Kairos moved among his small group. His orders were exact and his presence was quiet, but strong.
He had used Aerion's past, his knowledge of the court, to shape how others saw him. His ruthless efficiency, hidden by Aerion's supposed kindness, was a chilling act of planned deception.
He was not just playing a prince, he was building a new power, weaving perceptions to control those around him.
Jaxon trained his men with new energy. Their movements were sharper, and their faces were hardened by recent fights.
Finnan scouted without rest. He came back with detailed maps of small Veridian patrols, each one a possible target.
Mira worked quietly. She took care of their few injuries, her gentle hands were a sharp contrast to the violence they now embraced.
Ronan, though still shaken by the harshness he had seen, now understood the game. He read reports, looking for weak points in Therion's defenses. His noble mind was learning the hard truths of rebellion.
Kairos watched them all. He was pleased. They were becoming tools, sharp and useful.
But he needed more. He needed secrets, forgotten paths, knowledge older than any map. He needed to strike at the very roots of Therion's power, not just its outer parts.
***
One damp morning, a thin mist hung on the trees. Kairos told his group his plan. "I will go into the Thalorin Woods," he stated, his voice flat. "I seek old knowledge. Jaxon, you keep training the men. Finnan, keep scouting nearby roads. Mira, watch our supplies. Ronan, look for any moves from Therion's forts."
No one asked questions. They had learned that Kairos's decisions were final. His reasons often hidden.
He took only a short sword, a waterskin, and a small bag. He went alone. He left the known path behind.
He went deeper into the ancient, quiet forest.
The trees grew thicker with each step. Their branches twisted into a dark roof that blocked the sun.
The air grew colder and heavier. It smelled of wet earth and old moss.
But strangely, soft sounds echoed through the dim light. There was a faint rustle that was not wind. A distant murmur that was not a stream.
Kairos kept his senses sharp. His awareness now reached beyond sight and sound. He felt the subtle energies of the forest.
He walked for hours. He pushed through thick plants, or stepped over twisted roots that spread across the forest floor like old veins. He looked for no special place. Only the pull of something ancient, and something forgotten.
He ignored the soft whispers that seemed to call his name from the shadows, and focused only on the deep, humming power he could feel. It was a pulse under the ground.
Then he found it. Not in old ruins or a hidden cave. But in a clearing that glowed with an unnatural, soft light.
A single, very big tree stood in the middle. Its bark was like shiny black stone. Its leaves shimmered with an otherworldly light.
And floating in front of it, small and bright, was a creature.
She was tiny. Her body shimmered with a soft, warm light. It was like a firefly in sunlight.
She had delicate wings, like dragonfly's. A playful giggle filled the air, light and clear like tiny bells. She flitted around a single, glowing flower, seemingly unaware of Kairos.
Kairos watched her. His cold mind saw something special.
This was not just any creature. This was something else entirely. He felt the ancient magic. It was deep and subtle.
It came from her. It was tied to the very core of the forest. Her light heart, her pure joy, seemed completely out of place in his harsh world.
Suddenly, the small, shimmering form grew larger. The light became brighter. Then it changed, stretching and reshaping.
In a blink, the fairy was gone. In her place stood a woman. She was very beautiful, her skin glowed with the same soft light.
Her hair was like spun moonlight. Her eyes were wide and old. They held a spark of playful wisdom. This showed her true age.
Delicate, iridescent wings, like those of a dragonfly, still shimmered on her back. She wore a simple, loose tunic, which subtly revealed most of her form. Her bare feet touched the mossy ground without a sound.
She smiled. It was a knowing, playful smile. "Well, well," she said. Her voice was a soft, musical whisper. It sounded like wind chimes.
"It has been a long, long time since one of your kind found their way to my clearing, Aerion."
Kairos became stiff. The name, spoken so easily, hit him hard. He had expected to find a secret. But no one that knew him.
He had played the prince. He had worn the mask. But this creature, this fae spirit, saw through it.
Her ancient eyes held deep knowledge, a connection to the very magic he now controlled.
He kept his face still, and his mind raced. He had to understand. He had to know how she knew.
He was Kairos, the one who controlled the fire. The one who pulled the strings. Aerion was just a tool, a memory.
"My name is not Aerion," Kairos stated. His voice was flat, and his gaze was steady. He had to keep control.
The woman chuckled. It was a light, airy sound that seemed to dance on the wind. "Oh, but it is, little flame. Or rather, it will be. You carry his essence, his scent, even if you try to hide it under your cold shell."
She took a step closer. Her glowing fingers brushed his arm.
A sudden jolt, not of pain, but of raw, ancient energy, rushed through him. It made him gasp.
He felt a quick vision. It was a swirl of past and present. A truth about himself that he had hidden deep inside.
Her eyes, ancient and knowing, looked into his. "You are more than you believe, Aerion," she whispered. Her voice was like the sound of old leaves.
"And the forest has been waiting for you."