Lyria.
Her name surfaces once more.
The images come faster now. Overwhelming.
Bloody battlefields. Decisions that left death in their wake. Advisors whose names surface and sink—Eryndor, Veyne, Garidan. Enemies I fought and defeated. Alliances forged in desperation.
And Lyria. Standing beside me when the burden grew too heavy. Her voice in the darkness:“You carry too much alone, my king.”My answer:“Without you, I would carry nothing at all.”
I press my palm to my temple, trying to slow the flood.
The final battle. Vaelric’s forces breaching the outer walls. Fire everywhere. Lyria running toward the Heartstone chamber. My voice shouting after her—“No! Come back!”
Too late. Always too late.
Her body in my arms. Ash and rain. Everything turning to dust. An oath made to last all time. And, eventually, the choice I made—sleep over rule, because leading had cost me everything that mattered.
The memory shatters. Reforms.
Centuries compressed into instants. Darkness. Void. Then—
Waking. Cold stone beneath me. No memory. No context. Just the mountain and the certainty that I had slept too long.
“My Lord?”
Caleb’s voice cuts through the noise. I force my eyes open. Force myself back tonow.
The facility smolders behind us. Syndicate operatives restrained. Vex bound and kneeling under guard, his earlier fanaticism replaced by shock as he stares at me with terrible understanding.
He knew who I was. What I was.
He thought I’d lead them.
I scan the scorched ground. Fighters beginning to regroup. The Aurora extraction team forming up near the ridge.
And Mara.
Walking away. Down the slope. Her arms wrapped around herself. Hair catching moonlight as she moves with Aurora’s people surrounding her.
Away from me.
The bond burns. Sharp. Insistent.
She needs me. The healing won’t hold without proximity. Hours at most before the injuries resurface.
I don’t have time.Shedoesn’t have time.
I take a step after her.
“We need guidance.” Caleb’s voice stops me. “The facility… do we destroy it or extract intelligence first? And Vex—" He gestures to the bound prisoner. “What do we do with him?”
I turn. Find Caleb watching me with an expression I recognize too well.
A leader asking his king for orders.
“You decide,” I say. “You lead the Craven clan. These are your decisions.”
“With respect… you outrank me. You’re—”
