Vorthryn held its breath in the early light.
Snow rested in soft drifts atop stone roofs and narrow battlements, melting slow under the cautious warmth of morning. The winds that once tore through the mountain corridors had calmed to a gentle hush, carrying only the scent of ash, steel, and pinewood fires.
Reva stepped onto the outer wall long before the city stirred. Her boots crunched gently over a dusting of frost as she walked the stone path in silence, hands tucked into the sleeves of her scout coat. She didn't wear her armor today—she didn't need it.
She wasn't hiding anymore.
She stopped near one of the high lookout spires and leaned against the parapet. Below her, the waking rhythms of the capital began their slow, methodical stir. The forge masters started their bellows with yawns and hammer strikes. Fresh patrols rotated in from the gatehouse. Messengers dashed across the narrow streets like blood pumping through an ancient heart.
And yet, the city's heartbeat felt distant to her now.
She watched it with a strange detachment—not out of arrogance, but distance. Something had shifted. The Soulfire within her had not flared since the memory. But it had settled—anchored itself inside her chest like a sleeping beast. Waiting.
Her eyes drifted to the eastern horizon, where the snows of Cairn still coated the ridgelines in pale silence. The sun caught there first, turning the ice gold.
Somewhere out there, Kaeli was walking under that light.
Reva didn't know if she was running from them—or ahead of them.
But she would follow. One day.
She pressed her hand to the hilt of her dagger.
Not to draw.
Just to remember.
____
The mess hall was half-awake when she entered.
Most scouts preferred to eat after morning drills, not before. A few lone veterans sat hunched at the far end of the long tables, their meals simple—porridge, hard bread, tea laced with something sharp to burn the sleep away.
Ajax was there, in his usual seat near the back. His coat was dusted with snow, and steam rose from a chipped mug in front of him. He didn't look surprised when she appeared. Just reached over and slid a second cup toward the empty seat beside him.
She sat.
The quiet between them wasn't cold. It had become their rhythm.
Their way of saying everything that didn't need to be spoken aloud.
"You sleep?" he asked eventually, his voice low.
She shook her head. "Didn't feel right."
He stirred his tea with one finger, watching the motion.
"Same."
Reva wrapped her hands around the mug. Its heat stung her palms—she welcomed it.
"I keep thinking I should be furious," she murmured. "At Karian. At Aric. At everything."
"But you're not?" he asked.
She shook her head slowly. "Not really. I'm tired of chasing shadows. I want to know what's real. What we're really part of."
Ajax didn't smile, but something in his eyes shifted—an old understanding.
"We'll find it," he said. "The truth. Even if we have to dig it out of the roots."
She looked at him. "And if we don't like what we find?"
He exhaled. "Then we burn the rest of it down."
A knock interrupted their quiet. A messenger scout, still armored from patrol, stood at the entrance.
"Scouts Reva and Ajax—Commander Karian requests your presence in the western command office."
They stood without speaking.
They knew this wasn't another mission briefing.
Not yet.
Karian's office sat nestled in the high western tower, narrow but high-ceilinged, carved into the stone itself. The walls were bare except for a single map and the standard of the Valern scouts—a mountain split by a single blade.
The hearth was unlit. The air inside was colder than the corridor.
Karian stood behind his desk in full commander regalia. His expression was impassive—but to Reva, who knew the man behind the cloak, it looked like armor.
"You're not here for ceremony," he said. "That's long past."
He stepped aside and motioned to a box on the desk. It was made of polished blackwood, marked with a single silver seal.
"This is recognition."
Reva and Ajax exchanged a glance.
"For the prisoners you rescued last week," Karian continued. "The Tribunal saw it fit you received some reward for your bravery against both Cairn forces and the Crimson Veil. Without you, those people would still be shackled in that godless camp—or dead."
He unlatched the box and lifted the lid.
Inside rested two blacksteel bracers, each etched with faint symbolic patterns along the rim—artistic scripts, elegant and practical.
"Crafted by Vorthryn's artificers. Lightweight. Heat-resistant. Augment-capable."
Reva reached forward and picked one up. It was cold at first touch, but the metal warmed instantly to her skin. It felt like it belonged.
Ajax took his without comment, slipping it under his sleeve with the quiet focus of someone who already saw battle in their future.
Karian watched them both.
Then his tone shifted.
"There's more," he said. "And it's time you knew."
He stepped away from the desk and crossed his arms.
"The Chamber of Elders of Cairn sent a query to Vorthryn two days ago. A direct message. One of their High Elders."
Reva's pulse spiked.
"We haven't officially entered a war, so the request isn't unexpected. But the timing—and what they asked—is."
"What did they ask?" Ajax said.
"They inquired whether we had witnessed any instances of soul-bound awakening, or signs of cross-system hybridization."
Reva's voice was ice. "You didn't answer."
"I didn't respond," Karian said. "Which means they'll press harder. They know something has changed—and they want to see who flinches first."
He walked to the window and stared out over the snow-lit rooftops.
"They're coming," he said quietly. "Not all at once. Not with banners. But with whispers. With laws. With chains that look like questions."
Neither of them spoke.
The silence was a vow.
As they turned to leave, Karian spoke once more.
"There's to be a gathering in two nights' time. Formal, but limited. In honor of the Valernian prince's twelfth birthday."
Reva turned back, surprised. "The prince? I thought he was…"
"Withdrawn," Karian said. "He is. He rarely leaves the upper sanctum. Few have seen him. Fewer still have spoken to him."
Ajax raised an eyebrow. "Why mention him?"
Karian looked at them both.
"Because the Chamber wants to control the boy. They can't reach him. But they're patient. And he's still young."
He paused.
"And because I think he needs someone who sees him as more than a symbol."
Reva didn't answer. But something softened in her shoulders.
The air outside felt different when they stepped into it.
Not warmer. Not brighter.
But clearer.
They passed the armory, where hammer strikes echoed like measured thunder. Past the summoning fields, where young mages practiced basic sigils under instructor supervision.
And then they saw them.
A group of children—barely seven years old—training in the courtyard with wooden spears and bark armor. Their stances were unbalanced, their footwork uneven. One slipped. Another laughed and helped her up. The teacher adjusted a wrist angle, patted a shoulder.
Reva stopped walking.
She watched them with something like awe.
Not because of skill.
But because of hope.
"If we don't protect them…" she whispered. "Who will?"
Ajax stood beside her, arms folded.
"We will."
They stayed like that for a long moment.
Not moving.
Just watching the future stumble its way into form.
Then Reva turned back to the gate, eyes cold and certain.
And walked.