She Chose the Wrong Hero

Kael couldn't sleep.

Not from pain. Not from fear.

But because something inside him wouldn't stay quiet.

He sat alone in the middle of the training yard, the cold stone floor beneath him and his sword across his knees. The night had thinned into early morning. Frost clung to the edge of his boots.

The sky above him was pale and silent.

But in his head, the world was not quiet.

There was a voice.

Soft.

Faint.

Calling his name.

He hadn't told anyone about it yet.

Not the council. Not the guards. Not even Elira.

Because if he told her, she would look at him the same way she had in the hall—like she didn't know him anymore. Like he was something to fear.

He could still feel that moment in his chest. The way she had stood between him and Aeren. The way she had spoken, not like a girl who loved him, but like a stranger warning two dogs not to fight.

She had never spoken to him like that before.

Not even at the end.

The voice returned again.

He closed his eyes.

It was clearer now.

"You are chosen."

The words weren't spoken in a human tongue—but he understood them. The way you understand dreams. The way old magic slides into your skin, even when you try to block it out.

Kael didn't know where the voice was coming from. But he knew when it had started.

The day the seal broke.

He hadn't meant to touch it.

He had gone to the eastern shrine out of habit. He had stood before the ruined stone, feeling the cold bleed through his boots. He didn't know why his hand had moved the way it did—reaching out, brushing against the seal's surface.

But when he touched it, it had burned.

The pain had been sharp, white-hot. For one terrible second, he had seen a glimpse of something beneath—not a memory, not a vision.

A door.

Closed.

Locked.

And something on the other side, whispering his name.

Kael stood now, walking slowly toward the far end of the courtyard, where the old fountain stood frozen under moonlight.

The water hadn't flowed in years.

But tonight, he heard it.

Dripping.

He knelt beside the fountain, listening.

The voice was louder here.

"You are worthy."

"They will betray you."

"Only power remains."

He pressed his palms to the stone edge. The voice didn't hurt—it soothed. It made sense.

He had fought for this kingdom. Led armies. Risked his life.

And still, they looked at him like he was a danger. A weapon waiting to slip.

Even Elira.

Maybe especially her.

Later that morning, he stood before the council, as they asked about the shrine.

He said nothing about the voice.

Nothing about the seal.

Nothing about the burning.

Only this:

"The darkness is returning. We need to prepare."

They asked him what he meant.

He didn't answer.

Because if he said too much, they would start to fear him. And fear could ruin a man faster than magic.

So he played the part they wanted.

The golden hero.

The calm prince.

But inside his chest, a second heartbeat had started. Cold. Steady.

And it whispered with every breath:

"Let them doubt."

"Let them break."

"And when they do… you will rise."

That night, Kael stood at the edge of his balcony, watching the torchlights far below flicker like dying stars.

He saw Elira's window across the courtyard.

The candle in her room was still lit.

He closed his eyes.

"You won't leave me," he whispered, as if to her. As if to the voice. As if to the gods.

"Not this time."