Chapter 4: The Fool (0) - I

Callen Aldric

The cold night air wraps around me like an unwanted embrace as I step out of the underground hideout. The meeting with Veylin still lingers in my mind, his smirk, his careful choice of words, the way he weaves plans like a master tactician pulling invisible strings. He thinks I don't see it—the way he's guiding me, nudging me down this path.

But I do.

It doesn't matter.

Even if he is manipulating me, as long as it leads me closer to Regis, as long as it gives me a chance to take his head—I will let him.

Callen is dead.

Only Cedric will remain.

I press a hand to my chest, feeling the steady beat of my heart. It still drums with rage, with sorrow, with the burden of everything I have lost. Evelyne... Eleazar... their names remain carved into the very fabric of my soul. But I can no longer utter them as Callen.

My feet move before I can think, taking me to where they rest.

I kneel before the two graves, my hands resting on the cold, unyielding stone. The names carved into them are all that remains of the two people I loved most. Evelyne. Eleazar.

A lump forms in my throat. What do I even say?

I take a slow breath, my voice barely above a whisper.

"I should've been with you."

The wind answers me, carrying a soft rustle through the trees, as if whispering back.

"I should've protected you."

I run my fingers over the names, my chest tightening.

"I was too late. And now, I have nothing left except this... this endless cycle of vengeance. I don't even know if you'd want me to do this, Evelyne. I don't know if you'd be disappointed in me. But what else do I have? What else can I do?"

The words hang in the air, swallowed by the night.

I look toward Eleazar's grave. The pain in my chest deepens.

"You would have been eight this year." I chuckle bitterly, shaking my head. "You always said you wanted to be a knight, just like your old man. That one day, you'd fight alongside me."

My vision blurs. I press my fingers against my forehead, forcing back the tears.

"I failed you both."

I lean forward, placing a hand on the ground.

"But I swear... I will make it right. Regis took everything from me. From us. And I will not rest until I do the same to him."

I reach up, unwrapping the scarf from around my neck. The fabric is soft, worn from years of use. Evelyne gave this to me when we first met—she had wrapped it around my shoulders, laughing about how I always forgot to dress warmly.

"This was yours first, remember?" I murmur. "You always told me to take care of myself. But you're not here to remind me anymore, so maybe it's time I let it go too."

I fold the scarf carefully and place it between their graves.

"I'll come back when it's over."

I rise to my feet, swallowing hard.

"And when I do, I will rest beside you both."

The wind picks up again, as if carrying my words away.

Not far from where Evelyne and Eleazar rest, my people lie beneath the earth.

A makeshift graveyard, hastily marked with crude wooden crosses, stretches across the hillside. This is where the last of Redmont was laid to rest.

Ferris. Mara. Arlen. And many of my other comrades and people...

My breath stutters. I should have died with them.

I step forward, stopping at Ferris' grave first.

"You bastard." My voice cracks. "You always said you'd outlive me. That I was too reckless, that I never knew when to run."

My fingers tremble as I touch the cold wood.

"But in the end, you were the one who stayed behind, weren't you?"

I grit my teeth, swallowing the burn in my throat.

Mara's grave is next.

"Mara, I..." I exhale slowly, forcing the words out. "You were the strongest of us. If you had lived... maybe Redmont would have stood a chance."

But she did not. None of them did.

I turn to Arlen's grave, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on me.

"Arlen. You stupid bastard. You laughed, even at the end. How could you still smile while the world burned around you?"

I let out a sharp breath, shaking my head.

"You always said death was just another adventure. Did you find it?"

The wind howls through the quiet. No answer.

Of course not.

I kneel, placing a hand over the dirt. This is goodbye.

"I don't have the right to mourn you, do I?" My voice is barely above a whisper. "I lived. You died. And now... I have to keep living, even if I don't deserve to."

I stay there for a long moment, letting the silence stretch.

Then, I rise to my feet.

"When I return, it will not be as Callen. Callen is dead. But before I join you all..." I clench my fists.

"I will take everything from him, just as he took everything from us."

The wind carries my words away.

I turn my back on the graves and walk away. I do not look back.

There is still one thing left to do.

My fingers clench into fists as I rise. I will not waver. There is no more turning back. Callen dies today.

But before I vanish, before I let Cedric take his place—I have one more place to go.

The house is barely standing. The remnants of a life long lost.

My boots crunch against the dirt path as I approach, my eyes taking in the broken windows, the caved-in roof, the decay that has set in. No one has lived here since that day. Since the day my world was torn apart.

I push the door open, the wood creaking in protest, revealing the hollowed-out shell of what once was a home.

The table where Evelyne used to set our meals is nothing but splinters. The chair where Eleazar once sat, kicking his little legs as he laughed, lies broken against the wall. Ghosts of the past linger in every corner.

I step inside.

Dust clings to the air, but beneath it, I can almost catch a trace of something familiar—something warm, something that no longer belongs to me.

My fingers brush against the walls as I walk through the house. My eyes land on the fireplace, the worn-out rug where we once sat together as a family.

A memory surfaces.

Evelyne humming a tune as she stirred the soup. Eleazar climbing onto my lap, his tiny fingers tugging at my sleeve. I remember his giggles, the way he would press his face against my chest and say, "Papa, will we always be together?"

And I—a fool—smiled and told him, "Of course."

I shut my eyes.

That was the biggest lie I ever told.

My footsteps carry me to the one thing I came for—a small wooden box, still tucked away in the corner, untouched by time. I open it.

Inside, a single photograph remains. Evelyne's delicate handwriting is scribbled at the back.

"No matter where you go, always find your way home."

I turn it over. The image is faded, but clear enough.

Me. Evelyne. Eleazar.

Smiling. Whole. Happy.

A life stolen. A future burned to ashes.

I clutch the photograph, my grip tightening until my knuckles turn white.

"This is all I have left," I murmur. "And I swear—I will take everything from the man who took everything from me."

The fire inside me does not flicker. It roars.

I tuck the photograph into my coat and turn away from the ruins of my past.

There is no turning back.

There is only Cedric now.

As I step into the shadows, I do not look back.

The world may not know it yet, but Callen is already dead.

And soon, Regis will follow.

____________________________________________________

Veylin Lorien

The carriage sways slightly as the wheels roll over uneven patches of dirt and stone. Outside, the dim glow of lanterns flickers against the trees lining the narrow road, their shadows twisting in the night like specters lurking just beyond reach. The road back to the capital—Eldoria —is long, but for once, I do not mind. It gives me time to think.

Callen is no fool. He knows I am manipulating him, but he has chosen to play along regardless. That much has been clear from the moment he smirked at me after I suggested the name Cedric. A lesser man might have hesitated, but Callen? No. He embraces the lie as if it is his own. He accepts the necessity of his own death. And that is what makes him dangerous.

Still, I have already won.

His fury makes him predictable. His grief makes him pliable. A man consumed by revenge is like a blade sharpened to a deadly edge—dangerous, yes, but also fragile. If handled correctly, it will break just as easily as it cuts.

But that is the long game.

Callen cannot die now. Not yet. Not until I'm our of suspicion. 

He has accepted his new identity, but for my plans to unfold cleanly, the world needs to forget Callen Aldric. And that means no mistakes. No loose ends.

Which is why I almost miss it—the shift in the air, the sense that something is off.

At first, it is nothing. A flicker of movement in the distance. A slight rustle of the leaves, though the wind has died down hours ago. But then I notice it again. A shadow moving when it should not have, the faintest outline of a rider keeping pace with my carriage.

I lean back against the cushioned seat, expression unreadable, though my mind sharpens to a fine point.

Someone is following me.

I remain still, listening. Observing.

Hoofbeats—softened, deliberate. Someone skilled, trying to remain unseen.

Not a common highwayman.

Not a fool.

Someone sent them.

And that narrows the possibilities considerably.

Regis.

The realization settles cold in my chest. That bastard—he is starting to doubt me. It is not a surprise. He is paranoid by nature, and he has long since learned that power is only as strong as the hand that wields it. But this? This is an inconvenience I do not need.

I exhale slowly, controlling my breath, my pulse. My first instinct is to lose them, to order my driver to take an alternate route, to slip into the night like a phantom. But that will only confirm Regis's suspicions. If he is watching me, it means he is already questioning my loyalty. If I act rashly, it will only give him more reason to pry.

I need to control the narrative.

I raise my hand and knock once on the wooden panel separating me from the driver.

"Pick up the pace," I instruct smoothly. "We have wasted enough time on this road."

The driver obeys without question. The carriage lurches forward, the horses accelerating. Not enough to make it seem like I have noticed my pursuer—but just enough to test them.

Will they match my speed?

Will they fall back?

I wait.

One... Two... Three...

There.

A shadow in the treeline. The rider is keeping up. They are not backing off.

I resist the urge to smile.

So predictable.

Regis has always been a brute when it comes to power, no matter how much he postures as a ruler. He prefers overwhelming force—intimidation, bloodshed, direct action. But he is not subtle. If he wants me dead, he will not send a single man to tail me.

No. This is a warning. A test.

I have not failed him yet, but I have worried him. He is watching me, waiting for me to make a mistake.

I adjust my gloves, expression calm.

Then I smile.

If Regis wants a game, I will play.

And I will win.

I wait for the right moment. The road ahead is narrowing, twisting through the darkened woods. A perfect place for theatrics.

I knock on the carriage wall again.

"Stop here," I order.

The driver hesitates only briefly before pulling back on the reins. The horses slow, their breaths visible in the cold night air. The carriage rolls to a halt.

And then I wait.

Silence.

The forest is too quiet now.

They are watching.

I step out of the carriage with measured grace, my boots crunching against the frost-bitten dirt. I do not look into the trees. I do not search for the eyes I know are there. Instead, I adjust my cloak, brushing off the imaginary dust. Unbothered. Unconcerned.

Then, I sigh—loudly.

"Must I always be delayed?" I murmur to myself, just loud enough for them to hear. "It seems I cannot even return to the capital without complications."

A calculated grumble. Nothing suspicious. Nothing that suggests I know I am being watched. Just a man annoyed by inconvenience.

I turn back toward the carriage. "Get moving," I instruct the driver. "I have wasted enough time as it is."

The driver nods, snapping the reins. The horses resume their pace.

And so does my shadow.

Good.

I climb back inside, allowing my smirk to finally surface.

If Regis's men are following me, I will give them something to follow. I will feed their doubts just enough to control them, to shape their narrative. Let them think they are uncovering my secrets. Let them believe they have the upper hand.

Because in the end, I am the one leading them.

And when the time comes, I will ensure that their own suspicions will be the very thing that destroys them.

Regis wants a test?

I have already passed.

And he doesn't even know it yet.