The wind that swept through Veylor that night carried no scent—only silence.
Guards patrolled the moonlit gardens, unaware of the shadows that had already slipped through. The palace, always brimming with light and chatter, lay still under the weight of fate.
But Princess Lyra Veylor was no prisoner of fate—she had run. Disguised and determined, she slipped through the walls of her father's palace under the cover of night. With only a stolen blade and a heart full of questions, she fled in search of answers.
What she did not expect was to collapse in the elven woods, exhausted and nearly frozen—only to awaken in a tent veiled in golden leaves and arcane light.
She was not bound. But she was not free.
Standing before her was a tall woman with hair like moonlight and eyes older than war itself. The Queen of Sylvaran, sovereign of the High Elves, and the most elusive power outside the Dread King's shadow.
"You are safe," the queen said, her voice gentle but distant. "For now."
Lyra sat up slowly, her throat dry. "Why… help me?"
The queen's gaze softened, just barely. "Because the world is changing. Because your father's lies have rippled far beyond your kingdom. And because the Dread King must not fall—not yet."
"You support him?"
"No," the queen replied. "But I understand him."
She stepped forward. "You sought him out, didn't you?"
Lyra looked down. "He's my brother. I had to know."
The Queen nodded. "Then let us both deliver this message. Peace—if he'll take it. And your presence may yet sway his heart."
In Dreadhold, Kael sat atop his throne, speaking with his chancellors when the great gates creaked open.
Luna and Eclipse appeared at his side in an instant.
Two elven envoys entered, robed in white and gold. Between them walked the Elven Queen, regal and unflinching. And behind her, head high despite it all—Lyra.
The chamber froze.
Kael's aura darkened, magic seething beneath his skin.
"You dare enter my domain bearing blood I've burned to forget?" he asked coldly.
Lyra stepped forward, voice trembling. "I came on my own. I wanted to understand... you."
Kael's eyes bore into her, searching. "You ran. From them?"
She nodded. "From lies. From shame. From the weight of pretending you didn't exist."
Luna stepped beside Kael, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Let her stay," she said softly. "If nothing else, she seeks the truth."
Eclipse gave a rare nod. "The past is a wound. But some wounds must be touched before they heal."
Kael looked from them to Lyra, his breath shaky.
"Why now?" he asked.
Lyra's voice cracked. "Because I heard what you did. The children you saved. The people who call you king with love, not fear. I needed to know if my brother was the monster they said… or the man they couldn't break."
Kael turned away, his voice barely above a whisper. "Do you know what it's like... to be sold by the only person who ever held you?"
Lyra stepped closer. "No. But I know what it's like to grow up being told you didn't matter. That your birth cursed a kingdom. I've worn a crown of guilt all my life, Kael. I think… I think we both have."
She paused, then added more softly, "When I was little, I used to dream of an older brother who would take me away. I didn't know your name, only your shadow. But now I see your face... and it hurts, because I waited too long."
Kael's fingers tightened on his throne. Luna's hand remained firm on his shoulder, grounding him.
Eclipse stepped forward, her voice like quiet thunder. "She carries more than regret, Kael. She carries hope. Let her heal with you."
Kael finally spoke. "You may stay. As a guest. Not a prisoner."
Lyra bowed her head. "Thank you."
As she was led away, Luna and Eclipse remained at Kael's side.
"She's not your enemy," Luna whispered.
Eclipse added, "She might be the only family who still remembers your name without fear."
Kael stood still for a long time, staring into the shadows.
"I don't know if I can forgive her," he murmured. "But maybe... I can forgive myself."
With a sister's return and hearts laid bare, the Dread King faces a choice more dangerous than war: healing. But even as bonds begin to mend, enemies plot in silence… and not all thorns point outward.