Kingdom of Ash and Deciet

The Name in Red

The wind cut sharp as Kael and Lira rode out at dawn, cloaked in drab traveling clothes and hooded against recognition. The map Cassian had given them was etched into Kael’s memory now—one name, circled in red ink, still burned behind his eyes.

Thorne Dariel.

A former captain of the royal guard. One of the last to stand with Kael before the Burning Wall.

“If he’s alive,” Lira said as they crossed the outer hills, “why hasn’t he surfaced?”

Kael kept his gaze forward. “Because he’s smarter than we are.”

She gave him a side glance. “And yet you’re the one marching back into a kingdom that wants your head mounted on a pike.”

Kael gave a half-smile. “Because I don’t plan on leaving it behind.”

They rode in silence for a while, the dirt path winding through frost-touched trees and quiet fields. The air smelled of ash and damp earth—this close to Ashmere, the land still remembered fire.

Lira’s hand drifted to her side, where a shallow cut still ached from the fight days ago. “You think Thorne will help us?”

“He was loyal,” Kael said. “To the crown. Not the serpent that sits on it now.”

The small town of Brairwick came into view by midday—no more than a cluster of stone homes, a tavern, and a chapel half-collapsed with ivy. According to the scroll, Thorne had been seen here weeks ago, under the name "Tomas Reeve."

Kael dismounted first, scanning the area with a soldier’s precision. Lira tied her horse beside his and pulled up her hood.

The tavern smelled of stale bread, ale, and unspoken fear. Patrons looked up when the door opened, but none lingered. Eyes went back to their drinks. Voices dropped lower.

It was a place of silence. Of people who didn’t ask questions anymore.

Kael approached the barkeep, a man with a lopsided beard and a faded brand on his wrist.

“We’re looking for Tomas,” Kael said flatly.

The barkeep didn’t blink. “No one here by that name.”

Kael slid a silver coin across the counter. “He left something behind. I intend to return it.”

The barkeep looked down at the coin, then back up. “Try the stables. East edge of town. Old man sweeps hay for coin.”

Kael nodded once.

They found him behind the stable, shirtless despite the chill, hauling buckets of water. His back was scarred in long, deliberate slashes—marks from a lash used with hatred.

He looked up when they approached, and for a moment, time fractured.

Lira saw the way Kael’s breath caught. The recognition. The pain.

“Thorne,” Kael said quietly.

The man didn’t speak. He stared at Kael as if he were a ghost. “You’re dead.”

Kael shrugged. “Not the first time I’ve heard that.”

“You… I saw you fall. The Wall—”

“I got up.”

Thorne looked to Lira, eyes narrowing. “And her?”

“An ally,” Kael said. “And someone with just as much to lose.”

Thorne didn’t ask for proof. He just stared, then finally motioned them inside a small storage hut.

When the door closed behind them, the air felt heavier.

“I told myself if I ever saw you again,” Thorne said, voice low, “I’d put a knife in your heart.”

Kael didn’t flinch. “Get in line.”

Lira stepped between them. “We’re not here to argue about the past. We need your help.”

Thorne laughed bitterly. “Help? You think people like us have anything left to give?”

Kael’s voice hardened. “Alric’s preparing to open the Well. He’s bleeding the kingdom dry—purging every name tied to the old blood. If you stay hidden, you die anyway.”

“And if I don’t?” Thorne challenged.

Kael held his gaze. “Then we burn the serpent off the throne.”

Thorne stared at him, the war still raging behind his eyes.

Then he nodded once.

“Then let’s begin.”