‘We’re trapped here,’ he continued, quieter now, as though the temple walls might echo his hope too loudly. ‘But I need to know, Ash… when we get out, will he still be alive?’
Ash simply nodded, his silence full of understanding. He recognised the ache behind the prince’s words, the quiet terror of a man who fears the world will change before he can return to it.
‘I know ya’ve said before that ya can’t always explain things to us,’ Bryn said quickly, the words spilling out before his courage could falter. ‘And I know it’s only a handful of us who know ya can see da past and da future, and yer likely tired of us prodding ya with questions like we’re children.’ He exhaled, resting his hands on the edge of the weather-worn table. ‘But I need to know this, Ash. For me people.’ His voice softened. ‘And becas… me papa’s second, Caldwell…’ Bryn hesitated, frowning. ‘I’m not sure I can trust him. If me papa dies while we’re trapped in this cursed land and I become king… I don’t know what Caldwell might do. I fear he could act against me.’
Ash studied the young prince. His heart ached for him. Bryn, who bore more weight than most twice his age. The lad had already lost so much, and there was still more to be taken from him, more sorrow curled like a viper in the shadows of his future. Ash had seen it, had walked the bitter paths of time and returned with the cruel truths etched behind his eyes.
But he would not speak of it. Not yet. He would not shatter what peace Bryn still clung to. He would not condemn him with the knowledge of Wren Wynter’s fate, nor speak of what would befall the rest of the Wynters. It was not kindness. It was mercy.
Yet this much, at least, he could give.
‘Your father will die while you are t-trapped here,’ Ash said quietly.
Bryn did not move. But Ash saw the moment the words struck him, saw it in the sudden stillness of his limbs, in the tightening of his jaw, in the pain behind his glacier-blue eyes.
‘You will become k-king without even knowing it,’ Ash added gently.
Bryn bowed his head and gave the smallest of nods, the gesture heavy with grief.
Ash chose not to tell him that the illness would not be what claimed his father in the end. That the death awaiting him would be darker, more violent, and far more tragic. Some truths were too cruel to be spoken aloud.
‘I don’t really want to be king,’ Bryn confessed, a wistful smile curving his lips as his gaze turned glassy with unshed thought. ‘I’ve always dreamt of a quiet little hut in da north, just me and me wolves. I don’t know how to be a king.’
‘No one tru-truly knows how to be a king,’ Ash said, his voice soft, laced with the familiar falter of his stammer. ‘But I can tell you this. The fi-finest kings are often those who ne-never asked for the crown in the first p-place.’
Bryn’s smile deepened, sheepish and tinged with melancholy, and he gave a small nod.
‘Wren should’ve been queen,’ he said after a stretch of silence, his voice distant. ‘She’d have been far betta at it than I’ll eva be.’
Ash tilted his head, thoughtful, as if weighing the truth of that sentiment. At last, a faint smile tugged at his lips. ‘Well, you aren’t king yet.’
‘But ya are,’ Bryn countered quietly.
Ash felt his chest tighten at the words. Yes, he was the Fire King now, a monarch crowned in exile, ruler of a realmswallowed by ash and witchcraft. One day, perhaps, he might reclaim it. If the threads of fate wove in his favour. But for now...
‘Can a man be king of no-nothing?’ he mused aloud, more to himself than to Bryn. ‘I suppose he can.’
‘Is it true ya’ve seen da future?’ Bryn asked, one pale brow lifting with cautious curiosity. ‘They say ya’ve become a Seer of sorts.’
Ash inclined his head in solemn confirmation.
‘Have ya... have ya seen how we all die?’ Bryn’s voice was barely above a whisper.
Ash chuckled, leaning in with a mischievous glint in his golden eyes. ‘Do you wish to know how you d-die, Bryn Wynter?’
The wolverian’s eyes widened, and he shook his head at once. ‘No,’ he said quickly. ‘No, I don’t think I do.’
‘Good.’ Ash nodded slowly. ‘For the f-future is a murky thing. We each carry within us both a radiant en-ending and a ruinous one. Fate may show us gli-glimpses, but it is our cho-choices that lead us down either path.’
‘And ya’ve seen both those paths for all of us?’ Bryn’s voice trembled with wonder, and a trace of dread.
‘I have s-seen it all,’ Ash whispered, as if uttering the secret might wake the very spirits of the past. He lifted his right hand. ‘One f-future, where the world is t-turned to ash.’ Then the left. ‘Another, where it endures.’
‘How do ya know which paths lead to ruin, and which to salvation?’ Bryn asked, frowning deeply.
‘I don’t,’ Ash replied, with the weary honesty of one who bears too much truth. ‘Not entirely.’
Bryn stood slowly, the weight of unspoken futures pulling on his limbs. But as he reached the threshold, he turnedonce more.
