Arathen’s gates rose before them, colossal and gleaming, plated in steel and chased with the golden sigil of the sun-crown. Beneath the banners of crimson and gold, trumpets blared from the ramparts, announcing to every quarter of the capital that the Heroes had arrived.

The city beyond was a vast amphitheater of stone and red-tiled roofs, streets winding upward toward the palace perched like a diadem on the hilltop. People filled every avenue—peasants in patched linen, merchants in wool and leather dyed with saffron, even nobles leaning from balconies in silks that shimmered like fish scales. Shoulder to shoulder they pressed, straining for a glimpse of the figures who had faced Wolfbreach and lived.

Ethan tugged at his collar, muttering, “This is ridiculous.”

Children scattered petals under their horses’ hooves, giggling at the pageantry. A bard ran alongside, strumming a lute and half-shouting verses about “the fire of dawn and the lady who binds the stars.” The rhyme faltered, but the crowd cheered anyway.

Maya kept her eyes forward, scanning rooftops and windows, but she noted the way each banner was new-stitched, every wall freshly whitewashed. This wasn’t a spontaneous celebration—it was orchestrated theater. How many names and titles would be hung on them before their own were forgotten?

The procession climbed the city tiers. The lower districts smelled of smoke and river-mud, home to guilds and markets where apprentices bartered like hardened traders. Mid-tier, the Merchant’s Crescent gleamed with glass windows and bronze lanterns, built on the wealth of the southern spice caravans. But above all of it loomed the palace tier, its marble steps flanked by statues of kings past, each crowned with ivy wreaths for the occasion.

At the top waited King Gravell. His beard was streaked with gray, his shoulders squared as if bracing against the weight of the crown. Behind him, ministers and generals formed a wall of silks and steel. The king lifted his arms, and his voice rolled down the steps.

“Behold the saviors of Arathen—blessed by the gods and bound by oath—who turned back the tide of darkness!”

A roar like thunder rose from the city below. Ethan bowed stiffly, a smile tugged onto his face by force. Maya inclined her head with practiced precision. Neither let their true thought show: We barely survived.

Feasting followed, as excessive as it was alienating. Long tables groaned beneath pheasant glazed with honey, venison spiced with cloves, candied fruits that sparkled like jewels. Wine ran like water, and the nobles competed to offer flattery:

“You have lifted the realm’s spirit.”
“The Demon King quails already.”
“Heroes such as you will win the final war.”

Ethan endured it with clenched jaw, the weight of every eye pressing on him until he felt suffocated. Maya answered politely, her hand never straying far from her hidden journal, her silence the only defense against their gilded words.

When the feast ended, King Gravell summoned them to a smaller chamber. Here the gilt masks fell away. The king’s voice was low, measured, more soldier than sovereign.

“The people believe,” he said. “That is your first victory. But belief must be sharpened with strength. Tomorrow, you will begin training under the High Magi. Selora will oversee you. Be warned: she is far stricter than even Aldric.”

Ethan frowned. “Who are the High Magi? No one’s told us.”

Gravell studied him, weighing how much truth to give. “They are Arathen’s oldest power. Twelve mages, one for each discipline of the Covenant—fire, water, stone, sky, time, and more besides. It was they who raised the wards that protect this city from siege, who quelled the storms that once drowned our harbors. Kings reign, but the Magi endure. Some say they serve the crown. Others whisper the crown exists at their sufferance.”

Maya’s gaze sharpened. “And what will they want from us?”

“Everything,” Gravell admitted. “They will tear down what you think you are and rebuild you as weapons fit for the war to come. That is the price of survival.”

Dismissed, Ethan muttered as they left, “We’re not saviors. We’re weapons.”

Maya heard him, but said nothing.

That night, the palace was still but not silent. Ethan lay in a bed big enough for three men, sheets softer than any he’d ever known, yet every time he closed his eyes he saw flames. His flames. Kaelith’s laughter in the smoke. Villagers screaming.

Unable to bear it, he rose and wandered the torchlit halls. Guards bowed as he passed. Marble lions stared from alcoves. He felt like an imposter in someone else’s legend.

Through a half-open door, he saw Maya at her desk, hair unbound, candle burning low. Her journal sprawled open, crammed with sharp lines of script.

“You’re awake too,” Ethan murmured.

She started slightly, then gestured him in. “I thought you’d be asleep. You looked… wrecked after Wolfbreach.”

“Wrecked’s about right.” He dropped into the chair across from her, eyeing the journal. “Still writing?”

“Always. Helps me think. Helps me pretend this all makes sense.”

They sat for a time in silence, the distant heartbeat of the city muffled by marble walls. Then Ethan spoke, awkward as ever. “Back home… I wasn’t anyone. Just a guy with a job that didn’t matter. Friends who stopped calling. Nobody expecting anything. Now—” He gestured vaguely. “Now I’m a hero.”

Maya studied him. “That’s what makes you dangerous to them.”

He blinked. “What?”

“The king. The Magi. You don’t want this. You don’t fit their story. That makes you unpredictable.”

Ethan barked a humorless laugh. “Guess I scare myself too.”

“And me,” she said softly, then added, “Not in a bad way. Just… when you burned the field, I thought you’d consume everything. Including me. But you didn’t. You held on.”

He looked at her, surprised. “And you stopped time. Saved me. Twice, probably.”

Her lips curved faintly. “So we’re even.”

She closed the journal, resting her fingers on the cover. “Back home, I wasn’t special either. Just a girl drowning in student loans, working under a boss who thought overtime was free labor. I studied history. Loved it. Dreamed of teaching. Instead, I scraped by, hollowed out. So I wrote.” She tapped the journal. “Fragments of worlds. I think I was always searching for an escape. And now I’ve found one. But even here, I don’t belong.”

Ethan’s chest tightened. “You do belong. More than you think. You’re not just escaping—you’re recording this place, making sense of it. Claiming it.”

She blinked, caught off guard. “You think so?”

“Yeah. Besides, if you didn’t belong, you wouldn’t have stopped time itself to save me.”

That won a real laugh, tired but genuine.

After a silence, Ethan leaned forward. “Maya… whatever the king or the Magi want to make of us, let’s promise something.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What?”

“That we don’t lose ourselves. That we look out for each other.”

She studied him, then extended her hand. “A pact, then. Not magical. Just us.”

He clasped her hand. Firm, grounding. And for the first time since Wolfbreach, Ethan slept without fire.