Chapter 3: A Prince in Exile

The wind's howl sliced through the silent expanse of the frozen woods. Kael crouched low, his breath a fine mist against the bitter air. His gloved hand gripped his bow tightly, the string taut as he aimed down its length.

The creature staggered between the trees, its faintly glowing form flickering at the edge of the forest's border. A Starless. Its glowing eyes scanned the forest hungrily, twin orbs of hollow light that illuminated the frost-covered ground.

Kael let the moment stretch, his breathing slow and steady as he tracked its erratic movements. The Starless shifted uneasily, its gait uneven, like a puppet on broken strings. Its body was a grotesque mockery of a human form—limbs too long, bending at unnatural angles, with joints that popped and creaked as it moved. The faint light that illuminated its figure wasn’t warm or steady but fractured, jagged veins of starlight spiderwebbing across its warped, translucent skin. Where the light seeped through, it exposed fissures in its body, as if it were cracked porcelain barely holding itself together.

The creature’s head jerked sharply, revealing a face that once might have been human but now was a malformed horror. Its hollow eyes radiated a blinding white glow, but the rest of its features were a grotesque fusion of flesh and starlight. Its mouth, torn too wide, hung open in a silent scream, exposing rows of teeth that shimmered faintly like shards of glass. The starlight pulsed erratically beneath its skin, illuminating the thin, skeletal frame beneath, and its very presence felt wrong, like a wound ripped open in the fabric of reality.

Kael’s grip tightened on the bow as the creature turned its head just slightly, The sight alone was enough to curdle blood. Kael forced himself to remain steady. He had seen what happened to those who faltered before the Starless—there was no room for hesitation.

Kael released the arrow.

It struck true, burying itself deep between the creature’s soulless eyes. The Starless froze, its head snapping back as a shrill, otherworldly cry tore from its throat. Its body convulsed once before crumpling into the snow, the light in its eyes flickering and fading. A moment later, it dissolved into a fine, glittering dust.

Lowering the bow, Kael let out a slow breath, his pulse steadying as he approached the remains. The snow crunched beneath his boots as he crouched down, the cold biting at his fingers through his gloves. He scooped up a handful of snow and spread it over the faint shimmer of stardust, watching as the glimmering traces vanished under the frost.

He moved with care, smoothing the surface with his hand to mask any signs of disturbance. His eyes darted to the trees, ensuring no light remained to betray what had happened. With a final glance, Kael kicked loose snow over his tracks, the wind picking up to scatter his steps, leaving the forest as untouched as it had been before.

He slung the bow over his shoulder, his fingers moving with mechanical efficiency as he adjusted the straps securing the sled behind him. His boots crunched against the snow as he pulled the sled, the faint rattle of barrels breaking the quiet. His breath misted in the cold air, steady and even. The forest was still, the trees towering around him, their branches heavy with snow. It was a familiar path, one he’d walked countless times before. His hands moved mechanically, adjusting the rope with little thought, his mind drifting as the sled glided smoothly through the ice and snow.

He barely noticed the passage of time. It had been this way for years—this solitary rhythm of fishing, hauling, and trudging back through the frozen wilderness. There were no surprises, no sudden twists. Just the work, the quiet, and the biting cold. His fingers, stiff in the gloves, adjusted the rope once again, his mind idle, wandering. There was something simple in it, something satisfying in the absence of complication.

The village came into view as the trees began to thin, a small cluster of wooden huts huddled against the fjord. Smoke curled from the chimneys, blending with the pale gray sky. The sounds of life reached him—children’s laughter, a dog barking—soft against the stillness of the woods. He paused for a moment on the crest of the hill, letting his eyes sweep over the scene. The village was small, simple. There was no need for hurry here, no ambition beyond the next day’s work. It was a modest life, this place. Quiet. Simple. He adjusted his grip on the sled’s rope and began the descent, letting the cold air bite at his face.

As Kael neared the edge of the village, a group of children came darting past him, their laughter ringing through the air like a burst of warmth. They kicked a worn leather ball between them, their boots sinking into the snow with each playful step. The ball rolled and came to a stop at Kael’s feet, one of the boys calling out, “Hey, Mister Kael! Can you kick it back?”

Kael crouched down, his gloved fingers brushing the cracked surface of the ball. He gave it a gentle nudge with his boot, sending it rolling back toward the children. Their excited cheers filled the air.

“Thanks, mister!” one of them shouted, his face breaking into a wide grin.

“Ew, it smells like fish now!” another teased, wrinkling his nose with a laugh.

Kael chuckled, a brief but genuine smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He shook his head, pushing onward as the sled creaked behind him, the weight of the fish steady and familiar.

The paths through the village were narrow, but they were well-trodden, winding between the sturdy wooden huts. Kael passed by the market stalls and other villagers, offering nods in return for the friendly greetings. Most didn’t stop to chat—just a smile, a wave, and the simple acknowledgment that he was there. Kael preferred it that way. He wasn’t much for idle conversation, content instead with the quiet routine of his days. The village, with its simple rhythm, was all he needed. The wind tugged at his coat as he walked, the cold biting at his face, but he barely noticed. Life here was straightforward. Just the way he liked it.

Rounding a corner, the familiar sound of an old voice called out to him. "Ho there, Kael! Brought back a good haul, have ye?"

He glanced up to see Torsten, a grizzled old fisherman who’d helped get Kael on his feet some time ago, leaning against a post. Kael gave a nod, his voice rough from the cold. "Aye Sir, the ice holes were kind today."

Torsten eyed the sled behind him, then grunted, "Good lad. We'll be needin' every morsel with this winter's bite."

Before Kael could continue, another voice boomed from further up the street. "Kael!" Bjorn, the burly blacksmith, raised a meaty hand in greeting. "Good haul today?"

Kael gave him a brief smile, the barest curve of his lips. "Enough to see us through the week, I'd wager."

Bjorn grunted in approval, his massive frame shifting slightly. "Aye, we'll take what we can get. But you—always a steady hand on the ice, Kael. Good work."

Kael gave a simple nod, the praise washing over him without stirring much of a reaction. He wasn’t one for accolades. With a grunt, he tugged the sled behind him, continuing on his way.

His small shop rested at the edge of the fjord, a simple wooden building with a sturdy roof and a sign depicting a fish carved into the door. He unhitched the sled and began unloading the barrels with ease, the smell of salt and brine filling the air as he worked.

Inside, the shop was neatly organized, with racks of dried fish hanging from the ceiling and a small counter near the back.

Kael busied himself with preparing the day’s catch, his hands moving with practiced ease. The routine was familiar, comforting in its simplicity.

A soft knock at the door pulled Kael’s attention away from his work. He looked up to find Inga standing hesitantly in the doorway, her figure barely visible beneath layers of thick wool. Her cheeks were flushed from the cold, a warmth in her eyes that softened her youthful face.

Her gaze lingered on his tall, imposing figure, taking in the thick muscles and the faded scars etched into his skin, each one telling a story. His dark hair, long and slightly untamed, was tied back loosely, with stray strands falling to frame his face, adding a rugged charm that softened in the right light. His gray eyes met hers directly, steady and unblinking, before he gave a brief nod of acknowledgement.

"Good morning," she said, her voice gentle and a little shy, accompanied by a timid smile.

"Morning," Kael grunted, setting down the knife he'd been using to gut the fish. "What can I do for you, Inga?"

She hesitated before stepping inside, her hands rubbing together for warmth. "Just the usual," she replied, glancing around the room, taking in the smell of salt and fish.

Kael didn’t waste time. He moved quickly, wrapping a bundle of cod in brown paper. As he handed it to her, he added an extra piece without a word. “For your mother,” he said quietly, his tone even, no trace of emotion beyond the simple kindness he’d always offered her.

Inga’s eyes widened at the unexpected gesture, her fingers brushing the package in disbelief. “Oh, but I—”

"Take it," Kael interjected softly, offering her a faint smile, the kind he reserved for those who needed it. "She could use it after last week’s storm."

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice almost reverent as she clutched the bundle to her chest. Her smile lingered longer than usual, and for a moment, Kael saw something more in her gaze—something she rarely let show. As she turned toward the door, though, she paused, a hint of vulnerability creeping into her voice. "You’re too kind, Kael. Maybe one day... someone will see that."

Kael didn't reply immediately, his gaze briefly drifting to the floor. Her words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken feelings, but he didn’t let himself dwell on them. Instead, he simply nodded, offering her a brief glance. “Take care of your mother,” he said, his voice gentle but firm.

She smiled at him once more before stepping back into the biting cold, her figure disappearing into the winter morning. Kael sighed softly, her affection something he had grown accustomed to. He didn’t mind helping her; he was always kind to the villagers, especially those who needed a helping hand. But he knew, deep down, that this, her soft admiration, wasn't something he could return.

With a shake of his head, Kael returned to his work. Settling down? That wasn’t for him. Or at least, that’s what he told himself. He knew Inga was kind, and her affection was genuine. She had been nothing but patient, offering him warmth and understanding with every visit.

But something about it left him uneasy. The thought of taking that step. Of accepting her advances and settling into the life she imagined for them, felt too small, too confined. He wasn’t sure why. The pull of the sea, the quiet hum of the daily grind, he had never felt any desire for more... at least, he told himself that.

Still, as he recalled her shy smile when she lingered at the door, Kael couldn’t ignore the ache in his chest. Maybe he could accept it, he thought. Maybe he could let her in, let her show him that kind of warmth. But deep down, he felt the faintest stir of something else. Something that whispered he needed more than this, more than the quiet life of a fisherman, more than the simple affection Inga offered.

He pushed the thought away. He wasn’t ready to want more. Not yet. But the doubt remained, just beneath the surface, gnawing at him.

Then, the sound of a horses’ cry broke through the quiet of his shop, and Kael’s attention snapped toward the window. Raised voices carried on the wind, and he squinted into the cold flurries to see a man riding a tall, proud horse. The stranger was wrapped in a fine but weathered cloak, his posture too straight, too composed for this village. His clothes were far too clean for someone who’d spent any real time on the road, and his sharp eyes scanned the village like a man lost but too proud to admit it.

A Heartlands man. Most likely from the capital. The kind who’d never learned the rhythms of village life, who expected everything to be as polished as the gleam in his boots.

Kael’s fingers stilled for a moment, his eyes narrowing. Great. Just what he needed today.

The man stopped in front of the market, asking directions. One of the villagers pointed directly at Kael’s shop, and Kael rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath. Of course. Now I’m involved.

Kael stayed where he was, leaning against the counter, his gaze flicking to the door with a reluctant sigh. The man dismounted, his horse stamping its hooves in the snow, and he made his way toward Kael’s shop. There was something about the way he walked, like he was trying to look confident but wasn’t quite sure of himself. Kael had seen it before in men from the Heartlands. Soft in the ways of the world outside their cities, awkward in the unfamiliar wilderness.

Kael glanced up as the man stepped inside, brushing off the snow from his cloak. He hesitated just inside the door, scanning the interior of the small shop before his gaze landed on Kael. The look on his face, a mix of uncertainty and determination, suggested that the man wasn’t entirely sure of what he was doing but was resolute in pushing forward anyway. Kael didn't bother greeting him right away, simply watching the man as he shuffled forward, giving a small nod to acknowledge his presence.

"What can I do for you?" Kael asked, his voice rough, as he took a moment to wipe his hands on his apron.

The man straightened his back a bit too quickly, as though to compensate for the slight awkwardness in his posture. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could say anything, his eyes flicked to the counter in front of Kael, then the room behind him. A slight frown tugged at his lips, but he masked it with a quick breath and grinned instead.

“Fish,” he said, with a little too much cheer, “I’d like to buy some fish.”

Kael raised an eyebrow, glancing the man over once. “Fish?” His tone was laced with disbelief, a faint smirk curling at the corner of his lips. “You came all the way out here to buy fish?”

The man shrugged, a careless and almost charming movement that didn’t quite match the unease in his expression. "Yep. What’s wrong with fish?" he replied with an air of exaggerated nonchalance.

Kael gave the stranger a long, appraising look, his suspicion rising, though he didn’t voice it. The man was trying too hard to blend in, failing in all the wrong ways. Definitely a city boy.

Without responding, Kael moved to gather his goods, his eyes never leaving the stranger. The man was already wandering over to the counter, examining the various bundles of salted cod, haddock, and other fish Kael had prepared, as if he were just another villager looking to make a purchase.

As Kael wrapped up the fish in a bundle, the man leaned against the counter, fidgeting slightly. “So,” he began, his voice suddenly softer, “you’ve been here for a while, haven’t you?”

Kael didn’t look up as he worked, but he could feel the man’s eyes on him, watching, waiting. He kept his movements slow, deliberate, and nonchalant. “Aye. Long enough.”

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The man hesitated, then leaned forward, clearly trying to make conversation. "You’re Kael, right?" The man’s voice had taken on a more tentative tone now, as if he'd just remembered to ask.

Kael nodded briefly without lifting his head. "That's right. What of it?"

There was a flicker in the man’s gaze—a subtle, knowing glint that made Kael’s spine straighten for a brief second. The man, who had been fumbling with his cloak as he looked around, caught Kael's eye and smiled almost too widely. A little too much enthusiasm in that grin.

“I’ve heard some things about you,” he said, his words casual, but with an edge to them.

Kael paused for just a moment, then finished wrapping the last piece of fish. He looked up, his expression unreadable. “Have you now?”

The man nodded, his gaze steady but not quite meeting Kael’s. “Mm-hmm. People say you don’t talk much. Not really a man of the village, are you?”

Kael’s lips thinned, but he kept his tone even. “I’m just a fisherman.”

The man studied him for a long moment, his eyes narrowing just slightly as if searching for something in Kael’s face. "Well," the man began, his voice a little quieter now, "I’ve got something you might want to hear. I think you’ll be interested."

Kael’s hands paused mid-motion as he narrowed his eyes at the stranger. There was an instinctual tightening in his chest, a sense that something wasn’t right. But before he could voice it, the man went on, voice lowering further.

"King Alden," the stranger said, almost casually. "He’s dead. Died a few weeks ago."

For a moment, the only sound in the shop was the low crackle of the fire in the hearth. Kael froze. His hand clenched around the bundle, and a flicker of something—shock, anger, or maybe disbelief—flashed across his face before he managed to mask it with a neutral expression.

The man, noticing the shift in Kael’s demeanor, caught his eye. There it was again. That knowing look. The look of someone who wasn’t as clueless as he seemed.

Kael turned away, leaving the half-wrapped bundle on the counter. “Is that so?” he muttered, keeping his voice level and his hands busy as he carefully folded the paper around the fish. His mind churned, but he wouldn’t let it show.

“Yeah,” the stranger replied, his tone light, almost teasing. “Though I expected... more of a reaction. Upset, surprised—something like that. But you? You’re... calm. Composed. More than I thought you’d be.”

Kael tightened the twine around the bundle, setting it down with a firm tap. “You’re mistaken,” he said, his tone clipped as he slid the parcel toward the man. “It’s none of my business.”

But the man wasn’t done. He took a few steps closer, still watching Kael intently, and there was an almost conspiratorial tone in his voice now. "See, I couldn’t help but notice you didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink. Almost like… you knew." His eyes lingered on Kael, as if waiting for a reaction.

Kael gritted his teeth, setting down his tools with a little more force than necessary. He turned to look down at the man, an edge to his voice now. "What do you want?" he asked bluntly, his patience wearing thin. "You show up here, throw that news around like it’s a tavern tale, and now you’re sniffing around me?

The man didn’t so much as flinch at Kael’s sharp tone. Instead, he chuckled softly, shaking his head as if Kael’s irritation amused him. "Quick to dismiss, aren’t you?" He leaned against the counter, crossing his arms with an air of practiced ease. "But let’s say I know who you are, Kael. Let’s say I came here for more than just fish."

Kael’s expression darkened, suspicion flickering across his features. "Oh really? Never would have guessed." he said flatly.

The stranger’s grin widened, his confidence unshaken. "Oh, come on. You don’t scare as easily as you’d like people to think," he teased, his tone annoyingly light. "I’m no fool. I know your type." He tilted his head, as if assessing Kael anew. "I was a royal guard once, you know. Only a few years, sure—but long enough to see things most men wouldn’t. Long enough to learn where the real power lies."

Kael scoffed, his arms crossing over his chest as he studied the man. "A royal guard? You? You don’t exactly look the part."

The man’s smile didn’t waver. If anything, it grew sharper. "Fair. I left the capital, walked away from the post," he admitted, his voice dropping to a lower, more serious tone. "Life there didn’t suit me. Too many rules. Too many eyes. But now?" He straightened slightly, his grin taking on a hint of mischief. "Now, I’m planning to go back. But I plan to return as a hero. A big hero, if you catch my drift."

Kael raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms. "A hero? And how do you plan on pulling that off?"

The man’s grin widened, his gaze locking with Kael’s. "I plan on bringing back the lost heir." He said it with a quiet but absolute certainty, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Kael froze, his pulse racing despite himself. Something in the way the man said it. The conviction in his voice.

The lost heir.

"I have no idea what you’re talking about," Kael said firmly, his voice leaving no room for argument. "King Alden never had any children."

The man didn’t back down. Instead, he leaned in just slightly, lowering his voice as though sharing a closely guarded secret. "That’s what they say, sure. But you and I both know the truth. He had one." The man’s gaze sharpened, searching Kael’s face for a reaction. "A legitimate one too. Exiled before he could ever step foot near the throne."

Kael’s jaw clenched, but he refused to give anything away. "You’re chasing tavern tales," he muttered, turning away to organize the bundles of salted fish on the shelves. "If such a child ever existed, they’re long gone. And they sure as hell wouldn’t be hiding out here, of all places."

The man chuckled softly, the sound full of quiet confidence. "See, that’s where you’re wrong. I’m convinced he’s here. This village, this place. Oh, he’d be a man now, sure, but still. Someone like that doesn’t just disappear."

Kael turned back to him, his expression hard. "Take your fish and go. You’re stirring up trouble for no reason."

The stranger gave a mock sigh of defeat, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender. "All right, all right. I’ll go. For now." He straightened, pulling the wrapped fish bundles closer. "But just so you know, I’m staying at the weaver’s place. Renting out her spare bedroom for a few days. Paid her good coin for it, too—six marks a night." He smirked, his tone light but his eyes sharp. "I’ll be back, Kael. Don’t worry."

As he turned to leave, he paused at the door, looking over his shoulder. "Oh, and in case you were wondering," he added with a grin, "the name’s Corin. Corin Vane."

Kael watched him go, his instincts buzzing with unease. Now that the man was leaving, he let himself really study him. Corin was tall but not overly so, with a lean build that spoke of speed and precision rather than brute strength. His dark blond hair was cut short, though it looked like it hadn’t seen a comb in days. He wore a simple, travel-worn coat over a tunic and trousers, the fabric faded and patched in places, yet the quality of the stitching betrayed a past life of privilege. His boots, however, were pristine—too pristine for someone claiming to have left the royal guard to wander.

It was his face, though, that caught Kael’s attention. There was an openness to it, a boyish charm in the way Corin’s mouth quirked into a half-smile that never quite reached his green eyes. Those eyes were sharp, though—too sharp for someone who acted as carefree as he did. They held the look of someone who saw too much and pretended it didn’t bother him.

Kael stood at the counter, arms crossed, watching the door swing shut behind Corin with a scowl that could curdle milk. The man’s carefree grin lingered in his mind, as irritating as an itch he couldn’t scratch. Just as Kael was turning to grab the tools he'd abandoned, a familiar, sardonic voice cut through his thoughts.

"Charming fellow," Orion drawled, his tone dripping with mockery. "Really, Kael, you’re such a delightful host. No wonder the locals adore you."

Kael groaned, rolling his eyes toward the ceiling. "Not now, Orion."

"Not now?" Orion scoffed, his presence flaring just enough to make the edges of Kael’s shirt shimmer faintly. "That's your excuse every damn time. What is it you always say? ‘Not in the mood?’ You never are." The teasing edge to his voice was unmistakable. "Maybe I should add that to the list of things you’re terrible at. Along with charm, conversation, and—oh, hygiene. Don’t forget hygiene."

Kael snorted, refusing to take the bait. "Keep yapping, and I’ll add shutting you up to my daily shit list."

"Such a coarse tongue for someone of royal blood," Orion mused, the faint starry glow at Kael’s back dimming slightly, as if shrugging. "You might have been a terrible prince, but you’ve really nailed the surly fisherman act."

Kael slammed his knife into the counter, startling the constellation into silence for half a beat. "What do you want, Orion? You’re more irritating than usual."

Orion didn’t back off. "Why do you stay here, Kael? In this miserable little hole, surrounded by mud and fish guts? You could be sitting pretty, ruling a kingdom. Why settle for this?"

Kael stiffened, eyes narrowing into slits. "Don’t talk about my village like that."

Orion pressed, a little more serious now, though still dripping with sarcasm. "Oh, I’m sorry. Did I insult your 'paradise'? This lovely town of rotting wood and salted fish? You’re really going to keep playing humble fisherman here when you could be on a throne?"

Kael slammed a fist onto the table, his glare enough to make the air crackle. "You don’t know shit about this place. These people—these humans—they gave me something. Something you’ll never understand. So, for the last time, keep your mouth shut."

Orion didn’t back off, his voice quieter now but no less biting. "Enlighten me then. What’s keeping you here, huh? Guilt? Pride? Or are you just scared of what you’d have to do to take back what's yours?"

Kael’s fists clenched. His voice, though steady, was like steel. "I stay because these people gave me a chance. I was nothing, Orion. Nothing but a broken thing crawling through the snow, bleeding, with nothing left to my name. They took me in, fed me when I had no food. Clothed me when I was freezing. And they gave me work, even when I had nothing to offer in return."

Orion was silent for a moment, the usual bite replaced with something softer, though no less skeptical. "And you think that’s enough? You think they wouldn’t sell you out for the right price? They’re humans, Kael. It’s in their blood. Greed. You know it as well as I do."

Kael’s eyes narrowed, and his voice hardened. "That's enough. Shut it, Orion."

But Orion wasn’t done. "You know it’s true. You think you’re safe here, but—"

"Shut. Up," Kael snapped, his tone sharp as a knife. He reached deep inside himself, tightening the bond that connected him to the constellation. The faint shimmer of light dimmed, and Orion's words fell silent, as if Kael had physically choked them off.

Kael took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling with the effort. The silence that followed was almost oppressive, the weight of Orion’s quiet lingering behind him.

For a moment, Kael let himself be still, the tension easing from his shoulders. He turned back to the counter, gripping the knife again.

Outside, the village carried on, blissfully unaware of the storm Kael had just weathered. He exhaled sharply, grabbed the next fish, and got back to work.

***

Sleep was not kind for Kael. It never had been.

In the darkness, masked figures loomed, their faces hidden behind cold, emotionless masks that glinted in the dim light of strange, swirling constellations. Kael’s breath came in ragged gasps, the cold air biting at his skin, but it wasn’t the chill that made him tremble. His limbs ached from the chains that bound him, the iron digging deep into his wrists and ankles as he was dragged through the darkened stone hall. The walls seemed to close in around him, the flickering candlelight casting grotesque shadows on the ground. They were chanting. Low, guttural words that made Kael’s skin crawl. Each syllable of their twisted incantations reverberated in his skull, mingling with the bitter sting of his wounds. Blood dripped from his face, his lip split, and his body was battered and bruised, the punishment only growing worse as the cult dragged him forward.

"You’ll make a perfect weapon." one of them hissed, their voice muffled by the mask. The words echoed through his head, louder and louder with each step.

Kael could barely lift his head, his vision swimming as his knees buckled beneath him. The words of the cultists echoed, but the voice that cut through the haze wasn’t theirs. It was Orion’s, soft but firm, echoing in his mind.

“You’re just a child.” Orion’s voice rumbled. “They don’t understand what they’re dealing with. I don’t want this for you. Not this...”

Kael clenched his teeth, refusing to let out a cry. Blood pooled in his mouth, bitter and metallic. The cultists had no mercy. They shoved him to the center of a ritual circle, the stone cold beneath him as he was forced down. He could feel the sharp sting of new cuts on his skin as they unceremoniously tore his shirt from his back.

"Now, we’ll make you ours," the leader of the cult sneered, his hands crackling with dark energy. The others murmured in anticipation, the air thick with their twisted hunger. "A celestial weapon. Bound by the stars themselves."

A sharp pain shot through Kael’s chest, and he screamed, thrashing against the chains that held him. A dark, cold force pierced his heart as the cultists began to chant louder, the air growing heavy with magic. The ritual had begun, and they were dragging him through it whether he wanted it or not.

“Kael,” Orion’s voice broke through again, low and filled with sorrow. “I can help you. I can give you strength... But you’ll have to make a pact. A pact with me. I can give you the power to end this. To kill them all. You don’t have to do this alone...”

Kael’s body trembled, his vision blurring as the ritual’s magic assaulted him. The cult’s energy ripped at his soul, and the chains bit deeper into his skin. He was losing control. His body was on the brink of breaking, and every part of him screamed to escape. But there was no escape. Not from the chains, not from the magic... not from the cult.

"Make the pact," Orion urged, his voice coming clearer, more insistent in Kael’s mind. “I won’t let them control you, Kael. You are not a tool to be used. You have a heart, a strength they can’t fathom. I’ll help you destroy them. Kill them all.”

Kael’s pulse thundered in his ears. He was just a child. They had no right to do this to him. But his mind was fading. The pain was too much. Help me, he thought, his voice weak and fractured. Please.

Orion’s presence swelled, powerful and overwhelming, filling Kael’s mind with the brilliance of the stars. “Then accept my offer. You’ll have the power you need, Kael. The strength to crush them... to take back your life.”

The words felt like a promise, a desperate lifeline thrown to a drowning man. Kael’s throat tightened, but with a breathless sob, he whispered the only thing he could.

"Yes."

The moment he spoke the word, everything changed. Pain exploded through him as a force he couldn’t comprehend surged into his body, burning through his veins like molten fire. His back arched, the chains snapping with the force of his transformation. He could feel the stars themselves weaving through his skin, the celestial energy binding him to Orion, flooding him with power.

Orion’s voice resonated in his mind, deep and filled with the weight of their pact. “Now. Destroy them.”

The first cultist dropped to the floor with a shriek, his body cleaved in two by an invisible force, the power of Orion’s bond tearing through him. Kael’s eyes were wide with horror as he looked around at the others, their faces frozen in terror. But the power of the pact was too much—he couldn’t stop it, even if he wanted to. His hands moved on their own, the magic flowing through him, compounding with each strike. One by one, the cultists fell, their screams echoing in the chamber as Kael butchered them with a coldness he couldn’t understand. Blood coated his hands, his arms, his body. The stench of death filled the air, mingling with the metallic taste of his own blood.

Kael’s heart pounded in his chest, but there was no time for thought, no time to wonder if what he was doing was right. His body was moving on instinct, the power of Orion compelling him to finish the ritual—finish the slaughter.

Then, finally, it was over. The last of the cultists fell, his body crumpling to the stone floor like a ragdoll.

Kael stood in the center of the ritual circle, his breath ragged, the blood of his enemies staining his hands and clothes. He looked down at his own body, now transformed by the celestial pact. He was no longer just a boy. He was something else—something darker, more powerful.

His father’s voice echoed in his mind, the image of the king standing in the doorway with guards, staring at the blood-soaked monster his son had become.

Kael awoke with a jolt, gasping for breath, drenched in sweat. His heart pounded in his chest, his body cold and slick as if he had just been through hell. The nightmare lingered, the blood, the screams, the power... it all felt too real.

It was real.

The cold air from the cracked window hit him like a slap, making him shiver involuntarily. He was naked, save for the tangled pelts beneath him. His body ached, as if he had been through a brutal battle. His muscles were tense, his mind still caught in the nightmare's grip. With a grunt, he threw the blankets aside, his bare feet hitting the floor with a muffled thud.

A gust of wind blew through the gap, sending a chill across his body, and Kael quickly shut the window with an aggravated growl. The bitter cold air seeped through the cracks in the wood, and he cursed again. It shouldn’t have been open in the first place. He must have left it ajar out of habit, not realizing how bad the weather had gotten.

But as he reached to close it, a sudden noise froze him in place. A creak of wood. A soft shuffle. The unmistakable sound of someone moving behind him.

Before he could react, a glint of metal flashed in the corner of his eye.

Kael barely had time to register the movement before a dagger flashed through the air toward him, aimed straight for his back. His instincts kicked in, and he whirled around, his hand snapping out to catch the wrist of the assassin who had silently crept into the room.