Aryelle didn't move.
Neither did he.
Kael stood just outside the circle of their campfire's glow, shadow clinging to his cloak like a second skin. The sword in his hand dripped faint trails of dark mist, the slain Icefang at his feet steaming where the frost was sliced clean.
Halric groaned nearby, clutching his bitten arm.
"You're him," Aryelle said again, softer this time. Not a question.
Kael's eyes—one silver, one bottomless black—narrowed. "And you're louder than the rumors."
She stepped between him and Halric instinctively, blade still raised.
Kael raised an eyebrow. "Defensive for someone who sought me out."
"I didn't come to kneel."
"No," he said, amused. "You came to use me."
The silence that followed was too sharp to be comfortable.
He stepped forward, slowly, like a predator testing the leash on its hunger. Aryelle didn't back away.
"You're hunting the Crown," Kael said.
"And you're standing in my way."
"No," he replied. "I'm the only one who can get you to it alive."
Aryelle hated how calmly he said it. As if he already knew her. As if he'd read her.
"You think highly of yourself," she said.
"I think honestly of the world. And in this world, Your Highness—" he let the title drip with just enough poison, "—you don't survive long without someone like me."
Her grip tightened on her dagger.
Behind her, Halric muttered, "Would now be a bad time to point out we're bleeding and surrounded by corpses?"
"Shut up," Aryelle and Kael said in unison.
A beat passed.
Then Kael smiled—thin and humorless. "You're both lucky I was nearby."
"I don't believe in luck," Aryelle replied. "Only timing."
Kael stepped closer, just within reach of her blade. The fire cast orange light across his face now. He was younger than she expected—no older than thirty—but something about him was ancient. Burned. Like he'd been reforged in shadow and silence.
"I'll make this simple," he said. "You want the Crown. I know where to start."
She studied him. "And what do you want?"
He didn't answer immediately.
Then—"The frost is spreading. Faster than before. That's no accident. If the Crown still exists, it's waking up. And if it falls into the wrong hands…"
"You want to protect it?"
Kael gave a short, mirthless laugh. "I want to prevent another war. Another purge. You want a throne. I want something much simpler."
She narrowed her eyes. "Which is?"
"Peace."
She didn't believe him. Not fully. But she understood the tone behind it—worn-down conviction wrapped in guilt. He meant it, whether or not it was true.
Aryelle lowered her blade a fraction. "Then we travel together."
"Until we don't," he replied.
"Until we don't."
Later, around the fire…
Halric slept lightly, his wounded arm wrapped tight.
Aryelle sat on a log, sharpening her dagger with slow, deliberate strokes. Kael sat across from her, cloak drawn, silent.
"You didn't ask why I want the Crown," she said.
Kael didn't look up. "I know why."
"Enlighten me."
"Because you're tired of losing."
Aryelle froze. Just for a heartbeat. Then resumed sharpening.
"You think you know me," she said.
"I don't need to know you," Kael replied. "I've seen hundreds like you. Exiled royals with fire in their eyes and ghosts in their blood."
"I'm not like them."
"We'll see."
The fire crackled between them. Outside the glow, the Frostwood whispered.
And far away…
Beneath the mountains, something old stirred. Not dead. Not alive. Waiting.The world was shifting. The Crown of Thorns and Flames pulsed once in the dark.
It had been found.