The First to return

The riders slowed as they neared the ruins of Vaelthane, their cloaks heavy with dust from the road. Their horses, lean and travel-worn, bore the weight of long journeys, but their riders sat tall, eyes scanning the broken city with something close to reverence.

Kael stepped forward, his grip firm on his sword hilt—not in threat, but in readiness. Behind him, the people of Vaelthane watched in hushed anticipation.

The lead rider dismounted first. A man, older than Kael, with silver threading his dark hair and sharp, knowing eyes. He pulled back his hood, revealing a face marked by years of hardship but not defeat.

"So the rumors are true," he said, his voice carrying through the ruins. "Vaelthane rises."

Kael held his gaze. "And you are?"

The man's lips curled into a faint smile. "A son of this kingdom. Like many of us." He gestured behind him, and the other riders followed suit, pulling down their hoods. Men and women, some scarred from battle, others weary from travel. Survivors.

Fenir shifted beside Kael, her silver eyes narrowing slightly. "You left this place," she said, not unkindly, but with a weight of knowing.

The man nodded. "We did. Because there was nothing left. The throne was lost, the city fell to ruin. Some of us ran. Others were taken. But we never forgot what this place was. And now, word spreads—a new ruler stands where none dared before."

Kael studied him, the weight of their words pressing against the choices he had already made.

"If you've come to take back what was lost, you're too late," Kael said. "Vaelthane will be built anew, not as a shadow of what it was."

The man's smile widened, this time with something like respect. "Then we've come to the right place."

He knelt. The others followed, one by one, their hands pressed to the earth of their fallen kingdom.

Kael exhaled. These were not enemies. They were the first of many.

Vaelthane was no longer just ruins. It was returning.