The name hung between them like a blade.
Ravaryn.
Elira didn't speak. Didn't move. Her fingers twitched near the hilt of her dagger, instinct sharpening faster than her thoughts.
"Say it again," she said slowly, eyes never leaving Kaelen's.
He didn't.
Because something had shifted inside him. Not just memory, not even power—recognition. As if his soul had turned toward something that had always been calling.
"I didn't learn the name," Kaelen said. "I remembered it."
The torchlight flickered, dimmed, then roared back.
Outside the Vault, the world had changed.
They emerged to find the halls of Kaelthorn darker than they had been. Not in light—but in feeling. Shadows pooled in corners that had once been empty. Whispers curled around the stone like smoke, just out of earshot.
Elira pressed a hand to the wall. "Something followed us out."
Kaelen nodded. "Or… it was waiting."
In the throne chamber, High Marshal Dornan was waiting with grim news.
"They've sent another envoy," Dornan said, voice taut. "But not to speak. This one came wearing ashstone armor, carrying a caged soul."
Kaelen's grip on his blade tightened. "They're provoking me."
"They're watching," Elira corrected. "They want to see what you'll do as Ravaryn."
The name caused a stir. Dornan flinched.
"You shouldn't speak that name," he hissed. "Not here. Not in the old halls."
Kaelen stepped forward. "Why? What aren't you telling me?"
The old warrior looked away. "Because the last time that name was spoken in Kaelthorn… this castle burned."
Later that night, Elira found Kaelen in the war chamber, staring at the stained-glass map of the realm.
"You're quiet," she said.
"I'm thinking," he replied.
"About the Court?"
He shook his head. "About what I'll become if I win."
Silence stretched.
Then, softly, Elira said, "You once told me you didn't want to rule. That your greatest fear wasn't death—it was becominglike them."
Kaelen didn't meet her eyes.
"What if it's already happening?" he whispered.
Elira stepped beside him, placing something on the table.
A broken dagger. His mother's, once hidden in the folds of her cloak.
"She made a deal to save you," Elira said. "But she never wanted you to forget who you were."
Kaelen stared at the blade.
Then at the map.
Then at his reflection in the glass—red-eyed, shadow-marked, and afraid.
"I need to know what she gave up."
"Then you'll have to return to where she made the bargain," Elira said.
He looked at her sharply.
"You know where that is?"
She nodded once.
"The Mirrorvale."
They would ride at dawn.
But neither slept that night.
Because deep in the Hollow Court, behind veils of darkness and bone, the Night Regent stirred.
And whispered Kaelen's true name.
"Ravaryn... at last."