The Regressor and The Rising Storm- 01

The scream died in Kairus' throat as his eyes flew open. 

Sunlight. 

Not the sulfurous glare of the battlefield's fires, but gentle, buttery light filtering through linen curtains. It pooled on a woolen blanket, stitched with the Varkaine wolf, that lay tangled around his legs. His hands—smooth, unmarked, a boy's hands—clutched at his chest, scrabbling for a wound that no longer existed. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, erratic as a spooked horse's. 

Alive. 

He swung his legs over the bed, the stone floor icy beneath his bare feet. The room was achingly familiar: the oak desk cluttered with half-finished treatises on crop rotation, the rusted practice sword propped in the corner, the smell of beeswax polish and dried lavender. His childhood bedroom. A tomb of dead hopes. 

The mirror above the washbasin drew him like a lodestone. His reflection stared back—a ghost. Black hair mussed from sleep, cheeks still rounded with youth, eyes wide and wild. Fifteen. The age he'd been when everything began. When Liora had been taken. When he'd still believed honor and oaths meant something. 

He gripped the basin's edge until his knuckles blanched. "A dream?" he whispered.

[Year 1462 of Imperial Calender] 

But his body remembered. The phantom ache of Ed Vasco's blade between his ribs. The stench of burning Valatium ore. The weight of his sister's corpse in his arms, her small frame light as a bird's. 

No. Not a dream. 

The door burst open. 

"Kair! It's nearly Six, you're still in bed?" 

Liora. 

She stood in the doorway, breathless, her auburn curls escaping a braid, cheeks pink from sprinting through the keep. Twelve years old, all elbows and knees, her blue dress smudged with dirt from the gardens. Alive. Vibrant. Unbroken. 

He moved without thinking. 

She yelped as he crushed her to his chest, her laughter muffled against his nightshirt. "Kair! What's—" 

"I'm sorry," he rasped. His voice cracked, foreign in this younger throat. "I'm sorry, Li. I'll fix it. I swear." 

She squirmed, but he held tighter, memorizing the feel of her—warm, solid, real. The scent of rosemary from her hair, the ink stain on her thumb from forging his homework. The way she still hugged back, fierce as a wolf cub, even as she grumbled. 

"You're choking me, idiot," she said, but her hands fisted in his shirt. "Did you have one of your nightmares again? The one with the giant chickens?" 

He laughed, the sound raw. "Worse." 

She snorted, shoving him away. Her eyes—bright, unclouded, alive—narrowed. "You're sweating. And your hands are shaking." 

He clenched them behind his back. "Just… a fever." 

"Liar." She poked his ribs, her tone light, but her gaze lingered on his face. "Father's in a mood. The Verris emissary arrived early. They're going to start the testing in the great hall." 

Ice flooded his veins. The testing. 

"Kair?" Liora waved a hand in front of his face. "You're doing the thing again. The thousand-yard stare." 

He gripped her shoulders. "Listen to me. Whatever happens during the testing, whatever they say about your magic—you don't go with them." 

She blinked. "Why? If I'm chosen—" 

"They're liars." The words tore free, too harsh, too raw. "They'll use you. Hurt you. And I won't… I can't…" 

Her smile faltered. "You're scaring me." 

Footsteps echoed in the hall—boots, brisk and authoritative. Their father's voice boomed: "Kairus! To the hall. Now." 

Liora squeezed his hand, her palm calloused from climbing walls and stealing daggers. "Come on. We'll talk after. I'll even let you have the last honey cookie." 

She slipped out, humming a tavern tune she shouldn't know. 

The room tilted. Kairus braced himself against the wall as golden text seared across his vision: 

[You Have Met All Requirements] 

[You Have Been Chosen] 

[Registering: 100%] 

[Primary Quest: Save Varkaine County] 

[Time Remaining: 6 months] 

The words pulsed like a wound. Six months. Six months until the Verris returned. Until the county's coffers bled dry. Until winter came, and the Vasco knives in the dark. 

He stared at his reflection—the boy who'd failed, reborn as the man who'd burn empires. 

"No more mistakes," he told the ghost in the glass. 

Somewhere, in the void between stars, the Star-Eater Sovereign smiled.