Chapter 120: Ashes and Oaths
The tavern emptied long before dawn, but Elias, Sophia, and the Wolf remained, hunched over the splintered table, the weight of their pact thickening the smoke-laden air.
Around them, the darkness felt alive — not just the absence of light, but a presence. A thing that listened and waited.
Elias leaned back, exhaustion pulling at him like heavy chains. Blood still oozed sluggishly from the gash on his side. His vision swam. Yet he clung to consciousness, his hand gripping a chipped mug as if it were a sword.
The Wolf — whose real name was revealed only in hushed tones as Kaelen Ashgrim — studied Elias with a predator's patience.
"You bleed easily," Kaelen said, his voice low, mocking. "But perhaps you'll learn to bleed less and kill more."
Sophia bristled. "He's already risked his life more times than you can count."
Kaelen chuckled, a deep, humorless sound. "Risk is nothing. Blood is the true currency of change."
Elias forced a small, grim smile. "Then I'll pay in full."
Kaelen's eyes gleamed approvingly. "Good. Because once we begin, there's no turning back."
---
The Wolf pulled a dagger from his belt — a brutal thing, blackened and jagged. Without warning, he sliced his own palm open, blood dripping onto the table.
He extended the blade toward Elias.
"No crown is won by words alone," Kaelen said. "Swear it. Swear that you'll burn their lies to the ground."
Sophia's hand tightened on Elias's sleeve, a silent question: Are you sure?
He was not sure. He was beyond sure. He was resolute.
Elias took the blade. His hand trembled only slightly as he drew the dagger across his palm. The pain was sharp, clean. He pressed his bleeding hand over Kaelen's.
Their blood mingled on the rotted wood between them.
"I swear," Elias said, voice raw. "For every lie they told, for every innocent they betrayed, I will not stop until the throne is rebuilt on truth — or nothing remains."
Kaelen grinned, the wolfish glint in his eyes brightening. "So it begins."
Sophia followed without hesitation, slicing her hand and joining them.
Three hands. Three lives. One vow.
---
As dawn clawed its way over the horizon, the Royal City still slumbered, ignorant of the storm gathering beyond its crumbling walls.
Kaelen's network of rebels — ghosts, outlaws, forgotten warriors — began to stir.
Messengers sprinted through hidden tunnels, delivering whispered orders.
Forgers crafted fake papers and seals.
Old alliances, thought dead, flickered back to life like embers stirred by the wind.
And in the darkest corners of the city, a name began to circulate in fearful, reverent tones:
The Dead Prince Returns.
---
Later that day, in a hidden cellar beneath the Broken Fang, Kaelen spread a battered map across a barrel.
It showed the kingdom as it once was — rivers, fortresses, trade routes — but many places had been crossed out, burned, or clawed into nothingness.
Sophia frowned at the devastation.
"This… this is worse than I thought," she whispered.
Kaelen pointed to several marks near the border. "The south is lost to raiders. The east pledged loyalty to Arden's cousin. The north —" he gave a harsh laugh "— is a graveyard."
He tapped a tiny dot near the center of the map.
"This is where we start. Ashford."
Sophia shook her head. "It's just a village."
Kaelen's grin was razor-sharp. "A village with a heart full of hate. They lost everything to Arden's taxes and greed. They'll fight if we give them a cause."
Elias leaned over the map, feeling the pulse of destiny beating beneath his ribs.
"If we light a fire there," he said slowly, "others will see the smoke."
Kaelen nodded. "And they'll come. Some for freedom. Some for revenge. Some just to watch the kingdom burn."
He looked at Elias, sharp and unforgiving.
"Can you lead men like that, boy? Men who don't care about your name, only your strength?"
Elias straightened. His voice was quiet but sure.
"I'll lead them because I'll be one of them."
---
The next three days were a blur.
Sophia secured supplies — weapons, horses, food — through bribes and blackmail.
Kaelen gathered warriors — not knights or soldiers, but killers, thieves, and broken men whose loyalty would be bought with promises of vengeance and freedom.
Elias trained, ignoring the screaming protests of his injured body.
Under Kaelen's brutal tutelage, he learned to fight not like a prince but like a wolf — striking fast, fighting dirty, surviving at any cost.
He learned how to set traps, how to move silently through enemy lines, how to kill with a knife without hesitation.
Sophia watched with a mixture of awe and sorrow.
This was not the boy she had once known — the boy who dreamed of ruling with kindness.
That boy was dead.
In his place was something sharper, harder.
A king carved from pain.
---
On the night before they left for Ashford, Elias sat alone atop the broken bridge that led to the city's edge, staring at the starlit river.
Sophia found him there, two mugs of warm ale in her hands.
She handed him one and sat beside him, legs dangling over the edge.
For a while, they just sat in silence, the river murmuring below.
Finally, Sophia spoke.
"Do you regret it?" she asked quietly. "Leaving everything behind?"
Elias considered the question carefully.
"I regret trusting them," he said. "I regret believing that the crown meant anything without the people."
He looked at her, eyes reflecting the starlight.
"But I don't regret this. Fighting back. Finding the truth."
Sophia smiled, a soft, broken thing.
"You've changed, Elias."
"So have you," he said gently.
They clinked their mugs together — a quiet, solemn toast to the shattered lives behind them and the uncertain path ahead.
---
At dawn, they rode out.
Kaelen led the way, his great wolfskin cloak billowing like a shadow behind him.
Elias and Sophia followed, flanked by a ragged but determined band of rebels.
The city faded behind them, swallowed by mist and memory.
Ahead lay Ashford — and the first real battle of a new war.
Elias tightened his grip on the reins, feeling the weight of the blood oath burning in his veins.
He would reclaim his kingdom.
Or he would die trying.
There would be no middle path.
No mercy.
No surrender.
Only ashes.
And oaths.
---