Chapter Four | When Silence Precedes the Storm

The sky remained cloaked in the heavy blue of night, while the first light of dawn barely tinged the edges of the stone training yard in the Palace of Elios.

Ryan stood alone, fastening his armor piece by piece in a heavy, wordless silence. Every movement was precise, rehearsed—mechanical. And yet, the way he looked at the sky betrayed something deeper. As if a voice inside him was whispering…

This mission was not like the others.

A short distance away, Matthew sat atop a wooden crate, poring over the route maps with focused attention—though his eyes never truly left Ryan.

At last, he spoke, not looking up:

"You sure you're alright?"

Ryan didn't turn. He tightened the strap around his wrist a little too firmly, and replied in a low voice,

"I've never really been alright… and somehow, that comforts me."

Matthew gave a faint smile, but there was a weight behind it he couldn't conceal.

"This mission is vague. No clear orders. Just the two of us, and two guards… Do you even know why we're being sent? What is our real mission is?"

Ryan lifted his helmet and stared at it for a moment before murmuring,

"Are you afraid?"

Matthew hesitated—caught off guard—then snapped, a little sharply,

"What are you rambling about now?"

Ryan glanced sideways at him and smiled.

"I don't know… but you're asking a lot of questions."

Matthew folded the maps in silence, muttering under his breath,

"How can you stay this cold, Ryan? Do you even care about this mission at all?"

While tightening the saddle on his horse, Ryan replied with calm indifference,

"In most of the King's missions, I only learned the reason once I arrived. And honestly… that makes it more exciting ."

Matthew climbed onto his horse with a quiet thought echoing in his head:

{Strange… This man is truly strange.}

Suddenly, the guards' voices echoed from the distance, followed by the slow creaking of the great iron gate as it began to open.

The first rays of dawn filtered through the bars, illuminating the rugged path ahead.

Ryan was the first to ride out, guiding his horse with quiet ease. Matthew followed, then the two guards behind them—silent, tense.

As they passed through the gate, the guard shut it firmly behind them.

The sound of it closing reverberated in their chests like a warning…

They were heading out on a mission—one they might never return from.

The heavy iron gate closed behind them, its echo rippling across the palace courtyard like the final note of a scene no one knew how—or when—it would end.

Not long after, the sun began to crawl across the walls of the eastern wing, where tall windows overlooked the inner garden, and a weighted silence lingered before the royal breakfast.

Inside the palace, far from the place they had departed, time moved to a slower rhythm… but it was no less tense.

The sun had already passed the edges of the high windows, casting soft beams onto the royal drapes, painting still shadows across the marble floor.

The rich scent of steeped tea mingled with warm, buttered bread. The only sounds were the rustle of paper and the occasional clink of a porcelain cup against its saucer.

Queen Alessandra sat quietly, her eyes moving slowly over the words before her. Her expression was unreadable, but her gaze carried the weariness of someone too familiar with what she was reading.

Across from her sat King Vulcan, holding a sealed letter from the South. Every line in his face suggested he had no desire to read it.

Prince Alex occupied the side chair, speaking to his mother with something that had clearly been pressing on his mind:

"Can I have a space of my own to practice swordplay?"

Alessandra responded without looking up from her letters:

"Why? Isn't the training yard enough?"

Alex, unusually serious:

"I can't focus there… There are too many guards watching me."

Her tone remained nearly indifferent:

"That's the point, Alex. You're meant to learn by seeing."

Still, he persisted, his voice growing more strained. Halgretha turned and asked coolly:

"Your brother and uncle trained there. What's bothering you?"

Alex looked from her to his mother, as if seeking someone who could understand what he couldn't quite express.

Alessandra closed the letter slowly and said,

"The training yard is not optional, Alex. Don't look at me like that."

Then she turned to her husband,

"Your Majesty, speak to your son."

Vulcan didn't respond immediately. He turned the letter in his hands before saying,

"Your mother is right. Training among the soldiers will harden you."

Halgretha added, while slicing into a piece of fruit,

"You'll be less than you could be if you train alone."

Then Alex said it—blurting it out as if it slipped from him by mistake:

"I wouldn't be alone…"

He fell silent. He hadn't meant to say it.

Alessandra looked at him, surprised:

"With whom?"

But he didn't answer. He was about to, when the door opened suddenly.

Raven entered, his steps measured, a calm smile on his face.

"Good morning," he said, his eyes briefly meeting each of theirs.

Alessandra smiled,

"Now it feels like morning."

He approached her and said,

"I wish every morning began with your smile, my Queen ."

Halgretha gave him a reserved glance.

He added lightly,

"And never ended without seeing the beloved princess… my only, favorite aunt."

Halgretha returned a small smile.

"Good morning, Raven."

He walked to his father, voice slightly hesitant:

"Father… your majesty are you mad at me ?"

Vulcan replied without pause,

"How could I be mad at you? I never could."

Raven smiled but said nothing.

Alex tugged at his hand and whispered,

"Tell them to let me have a private training space!"

Raven chuckled.

"Why? What's wrong with the yard?"

Alessandra interrupted sharply:

"I don't know what's going on in that head of yours, Alex, but my answer is no."

Disappointment shadowed Alex's face as he fell silent.

Raven was quiet for a moment, then spoke clearly:

"I want to go west I'd like to visit Reinhart to see my eldest uncle… Theron."

Everyone looked up.

Alessandra, concerned:

"You're leaving ?"

Raven nodded with resolve:

"Yes."

Vulcan raised his eyes from the letter, his tone suddenly sharp:

"Why now? Why so suddenly?"

Raven answered calmly,

"Because delayed decisions become silence… and when finally spoken, they sound like suddenly happen ! ."

Vulcan, firmly:

"No."

Raven's voice finally rose:

"Why? Because I'm the crown prince? Because you're always afraid something will happen to the prince your heir !! ?"

Alessandra, cutting through the tension:

"You have our consent—mine and your father's. You may go ."

She turned to Vulcan, pressed her hand to his shoulder, and whispered:

"If you keep denying him in everything… he'll stop wanting to be your heir."

Halgretha said with hesitation,

"Yeah … Go and Prepare yourself."

Raven looked around the room.

"Truly?"

Alex grinned,

"Go—before Mother changes her mind!"

Raven smiled.

"Then… I'll see you all soon Thank you my Queen thank you my king "

He turned and walked out.

And though the table remained as it was,

the atmosphere he left behind… was no longer the same.

The polished floor echoed softly beneath Raven's footsteps as he approached the exit gate, his head tilted slightly, as though an unseen weight pressed against his shoulders.

A weight that had nothing to do with the small bag he carried—

but everything to do with what he was leaving behind.

Just one more step…

and he would have crossed the threshold.

But then a voice called from behind him—

soft, hesitant, as if the one who spoke wasn't sure they wanted to be heard at all.

"Raven."

He turned slowly.

There stood Kara, at the edge of the corridor, cloaked in a dark gown that grazed the floor. Her face was bare—no trace of ornament or artifice.

More honest than usual.

Or so it seemed.

He raised an eyebrow, his voice laced with quiet irony:

"Strange… I didn't think you were that type who's come to say goodbye."

She stepped forward, her pace deliberate and graceful

as if she wasn't walking toward him,

but toward something far beyond.

Her voice was low, barely above a whisper:

"Are you really leaving?"

He answered, the bitterness in his tone wrapped in calm:

"Does it matter to you… really? Are you upset I'm going?

I'm stunned.

All your concern has always been for Ryan.

The moment he disappears for a breath…

you suffocate.

You rage against the king who gave the order.

You nearly cause chaos every time."

She parted her lips to reply, but paused.

Not for lack of an answer—

but because what she held inside wasn't sincere enough to be spoken.

Then, almost defensively, as if trying to justify herself to herself, she muttered:

"You were always here, Raven… always.

But Ryan… that shard of ice—every time he leaves, he talks about death , as if he's never coming back.

Is it so strange… that I didn't panic when he left?"

He stared at her for a long moment, saying nothing.

Then, softly:

"What if I don't come back ?"

Her features wavered for a second.

Then she tried to smile.

"You'll come back… You're the Crown Prince."

She paused, her voice now cracked with something fragile:

"You've always been close to me… so I never thought you might leave.

Everyone has started to go,

and I kept telling myself: it's fine.

As long as Raven stays, I'll be fine.

But now… even you… you're leaving too."

He didn't answer.

His eyes spoke more than his lips could,

and even he didn't know whether what he felt was pain—

or a desperate need to believe something different.

Then she said, almost sorrowfully:

"Come back soon. Please."

She took a step closer,

then another—

and rested her head against his chest,

wrapping her arms around him in an embrace that asked for no permission, and gave no explanation.

Raven froze.

His eyes widened in disbelief,

as though something unreal had just happened.

For a moment, his arms remained suspended in air…

and then, as if a part of him had surrendered—

he held her.

He smiled,

his eyes shining with something he couldn't name.

He whispered:

"Kara… what's happening to you?"

She let out a faint, fractured laugh and said:

"I don't know…

But I think I can't keep going without you."

He held her tighter, closing his eyes for just a breath.

"I'll come back…

You won't even feel I was gone."

What he didn't know…

was that it wasn't his absence she feared.

It was the thought

that he might he will not return the Crown Prince

no longer the only gate

that could make her Queen of Aetheron.

In her quiet embrace,

Kara was smiling.

A smile he didn't see.

A smile he didn't feel.

Soft. Silent.

But enough to say everything:

The first piece has fallen into place.

Raven didn't know

that he had just lost a battle—

one he thought…

had only just begun.

He released her gently,

as if setting down something precious.

Gazed at her, long and deep,

and smiled.

Then he turned and walked away.

At the gate, the guard opened the door.

The morning air slipped through—

cold, despite the sun's warmth.

And the sound of his footsteps as he left

woke no one…

but in Kara,

it awakened a new kind of victory.

As Ryan exited through one gate of the palace, and Raven through another, a heavy stillness began to settle upon its walls—

a silence unseen, but deeply felt.

And far off, in the depths of the forest,

Liyara was lighting a fire, unaware that something inside her, too,

had just begun to leaving away either

She sat at the threshold, brushing ashes from her hands after kindling the hearth.

The stillness of the forest that day felt suffocating,

as if even the trees had chosen to fall silent.

On the other side of the cabin,

Kain was quietly chopping wood on a weathered wooden table.

His breaths came slower than usual,

as though each strike of the axe carved something deeper within him.

Liyara spoke suddenly, her voice low, without any prelude:

"Father, did my mother resemble me?"

He froze.

He didn't turn.

But the axe in his hand lingered midair longer than it should have.

In a calm voice, he replied:

"She had that same look in her eyes…

the kind that asks everything,

without asking for a single thing."

She lowered her head, trying to hide the tremble in her voice.

"Did you love her?"

He set the axe aside and sat near her.

Staring into something unseen, he said:

"I loved her more than life allowed me to…

But she didn't live long enough to know."

Liyara fell silent for a moment, then whispered:

"Sometimes… I ache to see her, to hold her.

I wonder what she looked like, how her voice might have sounded…"

Kain smiled faintly, a sad tenderness in his eyes:

"She lives within you, Liyara.

Her voice, her features, her gentleness…

All of it is in you."

She moved closer and wrapped her arms around him, crying in silence.

And for the first time,

he had no words to offer.

Long moments passed,

a silence stretched between them—

as if all that had never been said

finally found a way to speak through that embrace.

When her tears began to fade,

She looked up and asked:

"Father… why did the king kill my mother? And the rest of the Winged?"

The weight of the question fell heavily on him.

But he did not retreat from it.

He spoke slowly,

as if each word was drawn from an old, open wound:

"The Winged were once the strongest among the others …

but their hearts were never cruel enough to destroy others.

They were not made to kill—

and so the king saw them as a living rebellion that had to be erased."

She stared at him, her voice a fragile whisper:

"And you?"

Fixing his gaze on the ground, he replied:

"I was one of them…

But I survived.

I ran.

And I carried you away from the massacre.

Liyara… we are the last of our kind."

She remained quiet for a long time,

then spoke in a low voice, as if afraid of her own question:

"But I… I don't think I belong.

I don't have wings like you, Father."

He lifted his head at once—

but didn't meet her eyes.

His voice was firm, edged with something raw:

"You are Winged, my daughter. The absence of wings does not mean your identity is flawed, nor that you do not belong. I will not hear such words from you again—if you truly love me."

Liyara, her eyes dimming with the shadow of doubt:

"…Alright. I promise."

He looked away, avoiding her gaze.

He didn't reply.

He simply stood,

and returned to chopping wood in silence.

But his eyes—

were no longer the same.

And inside him,

a truth was tearing at him… quietly.

While the truth gnawed at Cain in silence, and Liara's tears barely had time to dry, nineteen days had passed—carrying Ryan and Matthew through treacherous roads, until their journey led them to the outskirts of Hismarl… where silence precedes the storm

Dust clung to the air, and the sky had turned a weary shade of gray, leaning toward dusk, when the silhouette of the village finally appeared between the trees.

The horse came to a stop, and Ryan dismounted in silence, scanning the path ahead with sharp, watchful eyes.

Matthew followed, unfastening the map strap from his chest with a tired sigh.

"Nineteen days…" he murmured. "I think we've made it."

Ryan didn't reply. His eyes swept over the landscape in quick, practiced glances.

Matthew stepped closer, speaking casually:

"Have you ever heard of the White Knight?"

Ryan didn't answer, but his gaze flicked toward him, mildly intrigued.

Matthew continued, as if speaking more to himself:

"They say he's the strongest warrior in the kingdom.

He doesn't serve the king. Answers to no one.

He appears in battles where no one expects him…

and then vanishes, like the earth swallows him whole."

Ryan gave a faint, amused smile.

"And you believe things like that… don't you?"

Matthew laughed.

"I know, I know, it sounds far-fetched. But a friend of mine swears he saw him.

Anyone who duels with him—

never duels again.

Because the second time…

how can the dead fight again?"

Ryan stopped walking.

His tone shifted.

"You want to duel him?"

"I think I'm genuinely curious," Matthew replied, stepping toward the edge of the road.

But as they approached the village, something felt off.

Too quiet.

The road was muddy, and the houses in the distance looked… abandoned.

Before either of them could speak—

Screams. Then hooves. Then dark figures emerged from the trees.

Four… six… eight.

Bandits.

The two guards accompanying them barely had time to draw their swords.

One was struck down instantly—

an arrow lodged deep in his chest.

The second cried out, but before he could complete his charge,

two attackers surrounded him—

and he fell, stabbed and silenced.

Matthew turned sharply to Ryan:

"The forest! Now!"

But Ryan didn't move.

His eyes were locked on the attackers.

One of them charged straight at him, brandishing a rusted blade.

Without hesitation,

Ryan lunged.

One strike.

Silent.

The man fell.

"Ryan, this way!"

Matthew's voice rang from within the trees.

He heard him—

and followed.

Ryan sprinted, slipping through the branches behind Matthew,

and the forest swallowed them whole—

the way water swallows stone.

After minutes of running,

Matthew collapsed behind a massive trunk, panting,

then turned to Ryan and shouted:

"Who were those guys?! Why?! It's like they knew we were coming!"

Ryan's voice was calm, but edged with caution:

"I don't know…"

Matthew stared at him for a moment, then said, alarmed:

"Ryan… you're bleeding."

His face was still, unreadable.

Then he looked down—

at his hand, stained with blood.

And said nothing.

Just stood there, silent.

Thank you so much for reading — it truly means the world to me.

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The next chapter is already in the works…

More fire is coming soon.

Much love,

ROA (Author of The Wings of Ash)