The storm broke before dawn.
Rain crashed down on the ruined watchtower, soaking the broken stone and turning the dirt road into thick mud. Kael stood at the edge of the tower, staring into the mist-covered hills. He felt it in his bones—something was coming.
Ryn stepped beside him.
"You feel that too, don't you?"
Kael nodded.
"They found us."
From the fog below, shadows began to move.
Boots.
Armor.
Steel.
The king's hunters.
"Everyone inside," Kael ordered.
The villagers rushed back into the tower, fear written on their faces. Kael didn't run. He walked forward, stepping into the rain.
"So the crown finally noticed me," he muttered.
The hunters emerged from the mist, cloaked in black, faces hidden beneath iron masks.
"Prince Kael," one of them called. "By royal decree, you are to be captured. Alive or dead."
Kael clenched his fists.
"I am no longer your prince."
The first hunter charged.
Kael moved.
Steel flashed as he dodged the blade, driving his elbow into the man's ribs and sending him crashing into the mud. Another attacker came from the side. Kael spun, catching the sword with his gauntlet and twisting it out of the man's grip.
Ryn leaped into the fight, blades moving like lightning.
The villagers watched in shock as Kael fought not like a runaway, but like a king protecting his land.
One hunter broke through, charging toward the tower.
Kael saw it.
"No!" he shouted.
He ran, tackling the man before he reached the door, slamming him into the ground.
The rain mixed with blood.
Kael stood over the fallen hunter, breathing hard.
This was no longer just survival.
This was war.
(To be continued)