A week had passed since the Ceremony. Seven days of silence. Seven days of empty halls and colder dinners. Seven days of manners and polite rejection.
Now, Fenix stood once more at the edge of the Western Forest.
But this time, he would not be returning.
The air was cool, heavy with the scent of wet moss and old leaves. The trees towered above them like sentinels carved from the very bones of time. And in front of them stood the same boy—no longer dressed in ritual, no longer surrounded by incense and the gaze of nobles.
Just himself. And the unknown.
An equally sizable gathering had come to bid him farewell—smaller, possibly, and colder. A few nobles stood at a distance, observing with the stiff expressions of individuals who craved formality but not involvement. Some grumbled. Others said nothing whatsoever.
Fenix's father, King Lauren, stood beside him with an impenetrable expression, his hands clasped behind his back. His mouth was firm, but his eyes were filled with something else—regret, perhaps, or sorrow. His mother, Queen Regina, stood as straight as a sword, her face perfectly controlled. But her hands trembled a little, the only indication of what storm might have brewed beneath her mask of royal indifference.
Fenix wished he could hate them.
But he could not.
And that hurt more.
He lowered his eyes, instead choosing to gaze upon the burden he carried.
A leather water-skin at his belt. Small daggers hidden at his hips. A sack of dried bread and flint, worn books and worn memories. Little—but it was all he had.
He was already turning to go—his first step already lifting—when a voice tore through the courtyard.
"Young lord—wait!"
It was as though a memory had come to life.
Fenix whirled, eyes widening.
Down the path from the stables marched Cassius Valeria, scarlet cloak billowing behind him, red hair untamed and blazing in the sunlight. His breath came in ragged haste, boots ringing on the stones as if time itself were after him.
Gasps ran through the crowd.
Even Queen Regina's eyes opened slightly wider.
"Cassius?" Fenix's eyes flickered open. "What are you—? Weren't you with Solis in the North?"
Cassius stopped, his chest rising and falling. He nodded. "I was. I left five days ago."
"What—why?" Fenix insisted, the pain in his throat climbing.
Cassius offered a crooked smile. "Because your brother ordered me to."
Fenix's eyebrows contracted.
"Solis ordered me to return the moment he heard of the council's ruling," Cassius replied, his voice dropping now. "He believes you will return stronger—and that this exile is not the end. He asked me to make certain you had something. A chance."
Cassius offered two items from his arms.
A map, creased with travel and with secrecy.
And a letter, marked with Solis's royal crest.
Fenix stared at them for a heartbeat before reaching out. "He… wrote to me?"
"He did," Cassius said gently. "And he meant every word."
Fenix held the items to his chest, swallowing the rising tide inside him.
Then, with a reluctance that seemed to pain him to release it, he reached into his pocket once more and pulled out a small silver pendant—a phoenix in flight, its wings shaped in fine flame-like etchings. The chain was leather, worn but still intact.
"I've carried this with me since I was thirteen," he said to her. "Found it in the ruins east of Valenmoor. I kept it because it reminded me of someone."
Fenix tilted his head. "Who?"
"You," Cassius said, and pushed it into his hand. "Because no matter how many times they burn you, you always rise."
Fenix didn't speak—but his fingers closed around the pendant like it was the only truth he could hold onto.
"I wished I could come sooner," Cassius said, voice rough now. "But the council—"
"You're here," Fenix interrupted. "That's what matters."
A moment of silence past.
"I will survive." Fenix whispered.
Cassius nodded once. "I know."
And with that, Fenix turned.
He didn't look at the gathered nobles, nor the stiff-backed guards, nor even his own parents. He stepped forward, the trees drawing nearer with every footfall.
The shadows of the Western Forest welcomed him like a curtain falling after a final act.
And when he crossed the threshold, Fenix Meliora carried with him not just a satchel, not just weapons or rations but, a promise—and the quiet might of a bond that not even exile could sever.