Chapter 3 Truly look.

The princes did not stay long. Their collective presence was a pressure Aelric’s new, fragile psyche couldn't withstand. After a few more minutes of stilted, careful conversation—mostly between Solian and Lyren, with Eryndor offering silent, observant glances—they took their leave. Solian was the last to go, his golden eyes lingering on Aelric with a mix of curiosity and something unreadable.

“Rest, Aelric,” he’d said, his voice a soft command. “We will speak again soon.”

The door clicked shut, and the silence that followed was both a relief and a new kind of torment. Aelric was alone, truly alone, for the first time since… since the end.

He pushed back the silk covers and swung his legs over the side of the bed. The marble floor was cool beneath his bare feet. He stood, his legs trembling not from weakness, but from the sheer, disorienting strangeness of it all. He walked to the full-length, gilded mirror, his movements slow, deliberate.

The stranger stared back. Silver-blond hair, messy from sleep. Eyes of a startling, crystalline blue that held a depth of confusion and grief they had no right to hold. The face was young, perhaps sixteen or seventeen, with high cheekbones and a soft mouth. It was a face born for royalty, for ease and privilege. It felt like a costume.

I’m wearing a dead boy’s face.

The thought was a cold shard in his gut. This body, Aelric Vaelthorn, had existed before he’d tumbled into it. It had a family, a life, friends. It had fallen down a staircase. Had that boy died? Had Riven’s soul, fleeing the nuclear fire of his old world, simply… taken up residence in a vacant vessel? Or was this some grotesque fusion?

He raised a hand, and the boy in the mirror did the same. The movement was his, the will was his, but the flesh was not.

“A healer who wields dark magic,” he whispered to his reflection. Solian’s words echoed. Unique. A polite term for ‘abomination’ in a world of light and fire?

A soft knock at the door broke his morbid reverie. Before he could answer, it opened to reveal his sister—Hori. No, not Hori. He had to stop thinking of her that way. The girl who entered had his sister’s spirit in her eyes, the same fierce loyalty, but her name was different here.

“Aelric? You shouldn’t be up,” she chided, her voice a familiar blend of concern and bossiness. She was carrying a tray with a bowl of steaming broth and a hunk of fresh bread.

“I’m fine,” he said, the lie automatic. He needed to be fine. He needed to understand.

She set the tray on a small table by the window. “Mother and Father have been summoned to the Grand Conclave. A border dispute with the Ashen Wastes. They didn’t want to leave you, but…”

“It’s their duty. I understand.” The words felt right, the response of a prince who knew the weight of responsibility.

She studied him, her head tilted. “You’re different.”

His heart stuttered. “I… I took a bad hit to the head.”

“It’s more than that,” she insisted, stepping closer. “You look at me like you’re seeing a ghost. And you called me…” She trailed off, her brow furrowed. “When you first woke up, you called me ‘Hori’.”

Aelric’s blood ran cold. He had no memory of that. The panic must have been plain on his face, because her expression softened.

“It’s alright,” she said quietly. “The physician said your memories might be tangled. But I’m not Hori, Aelric. I’m Lyra. Your sister.” She said it with a gentle firmness, an anchor thrown into his stormy sea. “Lyra Vaelthorn.”

Lyra. The name from the game. The sorcerer his sister was going to play. The coincidence was too perfect, too cruel. It couldn’t be a coincidence.

“Lyra,” he repeated, testing the name. It felt foreign, but right. A piece of the puzzle clicking into a terrifying picture.

She smiled, a genuine, relieved smile. “There. See? You’ll remember everything in time.” She gestured to the tray. “Eat. Then… maybe you’d like to see the gardens? Some fresh air might do you good. Better than staring at these four walls.”

The thought of going outside, of facing this new world head-on, was terrifying. But it was also necessary. He couldn’t hide in this room forever.

“Yes,” he said, finding a sliver of his old resolve. Riven’s resolve. “I’d like that.”

An hour later, bathed and dressed in clothes that were both impossibly fine and strangely comfortable—soft linen trousers, a tunic of dark blue velvet, and supple leather boots—Aelric followed Lyra through the palace corridors. The sheer scale of it was breathtaking. Vaulted ceilings soared overhead, adorned with murals depicting battles and magical beasts. Sunlight streamed through stained-glass windows, casting pools of jeweled light on the polished floors. Guards in gleaming armor stood at attention, bowing their heads as the two princes passed.

It was all so vivid, so real. The smell of polished stone and blooming flowers from the gardens, the distant sound of a lute from some unseen minstrel. This was no hazy dream.

They stepped out into a courtyard, a manicured paradise of flowering bushes, bubbling fountains, and ancient, twisting trees. The air was warm and sweet. Aelric breathed it in, trying to calm the frantic beat of his heart.

“See?” Lyra said, gesturing around them. “The world didn’t end while you were sleeping.”

You have no idea, he thought.

They walked in silence for a while, following a path of white gravel. Aelric’s mind was racing, trying to map the game he’d barely glimpsed onto this living, breathing world. Prince Kaelen, the stoic one. Was he here? In the Ardentis Dominion? His… home.

As if summoned by his thoughts, a figure emerged from behind a hedge of crimson roses.

He was taller than Solian, with a warrior’s build that his own elegant clothes couldn’t conceal. His hair was the color of dark embers, and his eyes, a burning amber, fixed on Aelric with an intensity that was almost physical. This was not the playful scrutiny of Solian or the calm assessment of Lyren. This was a gaze that stripped away pretense, looking for the truth beneath.

“Prince Kael,” Lyra said, dipping into a respectful curtsy. Her demeanor shifted, becoming more formal, more guarded.

Kael Ardentis gave a curt nod in her direction, but his attention never wavered from Aelric. “Lyra. Leave us.”

It wasn’t a request. It was a command, delivered in a low, resonant voice that brooked no argument. Lyra glanced at Aelric, a question in her eyes. Aelric gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod. He needed to do this. He needed to face this first prince of his new home.

Once they were alone, Kael closed the distance between them. He didn’t speak immediately, instead looking Aelric up and down, his jaw tight.

“They said you were awake,” he began, his voice quieter now, but no less intense. “They said you took a fall. They didn’t say it had stolen the light from your eyes.”

Aelric said nothing. What could he say?

Kael’s gaze was searching, probing. “You don’t remember me.”

It was a statement, flat and final. Aelric could only shake his head, a helpless gesture.

To his surprise, Kael didn’t seem angry or offended. A shadow of something else—concern, perhaps—crossed his stern features. He stepped closer, so close Aelric could feel the heat radiating from him, a tangible warmth like standing near a banked forge.

“Look at me, Aelric,” Kael said, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. “Truly look.”

Aelric met his burning amber eyes. He saw not just prince and warrior, but a young man burdened by duty. He saw a fierce, protective loyalty. And in that moment, a flicker of a memory that wasn’t his own surfaced—a younger Kael, standing between a smaller Aelric and a group of taunting noble children, his small fists clenched.

“You… you were there,” Aelric breathed, the words torn from him. “When the others… you told them to leave me alone.”

Kael’s stern expression fractured. For a single, unguarded moment, raw emotion shone in his eyes. Relief. “So, not everything is lost.” He reached out, his movements deliberate, and his fingers brushed a stray strand of silver hair from Aelric’s forehead. The touch was surprisingly gentle, but it sent a jolt through Aelric’s system. It was warm, electric, and utterly confusing.

“I don’t know what happened to you in that fall,” Kael murmured, his hand lingering for a moment before falling back to his side. “But it doesn’t matter. You are Aelric Vaelthorn, Prince of Ardentis. Your magic is a part of you, no matter its shade. And I…” He paused, his intense gaze holding Aelric’s. “I am here. I have always been here. Do you understand?”

The promise in those words was absolute. It was a vow. A shield offered without condition.

Aelric could only nod, his throat too tight for words. This was Kael Ardentis. The first to fall in love. And in the storm of his new existence, his steadfast presence felt less like a romance and more like a lifeline.

As Kael turned to leave, his final glance was a silent pledge that settled deep in Aelric’s soul. In a world of blinding light and enigmatic princes, the quiet, burning strength of the heir of fire was the first thing that felt solid, the first thing that felt real.

And Aelric knew, with a terrifying certainty, that his journey to understand this boy, this prince, this world, and the dark magic humming just beneath his own skin, had only just begun.