Rain lashed against the crumbling rooftops as lightning split the sky in jagged fury. The alley stank of rot, ash, and blood—like the aftermath of a war. A broken city, forgotten by time, lay sprawled in ruin beneath a sky that hadn't seen sunlight in days.
Kael gasped awake, his lungs heaving like he'd been drowning. Cold mud clung to his back. His fingers, long and calloused, twitched against the stone beneath him as if sensing the unfamiliarity of his own skin.
He wasn't dead. But he had died. He remembered it. He remembered everything.
The blade had pierced his heart. The betrayal had come from someone close—someone trusted. His name…
Ardaeron.
King of Verdellia. Lord of the Nine Banners. Keeper of the Fire Crown. He'd once ruled a kingdom with a hand that commanded armies and a voice that silenced rooms.
And yet, here he was, lying in a gutter with nothing but rags on his back and pain in his bones.
His hand lifted slowly to his face. Different. Younger. His body—leaner, less weathered. The scars he had earned in battle were gone. His beard was gone. His crown was gone.
But his eyes—he saw them in a puddle nearby—still held the same golden fire that made men bow and tremble.
"What hell is this…?" he murmured, his voice hoarse but steady. It wasn't the voice of a beggar. It was the voice of a king.
He pushed himself to his feet, swaying slightly. People bustled past the alley, ignoring him. The city was alive with noise—haggling merchants, galloping horses, drunken laughter, distant cries of pain. It was no place he recognized.
This wasn't Verdellia.
It was something worse.
He stumbled forward, each step stiff but growing steadier. His muscles remembered the rhythm of power, even if this body did not. With every breath, his mind pieced together flashes from his final day—
The council chamber.
The blade at his back.
The queen's scream.
And darkness.
A sudden shout snapped him from his thoughts.
"Thief!"
A blur darted past the alley entrance, nearly knocking him down. A girl—fast, cloaked, with a satchel clutched to her chest. She disappeared around the corner like a whisper. Moments later, two armored guards stormed past, weapons drawn, oblivious to the fallen king watching with curious eyes.
Kael's instincts stirred. That girl didn't run like a common thief. She ran like someone used to being hunted.
He stepped from the alley, drenched, shivering, but his gaze burned with determination. He may have lost his crown, his kingdom, and his name—but he hadn't lost his will.
If the gods had brought him back, it wasn't out of mercy. It was a warning to the world.
The king had returned.
And he would have everything back—
His throne.
His power.
His queen.
Even if he had to burn the world to get them.