The sounds of a world waking up filtered through the canvas of the tent. Birds wove melodies through the trees, children’s laughter peeled through the air, and someone nearby hummed a gentle, unfamiliar tune.

Paitelia’s head peeked through the flap. “Are you both awake?”

“We are,” Cassius replied, his voice tight. He hadn’t stopped moving since dawn, pacing the worn earth of the tent floor until he’d nearly carved a trench in it. He mumbled to himself—fragments of a speech, names, promises.

I sat on my bedroll, my hands clasped in my lap, watching the caged king.

“Are you ready to greet them?” Paitelia asked, her gaze analytical as she studied Cassius.

He finally stilled, his shoulders rising and falling with a single, profound breath. “I am.”

“Excellent,” she said, her smile warming. “I will begin gathering everyone. I’ll give you two a moment.”

“Thank you, Paitelia,” he said, his focus already distant. As she left, his eyes found mine. He offered his hand.

I took it, the calluses on his palm a familiar comfort as he pulled me to my feet. “How are you?” I asked softly.

“A lifetime of impatience crests today,” he admitted, his gaze sweeping over my face as if to memorize it.

I moved toward the entrance, my fingers curling around the thick cloth. I had to see. But as I drew the flap back a hair, Cassius was suddenly behind me, his body a warm shield at my back.

“Patience, Thalia,” he murmured into my hair. I tilted my head back to find him gazing down at me, a hint of his old playfulness in his eyes. “Soon.”

“Alright,” I sighed, letting the flap fall shut. I turned to face him, the small space between us humming with energy.

A knowing smirk touched his lips. “And they say a queen must be patient.”

A bubble of excited laughter rose in my chest. “I suppose they do. I’m just… eager. For them. They can finally have their king back.”

His expression softened, the weight of centuries settling back into his eyes. “We have endured so much to stand here,” he said, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “And I only stand here because of you.”

Before I could find the words to reply, Paitelia’s voice rang out, clear and commanding. “Everyone, gather in the main clearing!”

A restless murmur rippled through the camp. “What is happening?” one elf asked. Another’s voice, sharp with anxiety, cut through the noise. “Is there danger?”

“Peace, everyone!” Paitelia’s voice was an anchor in a sea of unease. “This is a day for celebration, not fear. We are about to receive a gift we have awaited for a very, very long time.”

“What is it?” a child cried out.

“I will let them tell you,” she answered.

As if on cue, Cassius swept back the tent flap. Blinding sunlight flooded the dim interior, casting him in a brilliant, regal silhouette. I followed in his wake, my heart hammering against my ribs.

A shattering silence fell over the crowd. As my eyes adjusted, I took in the scene. A hundred stories unfolded in a single, frozen moment. An old woman’s knitting basket tumbled from her lap, spilling yarn across the dirt. A warrior’s hand drifted to the hilt of his sword, not in aggression, but in pure, reflexive shock. Jaws hung agape. Tears began to trace clean paths down weathered, elven cheeks. The youngest children, utterly bewildered, tugged on their parents’ tunics, whispering, “Who is he?”

Then, a name, breathed from the lips of an elder. A ghost of a whisper. “Cassius.”

The name spread like fire through dry grass—a gasp, a sob, a cry. “King Cassius!” In a single, fluid motion, the entire congregation of elves sank into deep, reverent bows.

But one small child, untouched by the weight of history, remained standing. He stepped forward, his curiosity overriding his parents’ frantic whispers. “King?” he asked, his voice ringing clearly in the profound quiet.

“Elian, no!” a woman, presumably his mother, hissed, lunging to pull him back.

Cassius held up a hand, a gesture of gentle authority. “It is alright.”

The boy, Elian, stood proudly before him, his small back straight as an arrow. He craned his neck to look up at the towering figure. “Are you really him? Are you King Cassius, from Mama and Papa’s stories?”

A smile, the first truly unguarded one I had seen from him, touched Cassius’s lips. He knelt, placing one knee on the damp earth to meet the boy at eye level. “I am,” he said, his voice warm with an emotion that went beyond kingship. “And I am very glad to finally meet you.”

The boy giggled. “Me too! Does this mean we get to go home now?”

I held my breath. The question, so innocent and yet so profound, hung in the air, capturing the silent plea of every elf present.

The smile on Cassius’s face became radiant. “Yes, Elian. We can finally go back to Aelindoria.”

The boy beamed and gave a surprisingly formal bow. “Thank you, King Cassius,” he chirped, before spinning and dashing back into his mother’s embrace.

As Cassius rose, his gaze swept over his people, finally landing on an elf with striking blonde hair and piercing green eyes who was pushing his way to the front.

“I am sorry I was gone for so long,” Cassius announced, his voice ringing with renewed strength. “But I have returned! And if you will have me, I am ready to lead you home!”

A unified, joyous roar erupted from the elves. Paitelia stepped forward, her face a mask of pure, unadulterated triumph. “Tonight, we celebrate! For the first time in centuries, we celebrate with our king!”

Amid the cheers and relieved cries, I felt invisible, a shadow at the edge of their sun. The blonde elf finally reached the front, stopping a few feet from Cassius, looking as though he’d seen a ghost from the past.

“Vorian,” Cassius breathed, the name thick with emotion as he closed the distance.

“My king,” the elf choked out, his composure finally breaking. “I knew you would return.”

“And I knew you lived,” Cassius replied, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “I found the note you left.”

So this was Vorian. Cassius’s other friend. As the elves surged forward to surround their king, I instinctively took a step back, melting into the periphery.

Suddenly, a chill unrelated to the morning air prickled my skin. The fine hairs on my arms stood on end. I felt it before I saw anything—the unmistakable weight of a scrutinizing gaze. My breath hitched. I scanned the celebrating crowd, but every eye was on Cassius. Then I saw it. In the deep shadows between two tents, a figure detached itself like a drop of ink bleeding into the night and was gone. An elf, too far and too quick to see clearly.

An unsettling feeling coiled in my gut. Not now, I told myself, forcing the image away. This is his moment.

My gaze returned to Cassius. He was beaming, his face more alive than I had ever seen it. His people adored him. The campsite was a symphony of laughter and song, a sound of hope reborn. I took a hesitant step forward, wanting to share in their joy, but my feet felt rooted to the spot. My hand drifted to my ear, my fingers tracing the rounded human curve. The venom in Paitelia’s voice from our first meeting echoed in my mind, a wall of ice between me and them.

This was their moment. Not mine.

Taking a final step back, I pulled the hood of my cloak up, letting the shadows reclaim me. As I did, a pulse of multicolored light from my pocket caught my eye. My heart leaped into my throat. I fished the smooth, cool orb from its pouch. It was flashing urgently.

Amelia? Already? What’s wrong?

A quick glance confirmed that the celebration was still in full force, every back turned to me. Seizing the chance, I slipped back inside the empty tent. In the sudden, muffled quiet, I accepted the call.

Amelia’s shimmering figure materialized above the orb. Her image flickered with a frantic energy. Her expression was grim, her brow furrowed, and her jaw clenched so tight I could see the muscles straining. The sight sent a spike of pure dread through me.

“Amelia, what is it? What’s wrong?”