The snow still clung to the charred ruins of Greymoor when Cael walked its streets.
What had once been a thriving village now bore scars of fire. Blackened timbers jutted like broken bones. Smoke still curled from ash heaps. Yet amid the ruin, life stirred. Men cleared rubble. Women rebuilt roofs. Children carried buckets of snow to quench smoldering embers.
They did not weep. They did not kneel. They worked.
And when Cael passed, they lifted their heads. Their eyes followed him—not with fear, but with something fiercer.
Hope.
---
The Heir They Would Follow
At the square where Garrick had fallen, the villagers gathered. The old woman who had spat at Garrick’s feet stood at the front, her hands still trembling but her voice strong.
“You came when no one else would,” she said, starin
