The bells of the capital tolled before sunrise, their iron voices carrying across the city like a summons to judgment. By the time Kael and Isolde slipped through the southern gate, cloaked and breathless, proclamations already echoed in the streets:
"By decree of King Aldric, Prince Kael has broken faith with crown and kingdom. He and the healer Isolde are to be seized, alive if possible. Their return is demanded in the name of the throne."
The guards at the gate had barely looked up as they passed—Kael's hood shadowed his features, and Isolde's light was hidden beneath her cloak—but the words trailed after them like hounds on a scent.
Isolde's chest tightened as their horses carried them beyond the walls, the city shrinking behind them into towers of pale stone. "He named you traitor. And me."
Kael's jaw clenched. "No. Varrow named us traitors. Father only spoke the words he put in his mouth." His hand brushed the Moonsilver Sword at his side, its faint glow hidden but never absent. "Varrow controls the court now. The only way to free Aeloria is to break his hold—and the Shadow King's chains—before both consume the realm."
The road stretched before them, winding through fields still scarred by blackened crops. Villages watched them with wary eyes. Some offered water or bread in silence, while others barred their doors, whispers chasing them from behind shutters: The flame. The cursed prince. Run before they bring ruin here.
Each mile weighed heavier, the prophecy following them like a shadow.
---
Back in the capital, Varrow stood before the court, cloaked in victory. The nobles clamored for order, their voices high with fear, and Varrow gave them what they wanted: certainty.
"My lords, the prince has betrayed us. He carries a weapon of dangerous power and shields the flame whose very presence cracks the Shadow King's prison. Shall we let him endanger our people further?"
"No!" the chamber roared.
Varrow bowed his head humbly, though his eyes gleamed. "Then trust in King Aldric's wisdom. Riders will hunt them. Their capture will bring peace back to the kingdom."
Behind his calm words, he whispered deeper prayers—prayers not to gods, but to chains and shadows. In the silence of his own chamber, he traced sigils in the air, black smoke curling around his hands.
"Run, little flame," he murmured. "Every step carries you closer to the breaking point. And when the Shadow King rises, you will kneel—or you will burn."
---
On the road, Kael and Isolde paused at a ridge overlooking the wide plains of Aeloria. The wind tugged at their cloaks, carrying the scent of ash from the south.
Isolde's voice broke the quiet. "Kael… we can't just run. If Varrow controls the court, he'll spread his lies across the kingdom. People will fear us before they even see us."
Kael nodded grimly. "Then we don't run—we find allies. The prophecy spoke of flame and blade together. But it also showed others, Isolde. Warriors of moonlight, fire, and oath. If they lived once, their legacy may live still. We'll need them all before this ends."
She met his eyes, her own steady despite the fear coiling within her. "Then our path is clear. We find them before Varrow finds us. And before the Shadow King breaks free."
Kael tightened his grip on the Moonsilver Sword. "So be it. The flame and the blade won't walk alone."
They spurred their horses onward, the road stretching into unknown lands. Behind them, the capital was lost. Ahead, danger waited in every shadow—but also the faint hope of allies strong enough to turn the tide.
And in the depths of the Hollow, the chains groaned louder than ever, as if savoring the approach of the inevitable.