offensive against the cold still lodged in his bones.
The streets thrummed with life—neighbors exchanged knowing smiles, merchants called out familiar bargains, and children darted between stalls without a care. Despite the war between the Empire and the Kingdom of Lavat, here at the border, fear was a stranger.
At its heart, the market spilled into every corner—colors and scents from both nations mingling in a vibrant dance.
Rich spices tangled with the smell of fresh bread and hot metal from the forges.
Traders haggled loudly, their voices weaving through the steady hum of the crowd.
Yet beneath the city's pulse, a darker rhythm beat. Slaves stood like silent wares, eyes downcast as bidders raised their hands in cold calculation—a harsh reminder that even in Lumen, shadows thrived.
But the people moved with quiet confidence. The 19 High Knights were more than legend—they were the city's shield. Occasionally, Nex glimpsed them: towering figures in gleaming armor, commanding awe with every step. Their battlefield miracles weren't whispered myths—they walked the streets, real and revered.
Here, in Lumen, hope wasn't just a dream. It was a promise.
Nex moved through the crowd, eyes fixed on the distant banners of the High Knights' stronghold. He pushed forward, weaving through the midday throng, thoughts running ahead of his feet.
That's when he collided with a figure so tall it nearly knocked the breath from his lungs.
The young man was striking—not with brute strength, but with the quiet confidence of a noble stepping into his manhood.
Golden hair fell in soft waves around a face still bearing the last traces of youth, but his eyes, deep brown and sharp, held a calculating edge.
Though the man's frame was lean, lacking the bulk of a warrior, the way he shifted his weight and rested a hand casually on the hilt of his sword told Nex enough: this was a noble who knew his way around a blade.
Flanking him were two Dark Knights, their armor black as oil, hands already tightening on their sword hilts.
The knights seized Nex's arms.
"Another troublemaker," one muttered. "We should toss him to the guards."
The tall man didn't even look at them at first. He gave a lazy wave, then spoke—calm, almost bored.
"Let him be."
The knights hesitated, then released their grip. Nex staggered a step back, catching his balance.
Everything felt slowed—like sound had dulled, like movement had thickened. His limbs responded a second too late, his mind half expecting the collision to be another hallucination from the pit.
The noble's eyes briefly met his—sharp, unreadable, and oddly amused.
He turned to walk on—then stopped.
"Wait."
White strands. Faded dye. Blue eyes.
Recognition flashed.
A prince, he thought. The lost one.
The knights halted, surprised.
He stepped closer, voice quieter, more deliberate. "What's your name?"
Nex hesitated.
The man tilted his head. His voice was low—almost reverent.
"You wear your name well. "Death, unburied—walking."
"My name is Nex."
The man tilted his head. His voice was low—almost reverent.
"You wear your name well. "Death, unburied—walking."
A breath—part laugh, part disbelief.
"Well," the man muttered, "Father will want to hear this."
He turned toward the street. The knights fell in behind. Nex walked, caught in the tide.
"Welcome to Lumen, my prince," the man said.
He said it lightly, but there was weight behind the words—acknowledgment, not mockery.
His eyes swept over Nex's mud-caked face, the torn noblewear clinging to his frame like it no longer belonged.
"I imagine this is all new to you." A pause. Then, with a dry smile:
"Though, judging by your face... and those poor clothes... I'd say you've experienced a lot of 'new' lately."
Nex didn't answer, but his silence said enough.
Sao looked forward again, more quietly this time.
"You weren't meant to come back like this."
As they passed through the upper district, the bustling sounds of the market dulled into a calm murmur.
Rising above the tiled roofs and layered courtyards, the High Knights' stronghold came into view—a towering bastion of black stone and green banners, gleaming even beneath the clouded sky.
Nex's gaze lingered, his steps slowing unconsciously.
His sea-blue eyes locked on the fortress, drawn by instinct—or perhaps memory.
Though he'd never seen it before.
Sao noticed.
He followed Nex's gaze, then gave a faint, knowing smile.
"You'll meet them soon enough."
He let the words hang for a beat before continuing, more deliberately:
"But not before my father. Even as a prince—especially as a prince—you'd be disrupting the chain of command if you bypassed the governor of Lumen."
Sao's voice softened, carrying quiet conviction.
"Besides... you don't need to ask the High Knights for help. My father may hold the power, but I'll make sure you get back to the palace safely."
Nex gave the fortress one last glance before nodding silently, and the two continued through the quiet stone streets.