The command tent smelled of iron and old leather. Riven leaned over a map spread across the table, the trembling light of a lamp casting tense shadows across his face.

  “The fugitives split apart,” his subordinate reported, standing with the stiffness of duty. “Some headed north, toward the capital. Others went south, toward the marshlands. And a smaller group vanished into the western forest, toward Valdara.”

  Riven did not look up. His hand drifted to the hilt of his sword, resting there with a slow, measured gesture.

  “Bring me the mayor,” he ordered.

  The subordinate left at once. Minutes later, two soldiers shoved the trembling old man into the tent. He fell to his knees, shaking. His breath came broken and sharp, a cold sweat running down his temples.

  Riven leaned slightly toward him, his hand still on the sword.

  “I’m looking for a young man,” he said, his calm voice somehow more threatening than a shout. “He worked at the forge. He bears a mark on his chest. He may be traveling with a soldier… or someone who resembles one.”

  The mayor swallowed hard. For a moment, it seemed he was struggling not to lose control entirely.

  “You— you must mean Alden… Kaelor’s nephew,” he stammered. “I—I don’t know anything about a mark, sir, but yes, he worked in the forge. And he lived with Kael… and Kaelor… near the western woods.”

  Riven straightened. No satisfaction crossed his features—only a brief nod.

  “Send a scouting party west,” he ordered his subordinate. “And dispatch a message to the border with his description.”

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  Then he looked down at the mayor.

  “You’ve done well.”

  The old man bowed his head in equal parts relief and shame as the soldiers dragged him away.

  When silence returned to the tent, Riven spoke again:

  “Ready the detachment. We ride at dawn.”

  ***

  Morning sunlight washed over the towers of Nareth, the bustling riverside city along the Thalor. People of every race crossed the streets between market stalls, mingling scents of fresh bread, spices, and the smoke of forges.

  Alden walked between Kaelor and Kael.

  “We need to find something to eat,” Kael muttered, sniffing the air. “If I see another handful of forest berries, I’m throwing myself into the river.”

  Alden smiled for the first time since Hearthglen.

  “A prince like you shouldn’t eat like a commoner, right?”

  Kael pressed a hand dramatically to his chest.

  “Finally, my younger brother acknowledges my noble lineage. It took you long enough.”

  Kaelor grunted without turning.

  “We’ll get food… and a boat to take us up the Thalen Pass. But we’ll need a guide.”

  ***

  The tavern by the docks was dim and smelled of damp wood and sour ale. Kael and Alden sat in a corner with steaming plates before them. Kael devoured his portion without shame. Alden merely picked at his.

  “Eat,” Kael told him. “Elena would scold you if she saw you like this.”

  Alden tightened his grip on the fork. The metal creaked between his fingers.

  “I don’t know if I can be what they say I am,” he whispered. “I’m not strong like you. I’m not clever like you. I was just… a blacksmith.”

  Kael set down his spoon.

  “Listen. You were always the one who fixed things. The one who helped without being asked. People followed you without you ever trying. That’s not strength of arms, Alden. That’s something else. And right now… we need that.”

  Alden stared down at his hands.

  “I only know this,” he murmured. “I don’t want anyone else to lose what we lost.”

  Kael watched him for a long moment, then gave him a crooked smile.

  “That sounds more like you.”

  Just then, the tavern keeper approached. Kaelor stood beside her, speaking in low tones. He placed a small gold coin on her tray.

  Kael’s eyes widened.

  “Since when are we wealthy…?” he whispered.

  Kaelor ignored him.

  “They say that to cross the Thalen Pass, we need to speak with Doran,” he said, nodding toward a table in the back.

  A man with an unkempt beard sat there, smoking quietly. He didn’t look drunk; his eyes were far too sharp, too sober, for someone who had a half-full mug in front of him.

  Kael raised a brow.

  “He looks like a complete layabout.”

  “Appearances deceive,” Kaelor replied.

  And he walked over.

  Kael and Alden exchanged a look halfway between doubt and resignation.

  ***

  Far from Nareth, along a trail vanishing between rolling hills, a group of riders advanced beneath a gray sky. Riven led the march. He had no proof—only a persistent instinct.

  And, as so many times before, he chose to trust it.

  The wind blew from the Thalen Mountains, pushing both hunter and hunted toward the same fate.

  One that had already begun to close around them.

  Thank you for reading this chapter.As always, I’d love to hear your thoughts and impressions.

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