1. The Hall of Judgment
The Hall of Judgment was an ancient relic of empire, long before the rise of the Astrenys monarchy. Its pillars bore the faces of a thousand rulers carved into their marble bones, each watching from eternity as kings and rebels begged for favor or clemency.
Kaelen did neither.
He walked the black marble aisle alone, cloak dragging like a shadow. His boots echoed with measured, relentless steps.
Before him, seated in a crescent of ivory thrones, were the Council of Twelve—nobles, generals, archmages, and merchant-princes who held power just beneath the crown. They were Therin's true weapon: puppets masquerading as wise men.
They did not stand. They did not greet him.
High Chancellor Veris—ancient, silver-eyed, and serpent-voiced—spoke first.
"Kaelen D'Zareth. You stand before this council to make a claim. We permit you twenty breaths."
Kaelen did not bow. He did not even blink.
"I do not come to beg," he said. "I come to correct."
Murmurs spread across the chamber.
He reached into his coat and drew a scroll—its seal crimson with the mark of the Phoenix Throne.
"My inheritance. My name. My place. Stolen by treachery and erased by fear. I have returned to take back what is mine—by rite, by lineage, and by fire."
One of the merchant-lords scoffed. "Where is your proof, boy? Bloodline can be faked. Magic can deceive. Ghosts don't sit thrones."
Kaelen unrolled the scroll with steady hands.
"This is a copy of the True Lineage Decree. Signed by King Adrion the Third. Witnessed by High Priestess Velina herself. And sealed with the original sigil of House D'Zareth, bound in stardust ink."
High Chancellor Veris narrowed his eyes. "This decree was believed lost in the Palace Fire."
"It survived," Kaelen said coldly. "Just like I did."
2. The Fire in Their Eyes
The council chamber trembled with rising tension.
Lady Enareth, the youngest of the council, leaned forward.
"If this document is true—then you have claim not only to your title but to the Succession Seat."
The words hit the room like a dropped sword.
Therin had not arrived yet. He was watching. Waiting. Letting them try to crush Kaelen before stepping in as 'savior.'
Coward.
Kaelen turned slowly, letting every face meet his.
"You fear me. You should. Not because I returned from death. But because I remember what you did to send me there."
Gasps. One of the lesser lords dropped his goblet.
"You cannot prove those accusations," Veris snapped.
Kaelen smiled, slow and deliberate. "I don't need to yet."
He placed the scroll on the table before the Twelve. "This is the first stone. The avalanche comes next."
3. Aelira's Offer
Later that evening, Kaelen stood alone in the Sky Garden, overlooking the spires of Astrenys.
Lady Aelira found him there. She moved like a song—quiet, slow, composed. Her dress was obsidian, embroidered with red moons.
"You're playing with dragons," she said. "You made enemies of all twelve."
"I never played with dragons," Kaelen murmured. "I was one."
She stepped beside him. Her voice softened. "I believed you dead."
"I was," he said. "Until I remembered how to burn."
A long silence.
"You know they'll try to kill you," she said finally.
"They already are."
"And if I said I could help?"
Kaelen turned. "You want something."
She reached out, brushing something from his collar. It was almost tender—almost.
"My uncle is ruthless. But not immortal. I've waited ten years for a fracture in his control. You could be it."
"You want to use me."
"I want to survive," she said. "Maybe win."
Kaelen searched her face. "And what would it cost me?"
She smiled faintly. "A pact. One not so easily broken."
4. Blood for Blood
Aelira led him down to the Crypt of Stars, where ancient rituals were kept alive in silence and shadow.
There, beneath flickering firelight, she produced a small obsidian dagger.
"A Blood Binding," she said. "No lies between us. No betrayal without cost. One life tied to the other."
Kaelen stared at the blade.
"A marriage vow for the politically suicidal?"
"Not binding in love," she said softly. "But binding in loyalty. Secrets shared. Consequences… eternal."
He took the dagger.
"Why me?" he asked.
"Because I see something in you, Kaelen. Not just vengeance. Will."
He cut his palm without hesitation.
She followed.
Their blood dripped into the ceremonial basin, sizzling as it met enchanted fire. The flames turned silver.
"One will not fall without the other," the fire whispered.
It was done.
She held his hand for a moment longer than ritual required.
"In this, we are bound," she said. "Let's bring him down."
5. The Assassin's Smile
As Kaelen returned to his chambers, the halls felt off. The silence too clean. The wind too still.
He reached the door and paused. Then he stepped back, slowly.
The chandelier above where he would have stood groaned—then dropped.
Steel blades extended from its ornamented arms.
Assassin's trap.
He didn't flinch.
From the corner shadows, a figure emerged—mask of porcelain, dressed in silk-black armor.
"Your return makes powerful people nervous," the assassin said. "They pay well to silence echoes."
Kaelen stepped into the room calmly. "Then give them fear instead."
The assassin moved—fast. But Kaelen was faster.
He ducked, spun, and drove his palm upward into the assassin's ribs. A hidden blade sliced across his shoulder—shallow, but clean.
Pain flared, but he kept moving.
With a twist, he threw the assassin across the chamber. They landed hard, gasping.
Kaelen stood over them.
"I died once," he said. "It didn't take."
The assassin lunged again—but this time, a dagger flew from the balcony and pierced their hand.
Lyse appeared from the window ledge, bow in hand.
"Told you not to sleep alone," she said.
Kaelen kicked the assassin unconscious.
"Get rid of them," he said to Lyse. "Quietly. We're not ready for open war."
6. The Rising Phoenix
The next morning, the nobles awoke to scandal.
Whispers flooded the corridors: Kaelen had survived an assassination attempt. Someone had attacked him in the palace itself.
Some said it was Therin.
Others said it was the Council.
Kaelen made no statement.
Instead, he walked openly through the city that day. No guards. No escort. Just the black cloak and the silver phoenix blazing on his shoulder.
The people saw him.
A woman selling firefruit gasped and dropped her basket. A baker crossed himself. A child pointed.
"Is that the dead prince?"
Kaelen paused at the city square and spoke one line to the waiting crowd.
"I have returned not for vengeance, but for justice."
He turned and walked away.
But behind him, the whispers grew.
"He lives."
"He walks like a king."
"Perhaps he is one."