Chapter 2- Lyraea
Chapter 2: Shadows Unveiled
The rain had soaked through my cloak hours ago, but I hardly noticed. Each step I took across Aevoria's rooftops was deliberate, measured. I couldn't afford to slip, not tonight. Not with everything at stake. The storm was both my ally and my enemy, masking my movements but threatening to betray me with its relentless downpour.
From my vantage point above the city, I could see the castle looming in the distance, its towers piercing the stormclouds like jagged teeth. The symbol of everything I hated and everything I fought against.
Aevoria was a kingdom of masks, of lies. The high-born feasted while the lesser-born bled. They claimed power was ordained by magic, by heritage, by destiny. But I knew the truth. Power wasn't given; it was stolen. And tonight, I would steal it back.
I crouched low, my fingers brushing against the edge of the rooftop. The locked chest below was my target, nestled within the courtyard of a noble estate. It wasn't just a chest. It was a message. A statement. The rebellion didn't need their scraps—we could take whatever we wanted.
The rain hissed against the metal as I worked to pick the lock, my focus razor-sharp. I could almost feel the weight of Cyran Vael's gaze from the castle, his cunning mind undoubtedly already aware of an intruder. But he wasn't my concern.
No, my concern was the prince.
Kaelion Valmont.
Even his name tasted bitter on my tongue. A high-born bastard raised in privilege, oblivious to the suffering his kind inflicted on the rest of us. A man whispered about in rebellion circles, his reputation as sharp as his blade. He was a danger I couldn't ignore.
The lock clicked open beneath my fingers, and a grim smile tugged at my lips. Too easy. These nobles never expected anyone to challenge them in their own territory. My hand reached for the chest's contents when the cold bite of steel pressed against my throat.
"Drop it," a voice growled behind me.
My body froze for a heartbeat before instinct took over. I moved, fast and fluid, twisting out of his reach. The clash of steel filled the alley as I drew my dagger and met his strike.
Kaelion Valmont.
The prince fought like a storm—unrelenting, forceful, overwhelming. But storms could be weathered. I wasn't just a fighter; I was a survivor.
"You don't belong here," he snarled, his blade cutting through the air toward me.
"Neither do you," I shot back, parrying his strike and ducking beneath his next swing.
Our fight was a dance of blades and grit, the storm raging around us like a reflection of our clash. He was strong, impossibly so, but strength wasn't enough. I needed an opening, a single misstep.
I found it.
A well-timed feint sent his weapon skidding across the wet cobblestones, and for a moment, I thought I'd won. But he moved too quickly, grabbing my collar and slamming me against the stone wall.
"Who sent you?" he demanded, his blade back at my throat.
I laughed, a bitter sound that echoed in the narrow alley. He didn't understand. None of them did.
"You have no idea what's coming, do you?" I said, my voice steady despite the blade biting into my skin.
"Try me," he growled.
I twisted in his grip, using his strength against him, and slipped free. For the first time, our eyes met. Warm brown clashing with the icy fire of rebellion. I saw the flicker of recognition in his gaze, though I doubted he knew what it meant.
I couldn't stay. Not yet. The rebellion needed me alive, and this wasn't the place for a final stand. Magic surged in my veins, raw and untamed. A flash of light erupted between us, and I vanished, leaving him in the storm.
The moment I reappeared on a rooftop two streets away, my knees buckled. Siphoning took its toll, and I wasn't used to pushing myself this hard. But I couldn't stop. Not now.
I glanced back toward the castle, my chest heaving with exertion. Kaelion would hunt me. I'd made sure of that.
But it didn't matter. Let him come.
Aevoria's secrets were unraveling, and soon, not even the prince's blade would be enough to stop what was coming.