The Palace We Leave Behind
---
The upper corridors of the palace groaned like dying beasts. Wind screamed through shattered arches, and ash danced in the fractured sunlight. Asteria pressed forward, lightning crackling faintly beneath the skin of his arms. Beside him, Seri leaned heavily on her own strength, her limp more noticeable with every step, but her will unshaken.
"We're almost there," Asteria muttered, eyes scanning ahead. "If Cain's still alive, he would've circled back to the lower wing."
Seri gave a weak nod. "Then let's hope the gods haven't claimed him yet."
---
Down below, Mira wiped blood and sweat from her brow as she and Tarn pushed through a rubble-strewn hallway. Valron lay limp over Tarn's shoulder, pale but breathing.
"He's lighter than before," Tarn grunted, adjusting his grip. "It doesn't feel right."
"He's alive," Mira answered, voice tight. "That's all that matters now."
A shadow slipped past them—silent as wind.
"You're late," Mira said without turning.
Cain stepped into view, bruised, his earth-toned cloak ripped and bloodstained. "And you're lucky. I nearly didn't make it."
Tarn blinked. "You found us?"
"The trail you left was loud and dumb," Cain smirked. "You're welcome."
---
They met again in the garden ruins where the cracked stone steps led to the main courtyard. Asteria and Seri joined them without words, their presence enough to restore a sense of direction.
"We regroup and head through the southeast gate," Asteria said.
"Won't the queen be watching it?" Cain asked.
Seri's voice was low. "She's watching all of them. But we're not stopping to fight her. Not today."
Mira looked down at Valron. His breathing was steady, but faint traces of shadow clung to the edges of his aura.
"He hasn't stirred," she whispered.
Tarn shifted uncomfortably. "Feels like he's dreaming with his eyes closed."
Asteria turned. "Then let's get him somewhere safer to wake."
---
The inner courtyard was burning.
Smoke curled from shattered statues, and blood pooled in the dirt. The royal guards stood ready—dozens of them—armor glinting obsidian beneath the sun, swords and spears at the ready.
From the balcony above, a commander shouted:
"By Her Majesty's decree, surrender the traitors! The princess and the fireborn are to be seized!"
Asteria raised a hand, lightning gathering in his palm.
"We don't have time for this."
Seri stepped forward, her hand glowing with windfire.
"Then let's not waste any."
---
The battle was fast.
Mira drowned the front lines with blinding mist. Cain shattered the paving stones beneath their feet, sending soldiers tumbling. Tarn's hammer cleared the path ahead like a thunderclap.
Asteria was a storm—his fists crackling with fire and lightning. Seri carved a path through the spearmen, wind slicing through their ranks as flame trailed her every move.
In less than a minute, the guards began to fall back.
Cain raised a stone barrier behind them as they rushed the gate. "This way!"
They crashed through the splintered archway and spilled into the outer halls.
---
They ran.
Through smoke and ruin, through winding servant paths and broken towers.
Until finally—the palace was behind them. The forest swallowed them in mist and shade.
Only then did they stop.
Tarn laid Valron down in the tall grass. Mira dropped beside him, checking his pulse.
"Still steady."
Seri sat beneath a tree, her voice quiet. "We lost more than just ground today."
Asteria looked back toward the towers silhouetted in flame. His voice was low.
"But we're still standing."
Cain sat nearby, already watching the shadows.
"For now."
And beneath the moonlight, the forest whispered.
Valron's eyes did not open.
But something inside them… stirred.
---
Night had fallen over the forest.
The group lay in a shallow clearing beneath a canopy of ash-dusted leaves. The remnants of battle still clung to their skin—scorch marks, shallow cuts, bruises from unseen forces. But already… their bodies were mending.
Tarn's broken shoulder had realigned.
Mira's gash had stopped bleeding, skin knitting faster than before.
Even Seri's fractured ribs no longer made her wince with every breath.
Cain, kneeling at the edge of the fire, stilled.
His hand hovered just above the earth… and then rose slowly, fingers twitching in the air. He closed his eyes.
The energy around them shimmered—wild, renewed, and heavier than it had been mere hours ago.
His eyes snapped open.
> "No way…"
Mira turned to him. "What is it?"
Cain stood slowly, his voice half in awe. "I can feel it—your presence… all of you. It's louder. Stronger. You're not level three anymore."
A beat of silence. Everyone froze, even Asteria.
Cain stepped closer, squinting as if the energy left trails only he could see.
> "You're mid to upper level four. All of you."
Tarn raised a brow. "You're sure?"
Cain nodded, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "I don't need any instrument. I can feel it. Your aura used to flicker. Now… it hums. Steady. Deep. Alive."
He turned to Asteria last—and stopped.
Asteria looked back at him, quietly expectant.
Cain exhaled.
> "You… You've stepped into level five."
Seri looked up sharply. "That's—"
> "—Only supposed to be reached after years of mastery," Cain finished. "Yeah. I know."
His voice turned low.
> "That fight in the palace… it didn't just scar us. It woke something."
Mira sat back, blinking. "Is that why… our wounds are healing this fast?"
Cain nodded. "Your energy isn't just flowing. It's evolving."
Asteria didn't say a word. But the air around him shifted slightly—just enough for the fire to lean his way.
He clenched his fist once—testing.
The lightning didn't respond.
It roared.
And in the distance… something else stirred.
The night was not done with them yet.
---
The moon hung low, a pale eye behind drifting clouds.
The quiet lap of water against the riverbank was the only sound in the night—save for the soft creak of a fisherman's boat, anchored just off the stones. His lantern flickered gently, casting thin gold lines across the rippling surface.
He hummed under his breath, casting his net again, the rhythm familiar, steady.
Then—he froze.
A soft thump echoed from the reeds.
The net drifted loose in his grip as his eyes scanned the shoreline. Something had washed up. A dark shape tangled in weeds and mud.
He stepped from the boat, boots squelching in the shallow muck as he approached slowly.
The figure wasn't moving.
Clothing torn. Armor cracked. Blood caked across skin pale as ivory.
Then—
The figure gasped.
The fisherman nearly stumbled back.
It was a man—no, a noble. The black and gold crest of the royal flame still clung to the remnants of his cloak.
And the face beneath it—
The fisherman's eyes widened.
> "By the Ancients…"
It was Prince Caelen.
Burned. Broken. Barely breathing.
But alive.
The river had returned him.
---