“Hey Hero,” Aeon said. ‘Rise and shine.”

Tristan’s eyes opened. Aeon stood over him, not a 16-year-old teenager, but a 21-year-old adult.

Tristan sat up and looked around. He was under a tent that had been pitched by the Royal Guard outside the Palace. Royal Encasters were working to patch the island Grave had raised back into the ground again.

Tristan rubbed his eyes.

“Deep sleep much?” Aeon sat down beside him on the crate he’d been sleeping on.

“Dreamt about the day we killed Emile,” he replied.

“Still haunts you, huh?” she asked, crossing her arms and watching the construction unfolding before them.

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“This was the first time it happened,” he replied. “But I’m not sure why.”

“You’ve always been a weirdo from day one anyway,” she nudged him with her elbow.

“Ouch,” he remarked and they both laughed.

As his laughter subsided, Tristan stared up at the glistening spires of the palace. And as he stared, all he could do was wonder why both Grave and Emile had seemed convinced that there was some weapon hidden under the palace? That was probably what had triggered his memories as well.

Why did two individuals seem hell-bent on unearthing this secret? Was the Royal Family truly hiding something? And did they truly have evil intentions?

The majestic building that rose from the ground before him, the kingdom he’d served for the past 5 years since he was 13. The glory of the place suddenly felt tainted. As if it was all a façade hiding some deep secret within. The palace no longer looked fantastical to him.

It suddenly looked . . .

Sinister.