The rain hadn't let up.
It poured like the sky was grieving, soaking the narrow alleyways and cobbled streets in a cold, relentless drizzle. Kael followed Lysandra in silence, the rhythm of her footsteps steady, purposeful. She walked like someone who knew every backdoor and blind corner of the city—someone who'd survived by staying invisible.
They moved through a tangle of twisting streets, ducking past watchtowers and flickering lanterns until they reached a rusted gate hidden behind a crumbling chapel wall. She slid a key from her boot and unlocked it without a word.
Inside was an abandoned wine cellar, long forgotten, smelling of damp stone and mildew. Empty crates, shattered glass, and old candle stubs littered the floor. But the far wall had a hidden passage—cleverly masked by a rack of dusty bottles—that opened into a warm, quiet room with a makeshift bed, shelves of stolen goods, and a flickering hearth.
"This is your safe place?" Kael asked, eyeing the space.
"For now." Lysandra peeled off her wet cloak and tossed it aside. "Better than the alleys."
Kael stood near the fire, arms crossed. Steam rose from his soaked shirt, clinging to the hard lines of his body. He hadn't said much since they left the hideout. His mind was elsewhere—haunted.
"Tell me something, Kael," she said, watching him. "Who are you, really?"
He was quiet for a moment, then turned to her, golden eyes glowing faintly in the firelight.
"I was a king."
Lysandra blinked. Then she laughed. "Sure. And I'm the empress of the stars."
"I don't expect you to believe me."
"I don't." She tilted her head. "But I do think you believe it. Which is even more interesting."
Kael lowered himself onto a crate and stared into the flames. "Before I woke up in that alley, I was murdered. Betrayed. The last thing I remember is my council chamber... a blade in my back... and my queen's voice screaming my name."
Lysandra's expression shifted. The fire's flicker cast dancing shadows on her face, softening the sharp lines. She didn't laugh this time.
"Memory's a tricky thing," she said. "Especially when you're half-mad from hunger and trauma."
Kael shook his head. "This isn't madness. I remember spells in languages long forgotten. I remember commanding legions. I remember my kingdom—Verdellia."
"Verdellia?" she repeated slowly. "That name's from stories. Fairytales. A kingdom that supposedly vanished centuries ago."
"Because it did." His voice was grim. "The people who killed me made sure of that."
The room was silent for a beat. Then Lysandra walked to one of her shelves, pulled out a small leather book, and tossed it to him.
Kael caught it.
"I stole that two days ago from a noble's private study," she said. "Didn't know what was in it. Just liked how old it looked."
Kael opened the book. His breath caught.
It was a map—hand-drawn, fragile, faded by time. At the center, in bold calligraphy, was the name: Verdellia.
The borders were exactly as he remembered. The mountains. The river. The shattered capital city—marked with a symbol that hadn't been used in over three hundred years.
He closed the book, hands trembling.
"This... this proves it."
Lysandra sat beside him, watching carefully.
"I don't know who you were," she said, softer now. "But there's something inside you that doesn't belong in this world. You don't walk like a beggar. You don't speak like a thief. You remember things no one should."
Kael met her gaze.
"I'm going to find her," he said. "My queen. Elira."
Lysandra looked away, thoughtful. "Then I hope you're ready for what comes next. Because anyone chasing ghosts in this world ends up hunted themselves."
Kael leaned back, staring into the fire.
"Let them hunt."