The silence between them stretched long after the fog faded.
Kael sat against a charred tree trunk, ribs aching, watching Liora as she paced the edge of the clearing. Her staff still glowed faintly, like a coal refusing to go cold.
She hadn't said a word since he confessed.
He didn't blame her.
"I was a dragon. A king. An emperor."
The words still hung in the air like a curse.
Liora stopped pacing.
"Do you regret it?" she asked softly, without looking at him.
Kael blinked. "Regret?"
She turned, eyes shadowed. "The cities. The lives. My people."
Kael looked away. "No. Not then."
"But now?"
"…Yes."
That was the only answer he had.
She knelt in front of him, frowning. "Then why did you do it?"
Kael looked down at his hands—calloused now, mortal.
"I thought your kind would end the world. You spread like flame. You carved forests into farmland, turned mountains into mines. My kind feared you."
He paused. "And I… I hated you for what I feared."
Liora was quiet.
Then: "You speak like you aren't one of us now."
Kael met her eyes. "I don't know what I am anymore."
That Nightfall they didn't return to Marrowick. Not yet.
Instead, they camped by a fallen oak that formed a crude shelter. Kael built the fire. Liora prepared dried herbs in a small pot over the flames, her hands steady now—methodical.
"I'm not afraid of you," she said suddenly.
Kael raised an eyebrow.
"You should be," he said.
"No," she replied. "You protected me. That creature spoke your name, and you still stood between it and me."
"I didn't protect you because I'm good," he said. "I did it because I didn't want to watch another person die."
Liora looked at him. "That's what good people do."
Kael didn't reply.
That Night, Kael Dreamed but it was not his dream.
He stood on a field of glass—black and shattered, stretching toward a sky bruised with crimson clouds. Ash rained from above like snow.
A figure stood at the far edge of the plain.
Tall. Cloaked in writhing smoke.
Its face was a blank mirror. But Kael knew the presence.
"Nytheris."
The figure tilted its head. Its voice was a thousand whispers stitched into one.
"You wear their skin now, little ember. Does it suit you? Does it shame you?"
Kael clenched his fists. "Why are you here?"
"Because the gate cracks. Because your death was never enough. Because love makes fools of gods."
Kael felt the heat rise within him—but it was dull, muted. Like a hearth after the fire's gone.
"You will fall again," Nytheris said. "And this time, there will be no rebirth."
Kael lunged, rage flaring—
But he woke up gasping, heart thundering, skin cold.
Liora stirred beside the dying fire. She noticed his expression immediately.
"You saw something."
He nodded, still catching his breath. "Nytheris. He's waking."
She swallowed. "And the villagers?"
Kael stood. "They won't survive. Not unless we stop what's coming."
Liora hesitated. "Then we need allies."
Kael's eyes darkened. "There's only one place left that would remember me. That would dare speak my name without fear."
She looked up. "Where?"
Kael turned toward the north, toward the snow-capped mountains that stabbed the sky like broken teeth.
"The ruins of Vareth Tal. The old dragon capital