Lucine paced outside the hermit's weathered hut.
Despite its worn facade, an unusual warmth radiated from withinâlike a hidden hearth beckoning him in. But he couldn't move. His thoughts were anchored by the AeroNews article folded in his pocket. Leaving Rougemonde had felt necessary. Urgent.
And yet... Charlotte.
A sharp pang of guilt, cold as ice, pierced his chest. He could still see her tear-streaked face. She had every right to hate himâthis shadow king who had stolen her birthright.
His mind drifted to Acortis. He remembered it vividly from a royal visit with King Regisâa kingdom vibrant with life and tradition.
And now... gone.
A twig snapped behind him, sharp and sudden.
Lucine spun, hand instinctively raised. A young woman emerged from the trees, cautious but armed. Her worn leathers bore the marks of countless journeys, and her dagger trembled in her grip.
"Don't move!" she barked, voice tight with panic.
She lunged.
Lucine sidestepped with ease, catching her blade mid-swing. Her eyes widenedâhe'd noticed her. She hadn't expected that.
"My apologies," she stammered, quickly letting the dagger fall. "I thought you were... a bandit."
Lucine's gaze narrowed. "And you are?"
"Nefeli," she murmured, barely audible.
"That's an Acortian name, isn't it?" he asked, his pulse quickening.
Then he saw it: faint embroidery on her tunicâa dancing leaf. The symbol of Acortis.
A choked sob escaped her lips. Before he could speak again, she turned and bolted, vanishing into the underbrush like smoke.
He hesitated only a second. He remembered reading an AeroNews article about a scandalâAcortis kidnapping Rougemonde youth. Was she connected?
He ran.
Branches whipped past as he tore through the forest. He caught a glimpse of her silhouette when a violent gust of wind surged from nowhere, lifting them both into the air.
"Please," she gasped, suspended mid-air, "I can'tâAcortisâ"
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The world blurredâleaves, sky, wind, spinning endlessly.
Lucine awoke on the hut's floor, the earthy scent of tea wrapping around him like a blanket.
"Awake at last," the hermit chuckled, holding a steaming mug.
"Nefeli..." Lucine murmured, disoriented. Then it struck him. Wild, but undeniable.
"We need to go to Acortis."
The hermit arched a brow. "Vanished, remember?"
"Exactly," Lucine replied, sitting up. "It vanished like smoke. So maybe... to find it, we have to follow the wind."
The hermit studied him, something like respect flickering in his gaze. "Interesting theory, Lucine."
Lucine still wasn't sure if he believed the hermit's claim to divinityâbut there was no denying the man knew things. Ancient things.
"Here," the hermit said, offering the mug. "Chamomile. You seem tense."
Lucine accepted it. "It's cold," he said out of habit.
The hermit's smile deepened. "Perhaps not as cold as you think."
Lucine frowned. The mug was warming in his hands, despite no fire in sight. The hermit gave a subtle nod, as if confirming something unspoken.
A chill ran down Lucine's spineâchased away by the tea's quiet warmth. Strange things always seemed to follow him. Or perhaps now, he was the one doing the following.
As the warmth settled in his chest, so did something else. A realization.
This wasn't just about his past anymore.
He was going to find a lost kingdom.
And it started with her.
***
Elsewhere, Nefeli's trembling fingers brushed a smooth tablet embedded in a cavern wall. Her ragged breaths echoed in the stillness, each one magnifying the thunder in her chest. Lucine's stunned expression still haunted herâthe way he'd looked at her before the escape. The wind dagger had saved her.
She reached for her pocket.
Empty.
"Damn it," she whispered, rifling through nothing. Panic surged. If he had the dagger... and if he unlocked what it held...
Acortis wasn't just lost. It was in danger.
Across the clearing, Lucine stared at the dagger now resting in his palmâretrieved effortlessly by the hermit. Its surface pulsed with warmth, out of place in the morning chill.
"Think of the tea," the hermit said, eyes glinting.
Lucine blinked. "What?"
"The tea. Warmth without fire. Just... focus."
He remembered the chamomileâits warmth, how it spread through him like a quiet fire. As if summoned by memory, a jolt lanced through his palm.
The dagger flared.
Flames curled along its bladeâfierce, yet harmless. They didn't burn. They danced. They obeyed.
Lucine stared in awe.
"The wind dagger you hold," the hermit intoned, "is potentâbut it's only a whisper of divinity. An echo. You are the source of the sound."
Lucine frowned. The flames responded to thought. But thenâsomething shifted. They writhed violently, sputtering as if resisting him. A gust of wind surged around them, invisible but furious.
The hermit's smile sharpened.
"Good," he said. "Don't let the wind win. Grip it like a rope. You're not drifting anymoreâyou're guiding."
Before Lucine could respond, the hermit leapt onto his back.
"Time to follow the flame, rider."
The world became a roaring tunnelâfire, wind, light. Lucine was no longer a leaf tossed by the storm. He was holding the reins.
Then it stopped.
They landed hard before a deep rift in the earth. The dagger, now inert, lay beside him.
Lucine staggered uprightâjust in time to see Nefeli.
She stood across from him, dagger in hand. Tears streaked her face, but fury lit her eyesâeyes glowing with the same green shimmer as the blade. A small cyclone whirled around her, hurling leaves and debris.
Lucine braced himself as the wind struck, tearing at his coat.
"Enough!" he shouted, struggling to stay upright.
Up in a nearby tree, the hermit lounged like a cat, effortlessly dodging the storm.
"Well," he called down, maddeningly casual, "let's see what you're made of, Lucine!"
Lucine's fists clenched. No help. Of course.
But he wasn't backing down. Not now.
He locked eyes with Nefeli. Whatever secret she guarded, whatever pain she carriedâhe'd face it.
The wind shrieked.
Lucine didn't flinch.