The corridors of Ridgehall felt quieter than usual.

  Not empty—never empty—but restrained, as though the stone itself had learned to hold its breath. The usual echoes of boots and voices seemed muffled, swallowed by the high arches and thick walls. Even the banners hanging along the corridor stirred less than normal, their fabric barely shifting in the still air.

  Kael stood near the wide window of his office, arms folded behind his back, gazing down into the courtyard below. The morning sun cast long, slanted shadows across the stone, stretching and intertwining like living things. Servants moved with careful efficiency, guards rotated posts, and life continued—orderly, controlled.

  Yet his thoughts were elsewhere.

  Far beyond Ridgehall’s walls.

  Daren.

  Already on the road. Already chasing a fragile, burning hope with nothing but sharpened instincts and a father’s love to guide him. Kael’s jaw tightened slightly as the image surfaced unbidden—an old man walking forward without sight, yet more certain than most who claimed to see clearly.

  Hope was dangerous.

  But it was also unstoppable.

  Behind him, a deliberate, exaggerated clearing of the throat broke the silence.

  “So,” Tarin said, folding his arms across his chest, “you’re really leaving again.”

  Kael turned, a faint smile already forming. “You make it sound like I’m running away.”

  “You are running away,” Tarin shot back immediately. “From paperwork. From responsibility. From the mountain of documents currently plotting my murder.”

  Kael laughed softly, the sound easing some of the weight in the room. He reached into his coat and withdrew a small crystal—dark, smooth, faintly warm as though it carried a pulse of its own. He placed it carefully into Tarin’s open palm.

  Tarin stared at it. “What’s this supposed to be?”

  “A communication stone,” Kael said easily. “Break off a piece, and we can talk. Voice carries clearly, regardless of distance.”

  Tarin’s brows knit together. “Break a piece?”

  “Each stone works five times.”

  Tarin blinked. “Five?”

  Kael’s grin widened. “Lucky for you, I brought twenty.”

  Silence.

  Then Tarin looked up slowly. “…You’re joking.”

  “I never joke about preparation.”

  Tarin closed his fingers around the stone, exhaled sharply, and shook his head. “You planned this. You planned leaving, planned me suffering, planned your dramatic return.”

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  “I prefer the term contingency,” Kael replied, adjusting the straps of his pack. “I’ll be back before you miss me.”

  “That’s not reassuring in the slightest.”

  For a moment, neither of them spoke. The humor faded, replaced by the quiet understanding of people who had weathered too much together to dress everything in jokes.

  “Don’t die,” Tarin said at last, his voice lower.

  Kael smirked. “Try not to burn Ridgehall down while I’m gone.”

  They clasped forearms once—firm, steady.

  Then Kael turned and left.

  The guild hall was anything but quiet.

  The moment Kael stepped inside, noise crashed over him like a wave. Adventurers crowded the notice boards, voices overlapping in a chaotic blend of ambition, desperation, and bravado. Armor clinked with every movement. Weapons shifted in their sheaths. Contracts changed hands amid quick negotiations and sharper glances.

  The scent of sweat, oil, and old parchment filled the air.

  Familiar.

  Grounding.

  Kael moved through the crowd without hesitation, his presence commanding space without effort. He stopped at the central mission board, eyes scanning the parchments pinned there—requests ranging from trivial to lethal.

  Then one notice caught his attention.

  Escort Mission

  Client: High-Value Merchant

  Destination: Kingdom of Helcurt

  Rank Requirement: A and above

  Kael frowned.

  “Helcurt…?” he muttered under his breath. “There’s another kingdom?”

  The idea unsettled him more than he cared to admit. Wicelind had always been presented as the center of power—the axis around which the world turned. The existence of another kingdom close enough for merchant travel suggested blind spots. Gaps in knowledge. Unknown variables.

  Before he could tear the notice free, a voice spoke beside him.

  “Mr. Kain.”

  Kael turned.

  One of the guild administrators stood there—a middle-aged woman with sharp eyes and an expression that suggested she catalogued weaknesses as easily as names. She tapped the parchment with one finger.

  “This mission requires a minimum of two adventurers,” she said crisply. “Up to four.”

  Kael sighed. “I work better alone.”

  “I know,” she replied flatly. “That’s why I already solved the problem.”

  She stepped aside and gestured behind her.

  “I’ve assigned three others to accompany you. Meet your party.”

  The first to step forward was a tall woman with braided red hair and steady gray eyes. She extended her hand confidently.

  “Mary,” she said. “Shield specialist. Defensive formations. I keep people alive.”

  Kael shook her hand, noting the strength of her grip.

  Next came a broad-shouldered man with a relaxed grin and a massive hammer resting easily against his back.

  “Musk,” he said cheerfully. “Frontline bruiser. If it needs breaking, I break it.”

  Kael nodded in acknowledgment.

  Then the administrator spoke again.

  “And lastly—Elrk.”

  The third man stepped forward.

  Lean. Calm. Brown hair tied back loosely. His posture was relaxed, but not careless. There was awareness in every subtle movement. His eyes—sharp, observant—took in Kael with a measured glance that lingered just a fraction longer than necessary.

  Something twisted in Kael’s chest.

  The administrator continued, unaware—or perhaps unconcerned.

  “Elrk specializes in adaptive combat and reconnaissance,” she said. “Former independent contractor. Excellent record. No unnecessary casualties.”

  Kael extended his hand.

  As their palms met, he leaned in slightly, lowering his voice just enough.

  “So your name is Elrk now.”

  The man’s eyes flickered.

  “I didn’t know you changed your name,” Kael continued quietly. “Eric.”

  For a heartbeat, the noise of the guild hall seemed to dull.

  Then the man replied, just as softly.

  “Same goes to you,” he said. “Kain.”

  A pause.

  “…Or should I say,” his mouth twitched faintly, “Kael.”

  Neither of them broke eye contact.

  Memories surged—unspoken, unresolved. Old paths diverged. Old choices hardened into consequence.

  Around them, the guild hall carried on, oblivious. Adventurers laughed. A contract was sealed. A blade rang against steel.

  Two lords stood under borrowed names.

  Two shadows walking different roads.

  Now bound to the same mission.

  And neither knew whether this reunion would end in cooperation—

  —or blood.