Chapter Twenty-Six: The Path of Embers
The sword in the earth marked the end of a chapter—but not the end of the story.
Kael stood over the abandoned training ground, wind tugging at his cloak as he stared at the single blade left behind by Andrew. His mentor. His uncle. His father's greatest rival and most loyal friend.
He was gone—like a shadow in the night.
And now Kael finally understood why Mihai had carried that same shadow aura for all these years. It wasn't just power. It was grief. It was regret. And it was born of walking behind Andrew long enough to inherit the pieces of him he left behind.
Kael's grip tightened on the blade. Lira walked beside him now, quiet as always, her presence steady, like a flame that never flickered.
"He's not here," Kael muttered.
"He doesn't want to be found," Lira added.
"Then we'll find him anyway."
The news came quickly. Whispers carried on trade routes and screams buried in smoke.
The Kingdom of Ashren—once at peace under Andrei's rule—had struck without warning.
The target: The Kingdom of Dravon, ruled by Alex the Explosive Mage, a man known for harnessing volatile magic and laying waste to entire battalions with a flick of his wrist. His lands were peaceful… until Ashren's soldiers crossed the border under banners of fire.
Kael and Lira sat in a tavern near the warfront, maps sprawled across the table, the words of frightened townsfolk echoing around them.
"Why now?" Kael asked, fists clenched. "We just pulled the world from the ruins of the last war."
Lira looked across the table at him. "It's Andrei. He doesn't want peace. He wants legacy. And he's doing it in Andrew's name."
Kael's gaze darkened. "Then this has to stop."
They left the very next day.
The search for Andrew became their life.
Through frozen wastelands, desert ruins, shattered temples, and forgotten outposts where people spoke of a ghost swordsman—a man with silver eyes and a blade made of starlight. Always, the descriptions matched Andrew. Always, they were too late.
Months turned into a year.
Then another.
Then a third.
And all the while, Lira was there.
She fought beside him.
Slept under the same stars.
Laughed at his awkwardness.
Carried him when he collapsed from battle.
Held his hand when nightmares stole his sleep.
And somewhere along the path, Kael began to look at her differently—not as the girl who gave him a scroll, but as his fire in the dark.
On the final night of the third year, they made camp on a cliff overlooking a sea of silver clouds. The stars above were unfamiliar, like they'd wandered into another world.
Lira sat beside him, quiet, her knees pulled to her chest.
"Three years," she whispered. "And you still haven't figured it out."
Kael blinked. "Figured what out?"
She looked at him then, really looked—and smiled with a kind of shy courage that Kael had never seen before.
"That I like you."
Kael opened his mouth—but nothing came out. His heart thundered in his chest.
Lira laughed, brushing a strand of hair from her face.
"Took me three years to say it, so don't rush."
But Kael didn't need time.
He leaned forward and kissed her—softly, gently, like a soldier touching the hilt of a sacred blade for the first time.
They stayed there the whole night, wrapped in each other's arms, the world and its wars forgotten for just a little longer.
Tomorrow, they would keep searching.
But tonight, they had found something far rarer than Andrew.
They had found each other.