She Chose the Wrong Hero

The carriage came to a stop.

Elira's eyes opened quickly.

The cold had crept in through the window. Her breath fogged the glass, and snow was falling softly outside. The land was covered in white, quiet and still.

They had reached the northern edge of Aestheria.

A knock came on the door. "My lady," Aeren said gently, "we're here."

She didn't answer right away. Her hands were still wrapped in the blanket he'd placed around her earlier. It was warm, but the warmth didn't reach her chest. She felt frozen inside.

She stepped out of the carriage. Her boots sank into the snow.

Aeren was waiting for her. He wore a thick gray cloak, and snowflakes had already landed on his shoulders. He didn't speak. He just held out his hand.

She took it.

The wind was sharp and cold, biting at her skin. Far ahead, a dark stone fortress stood against the pale sky. Its towers looked jagged and broken.

Kael's northern stronghold.

Or what was left of it.

"I don't remember it looking like this," she whispered.

"It didn't," Aeren replied. "It fell after… after you died."

Elira's chest tightened.

In the old timeline, this had become Kael's retreat. His hiding place. She had never seen it, but she had heard stories. Dark ones.

Now, in this new timeline, she had come before it was too late.

"I thought Kael was supposed to be in Virell," she said.

"He was," Aeren told her. "But he left and came here three days ago. Quietly. No one in the capital knew."

Elira's eyes narrowed. "He's hiding something."

"I think so too."

They walked toward the gate together. With each step, Elira felt heavier.

The guards at the entrance didn't stop them. Aeren was well known. They opened the heavy iron doors, and cold air rushed out from inside.

The halls were dark. The stone walls were covered in frost. There were marks everywhere—scratches from swords, burned spots from old fires.

"This place saw battle," she said.

"Something worse," Aeren murmured.

They walked deeper into the fortress until they reached the main hall.

There was a throne at the end of the room. It was made of black metal, wrapped in torn red banners. No gold. No softness. Only cold steel.

And on it sat Kael.

He looked different. His golden hair was tied back, but messy. His armor was blackened and worn. His face was tired.

But it was his eyes that made her stop.

They weren't angry. They weren't cruel.

They were empty.

"Elira," Kael said quietly, as if he was surprised to see her.

She didn't move.

"You came," he said. "Even after everything."

"You sent me letters," she said. "You asked me to trust you."

He gave a small, dry laugh. "Did you bring that trust with you?"

"No," she said. "I brought questions."

He stood up slowly. His movements were heavy.

"Then ask."

Aeren stepped forward. "Why are you here, Kael? Why did you leave the southern front?"

"Because the real battle isn't there," Kael said. "It's here. It always was."

Elira frowned. "Then tell me the truth. About the Order. About the relics. About what you found in the catacombs."

That was where everything had started to change. That mission. The one she hadn't gone on. The one that turned him into someone she barely recognized.

Kael looked down. "You really want to know?"

"Yes."

He looked at her again. And this time, his mask slipped.

"I found something under the catacombs," he said. "Something old. Something powerful. It speaks in whispers and walks through dreams."

Elira froze.

"The relics," he went on, "they weren't gifts. They were warnings. They were locked away for a reason."

Aeren stepped closer. "And you unlocked them."

"I had to," Kael said. "It showed me the truth. About the war. About her."

Elira blinked. "Her?"

Kael's voice dropped. "You don't remember, do you?"

A cold feeling ran down her back.

"I remember enough."

"No," Kael said. "You remember the version of me you wanted to see."

Aeren's voice was firm. "And what are you now?"

Kael looked at him. Then at Elira.

"I'm still the hero," he said. "Just not the one she picked."

The words cut deep.

Kael stepped off the dais, walking toward her.

"You think you've come back to fix everything," he said. "But you don't even understand what's broken."

He stopped in front of her, close enough to touch.

"And when you finally do… it will be too late."