Uneasy Camp
The firelight flickered low, throwing jagged shadows across the soldiers' faces. The ravine trial had shaken them all—not only because of its divine weight, but because they had heard the prince cry out Kaelen's name with a desperation that no commander ever showed his guard.
Now, whispers ran through the camp like wildfire. Soldiers muttered behind helmets. Was their prince breaking? Was the prophecy twisting his heart? And above all—what bond truly tied him to the man at his side?
Kaelen noticed the stares. He sat at the edge of camp sharpening his blade, every stroke ringing too loud in the brittle silence. Aelion came to sit beside him, his cloak drawn close.
"They're afraid," Aelion murmured. "Not of the trial, but of what it revealed."
Kaelen's jaw tightened. "Let them fear me. Better me than you."
But Aelion shook his head. "No. They must trust us both, or they will break long before the prophecy is fulfilled."
The words lingered—yet in the darkness beyond the fire, others listened too.
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The Spies' Work
Unseen, the three spies had slipped among the camp hours ago, cloaked in plain armor stolen from fallen soldiers. They blended into the ranks with chilling ease, sowing whispers here and there:
"Did you hear? The guard has bewitched him."
"If the prophecy demands only one shall shine, what if the bodyguard steals the prince's fate?"
"Perhaps Kaelen is the shadow himself."
Fear spread like smoke, invisible but choking.
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Midnight Strike
The hour grew late. Most soldiers drifted to uneasy slumber. Only the prince's personal circle kept watch.
That was when it happened.
A scream tore through the night as a soldier collapsed, throat cut. Chaos erupted—men stumbling to their feet, swords drawn, shouting into the dark.
From the treeline, a shadowed figure lunged straight toward Aelion. Kaelen moved like lightning, sword intercepting the strike, steel clashing with steel. Sparks lit the night as he drove the assassin back, but two more emerged, their blades gleaming.
The camp descended into a frenzy—soldiers unsure who was friend, who was foe. Whispers of betrayal became roars of panic.
Aelion stood in the center, torn between fear and fury. "Protect the camp! Hold the line!"
But even as his voice rang out, his eyes stayed locked on Kaelen—who now fought three blades at once, teeth bared, refusing to give ground.
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The Choice in Firelight
One spy broke past the line, rushing at Aelion with a dagger raised high.
Aelion's pulse thundered—he reached for his sword, but too late.
Steel flashed—Kaelen's. He cut the assassin down, but the cost was blood: a blade sliced across his side before he could turn fully.
"Aelion!" he hissed, staggering but standing firm.
The camp roared, soldiers surging to put down the infiltrators. When at last the final spy fell, silence returned—broken only by the crackle of fire and the hiss of Kaelen's ragged breath.
He stood bleeding, his sword still in hand, unyielding. "You live. That's all that matters."
Aelion caught him as his knees buckled, fury and terror colliding in his chest. "No, Kaelen. From now on—you live, too. No prophecy, no shadow, no god has the right to take you from me."
Around them, soldiers stared—not only at their prince cradling his guard, but at the raw truth between them that no battle could hide.
And in the unseen dark, the prophecy whispered louder, stirred by blood and fire:
> Only one shall shine…
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