The sunlight bathed the village square in a soft golden hue, but Saria hardly noticed it. She stood quietly beside Virelle, her eyes fixed not on the platform, but on the young man standing among the ragtag militia — Kael. He looked bored, almost out of place, his arms crossed as he leaned subtly away from Jorran's overbearing presence.
Saria's thoughts, however, were far from bored.
She had grown up being told that the nobility of Virela were chosen — anointed by divine will to lead, rule, and guard the world from chaos. Her family, as a baronial offshoot, barely skimmed the edge of that exalted class. And yet, even that distant connection to power was a badge of pride, the kind of status that shaped one's entire identity.
But Kael?
He wasn't just nobility. He was royalty.
Not the watered-down kind that came from half-blood claims or forged decrees — but the real kind. The kind that bore the flame of a kingdom in their blood, the weight of nations in their name. A dragon in exile.
And yet… he didn't walk like one. He didn't speak with the haughtiness of a crown-bearer. No arrogance. No entitlement. Only quiet defiance — and behind that, a sadness that clung to his aura like mist.
And Saria… was fascinated.
She felt no shame in her lower status. No intimidation. In fact, she felt special — that she, of all people, had known Kael before the rest of the world uncovered the truth. That she had seen him when he was just Kael, and not the storm waiting to be reborn.
She felt a strange sort of pride in simply standing here. Watching him.
"They'll all see," she thought. "They'll all see who he is, someday. But I already know."
Meanwhile, on the platform, Sir Walter Grefen's voice droned on. Kael could barely register the speech. The village head — all pomp and no point — was talking about unity, effort, and "sustained growth." Kael's jaw clenched with each sanctimonious sentence.
Success?
Is that what they call this place? Success?
If this is success, then what did failure look like?
Eventually, Sir Walter stepped aside, making room for Sir Raleigh — a man Kael had seen only once before, during that strange encounter at the village path. The mage moved with composed authority, his robes swaying as if acknowledging the weight of his words even before he spoke them.
Kael straightened, just slightly. Not out of respect — but curiosity.
Sir Raleigh's voice cut through the murmurs with a measured cadence. "Citizens of Thornmere. We live in an age of strange power. Magic flows freely through the land, as abundant and as dangerous as wildfire. We must not let it consume us."
Kael's eyes narrowed. Here it comes.
"In the wrong hands," Raleigh continued, "magic can turn peaceful hamlets into ash. It can enslave the soul, or unmake the body. It is not a toy. Not a tool. It is a force. And only those trained and sanctioned by the proper authorities should dare to wield it."
Kael felt a twitch in his fingers.
So that's what this is… a warning? A leash dressed in gold?
Sir Raleigh's gaze seemed to sweep across the crowd — and linger for just a heartbeat longer when it passed Kael.
"And for this reason," he added, "all magical items discovered without registry or license are to be reported to the Town Hall. Any citizen found tampering with such objects will be held accountable under the law."
Jorran muttered something under his breath — a grumble of approval, probably. Kael ignored him.
He was too busy replaying the words in his head.
Not a toy.
Not a tool.
Only in the right hands.
Kael looked down at his own hands. Small. Scarred. Trembling slightly.
What would they say if they knew what pulsed in his veins?
What would they do… if they knew what was already waking up?
Whatever trust Sir Raleigh hoped to build with his careful words — Kael wasn't buying it.
---
Sir Raleigh's voice fell silent after his final proclamation, but the words still echoed like war drums in Kael's ears.
> "A thousand peasant Copper coins... for reporting a rogue magic practitioner."
The silence lasted only seconds. Then the crowd erupted.
Excited gasps. Greedy murmurs. Elbows jostling elbows as villagers turned to one another, eyes glittering with the raw heat of opportunity. Some laughed with glee. Others whispered feverishly, scanning their neighbors like wolves hunting for prey. Suspicion — and greed — had just been sown like seeds into dry soil, and Kael could already see how fast they would grow.
He stood stiffly beside the militia, his face neutral — but inwardly, a fire had begun to simmer.
> This changes everything.
He clenched his fists.
A thousand peasant Copper wasn't just a reward. It was a ticket — out of poverty, out of hardship, out of obscurity. For most villagers, it was more than they could hope to see in five years. And now all they had to do was betray someone.
Kael's gaze flicked toward Sir Raleigh, who stood tall, composed, every inch the man of law. But Kael could sense something darker behind those calculating eyes — a test, perhaps. A purge, dressed in policy. No doubt designed to flush out secrets... like Virelle's.
> Damn it, Kael thought. If someone even catches a glimpse of her workshop...
She had runes, relics, scrolls, enchanted fragments, half-formed staves — enough to get herself executed, not just judged.
He shot a quick glance to Virelle, who was still standing quietly with Saria near the back of the square. Her expression was unreadable. That alone unsettled him. Virelle was usually five steps ahead of the game — but this new policy might have caught even her off guard.
> We can't let anyone find out, Kael thought grimly. Not about her. Not about me.
Because it wasn't just the magic items.
It was who they were.
> Virelle — once a royal rune master, sworn to Queen Alirien.
Kael — the exiled heir of a shattered kingdom.
If anyone learned the truth, it wouldn't just be bounty hunters coming for them. It would be the Kingdom itself.
And then there was Saria.
Kael's thoughts turned to her — how she'd looked at him lately, eyes full of some kind of hidden reverence. She knew, and yet she hadn't spoken a word. He wanted to believe she wouldn't. That she was different. But after that speech... after that reward...
He wasn't so sure anymore.
> What happens when someone offers her a thousand Copper to speak?
Would she still be silent then?
The social hierarchy of Virela had always been merciless. Kael had lived it firsthand — the brutal difference between having and lacking. And now, that same system had turned its gaze toward magic like a predator scenting blood.
He remembered the structure well — as told to him by Virelle and also by books he had read.
Peasants clawing to survive.
Commoners struggling to rise.
Nobles fighting to dominate.
Royals ruling like gods.
And every step up required coin. Now, magic had been turned into currency — betrayal into social mobility.
Sir Raleigh raised one final hand, calming the crowd. "We do this not to inspire fear," he lied smoothly. "But to maintain peace. May the gods watch over Thornmere."
Kael's teeth clenched as polite applause followed.
> Peace, he thought. No. This isn't peace. It's a quiet war.
And from now on, he and Virelle were in enemy territory.
As the crowd began to disperse, villagers buzzing with excitement and suspicion, Kael silently turned toward the militia barracks, heart pounding with the knowledge of what came next.
There would be no more leniency. No more safety in silence.
From this moment forward, every secret was a sword at their throat.