The eastern skies shimmered with hues of rose and gold, casting a gentle warmth across the castle's stone parapets. The first light of dawn spilled into the world like a whispered promise.
Lucien stood at the balcony of their shared chamber, the cool breeze tousling his raven-black hair. He wore no cloak, only a thin linen shirt and loose trousers, as though welcoming the wind's chill against his skin might cleanse the lingering shadows from his mind.
It had been two weeks since the Council had pardoned them.
Two weeks of awkward feasts and stiff conversations with nobles too proud to admit they had been wrong.
Two weeks of navigating a new future neither of them had ever thought possible.
Behind him, the bed creaked softly.
Eiran stirred, the sheets falling away from his bare chest as he sat up slowly. Sleep still clung to his lashes, and his golden hair caught the sunlight like fire. He looked softer in the morning—less like a prince trained for battle, and more like the boy he might've been in another life.
Lucien turned, and their eyes met.
"Couldn't sleep?" Eiran asked, voice husky.
Lucien shook his head. "I dreamed again. Of fire. Of the citadel."
Eiran stood and crossed to him, wrapping his arms around Lucien from behind, resting his chin on his shoulder. "It's over. We survived."
"Did we?" Lucien whispered. "Sometimes I wonder if we're still trapped in someone else's game. If peace is just another illusion."
Eiran was silent for a moment. Then he said, "Then we'll keep choosing each other. Every day. That's how we know it's real."
Lucien leaned into him.
---
Later that morning, a letter arrived sealed in indigo wax—the emblem of House Caelis. A summons, not from a noble, but from an old friend.
Sorrel.
The letter was brief:
"Urgent. The North stirs. Magic is changing. Come to the Edge."
Lucien handed it to Eiran, who read it, brow furrowing.
"The Edge?" Eiran murmured. "That place is barely more than myth. A rift in reality, Sorrel said. The boundary between magic and madness."
Lucien's jaw tightened. "If something's happening there, it means our work isn't finished."
"Do we go?"
Lucien didn't hesitate. "We go."
---
The journey took five days by airship. They passed over shattered war-torn lands, fields blooming anew with spring, villages slowly rebuilding. Children ran barefoot through grass, waving at the sky as they flew past.
It was surreal.
Lucien sat on the deck each evening, staring at the stars, wondering if this was how rebirth truly began—not with grandeur, but with healing.
Eiran joined him every night, sometimes in silence, sometimes in conversation.
On the third night, Eiran whispered, "I'm scared."
Lucien looked at him, surprised. "You never say that."
"I need to now. Because I don't want to lose this. Us. If the world asks me to choose again—between you and duty—"
"You'll choose me," Lucien finished.
Eiran nodded slowly. "Every time."
Lucien took his hand and kissed his knuckles. "Then we'll face whatever comes. Together."
---
The Edge was unlike anything Lucien had ever seen.
A barren canyon stretched before them, so deep that the bottom vanished into swirling mist. The sky overhead shimmered with fractured light, as if the sun itself had been split into a thousand shards.
Sorrel stood at the cliff's edge, her hair braided tight, a staff glowing faintly in her hand. She turned as they approached.
"Lucien. Eiran."
Lucien hugged her tightly. "What's happening here?"
Sorrel's eyes were grim. "Magic is… bleeding. The seals that held back the Void are unraveling."
"The Void?" Eiran asked, frowning.
Sorrel nodded. "The oldest magic. Beyond even prophecy. It was locked away before time had a name. But now? It's waking."
Lucien stared into the mist below. "And we're the ones who opened the door."
"No," Sorrel said gently. "You just broke the cage someone else built around the world. This was always going to happen. But now we can face it on our own terms."
A sudden pulse rippled through the air.
The wind howled.
From the canyon rose a figure—faceless, wreathed in shadow, its form shifting like smoke and memory. It hovered above the chasm, whispering in a language none of them knew, yet understood in their bones.
Lucien stepped forward. "Who are you?"
The figure answered in a voice like shattered glass:
"I am the memory of what was. The echo of chains. I am the price of freedom."
Eiran drew his sword. "Then we'll pay it together."
But the figure made no move to attack.
Instead, it turned to Lucien.
"You carry the last key. The choice. Will you seal the Void again, and chain the world to a false peace? Or will you leave it open, and risk everything for truth?"
Lucien's heart pounded.
Everyone waited.
Eiran stepped beside him, hand brushing his.
And in that moment, Lucien saw everything—the pain, the blood, the betrayals, yes—but also the love, the defiance, the hope.
He looked the shadow in the eye.
"I choose truth."
The figure bowed.
And vanished.
---
In the silence that followed, the canyon began to glow. Not with darkness, but with color—streams of living magic unfurling like wings. The Edge had become a gate.
"Where does it lead?" Eiran asked.
Lucien smiled faintly. "To the next story."
Sorrel placed a hand on his shoulder. "And are you ready to write it?"
Lucien looked at Eiran.
They clasped hands.
"Together," they said.
And stepped through.
---
To be continued…
Thank you for reading..