Eighteen years later.
The throne room of Castle Nérou stirred with quiet panic.
Sunlight cut through the high windows, falling across a sea of waiting faces. Knights. Scholars. Commanders. All summoned without warning. None given answers.
Until the king himself stood.
King Darius stepped forward, his voice filling the room.
"The Archmage is missing."
The words struck like a blade.
Gasps broke through the silence. Whispers followed. Soft at first but growing louder.
Talk of failure escalates to Talk of betrayal.
Talk of what it meant if the Archmage—the king's own blood—was truly gone.
The sound crawled through the chamber like rot in stone, like the spread of a virus.
"Enough."
One word was all it took.
Every whisper dulled, then died, held captive by the weight of obedience.
Silence pressed in, thick as stone.
Until Darius spoke again, cutting through it like a blade.
"There is only one who will find her."
He turned toward the base of the dais.
All eyes followed.
There he stood. Older now. Stronger.
Dimiour, Prince of Nérou—heir not just by blood, but by power.
The Archmage's only protégé, second to none but her.
Power curled around him like smoke, quiet but pressing on every breath.
And beside him, as always, stood the storm they all feared to name.
Rose. His sworn guard. His blade. His shadow.
No order passed between them. None ever needed to.
And where he walked, she followed—fire chasing smoke, as she always had.
Darius took another step forward, meeting his son's eyes.
He didn't speak right away. He didn't have to.
"Bring her home," the king finally said, low and certain. "You leave at first light."
Dimiour gave a single nod.
Nothing more.
He turned without waiting for the court to be dismissed. Rose followed, silent as shadow.
They slipped through the towering doors as the king raised his hand once more to calm the court.
The doors shut behind them, cutting off the hum of politics like the closing of a vault. The sound echoed down the empty corridor like the last breath of something dying.
Dimiour stood still for a moment, letting the weight of the king's command settle into his bones.
Rose remained silent, patient and unmoving.
The air between them stretched but didn't break.
He could feel her gaze on him, steady and watchful, as it had always been. She knew his thoughts even when he hadn't yet found the words for them.
He exhaled slowly through his nose.
"Gonna make it?" he asked quietly.
It wasn't really a question. It was a ritual, worn smooth over years of battles fought and survived. A habit from when they were younger, when every fight felt like it might be their last.
Rose shifted her weight slightly, arms crossing over her chest.
"One of us has to," she replied.
For a moment, they stood there, the muffled sounds of the court fading behind the thick stone walls.
Dimiour finally turned his head toward her, just enough to meet her eyes.
"It's been a while since he's given us an order like that," he said quietly. "Since we've had to go out there."
Rose let her eyes fall, just briefly. It was enough of an answer.
They both knew what "there" meant. They knew exactly what waited beyond the castle walls.
"We were children then," she said softly, a slight edge to her voice. "Running to him every time things got dark."
Dimiour's lips twitched slightly, almost a smile. Almost.
"And now?"
"Now we're older," Rose replied, meeting his gaze again. "Still running to him."
Dimiour huffed softly in acknowledgment. Because even now, after everything they'd faced, after all they'd become, that was still where they turned. Like children again, seeking out the only man who ever made the impossible feel possible.
Captain Rakeim Thadeus. The man who had taken Rose under his wing when she had nothing, who had guided them both through shadows too deep to navigate alone.
Without another word, they started walking