⚔️ **CHAPTER 37 — The Crown's Wrath**
The Council pressed forward with precision, every strike measured, every movement coordinated. Kael and Caelin moved as one, sidestepping and parrying, but the forest offered no advantage this time—the trees were sparse here, the mist thinner, leaving them exposed.
Kael's chest heaved as the nightmares stirred faintly at the edges of his mind, remnants of fear trying to exploit the chaos. Faces from burning villages flickered for an instant in his vision, attempting to twist his focus—but he pushed them back, tethering his awareness to Caelin. Step by step, movement by movement, they adapted to the assault.
One of the Council warriors lunged directly at Kael. He parried, but the strike forced him to stumble back. The second presence inside him surged, urging caution. *Not reckless. Precision, not force.*
Caelin intercepted the next blow, knocking a warrior aside and spinning gracefully into Kael's path. "Step together!" he shouted. "Use the rhythm of the attack—predict, don't react!"
Kael adjusted, synchronizing his movements with Caelin's, feeling the strength of their bond. The mental resistance he had honed through nights of nightmares now served as armor; fear no longer dictated his actions. His mind was sharp, focused, fully aware of every strike, every feint.
But the Council was relentless. Another wave of soldiers encircled them, forcing Kael to make split-second decisions. One misstep and both could be overwhelmed.
Then hunger hit—sharp, sudden—a gnawing reminder of days without food, a pull at his focus. The second presence warned him. *Do not let it cloud your mind. The forest, the nightmares, the hunger—they will use every weakness.*
Kael exhaled, steadying himself. *Step by step. Together.*
He feinted left, drawing a warrior forward, then pivoted right to knock the attacker into another soldier. Caelin followed fluidly, creating openings, each move feeding off the other's rhythm. The Council's formation wavered—briefly, but enough.
"You're stronger than the stories say," the commander barked, stepping forward. "But strength alone won't save you."
Kael gritted his teeth. "We don't rely on strength alone," he said, voice steady. "We rely on focus. And we survive. Together."
Another wave of attacks came. Kael and Caelin flowed through it, movement synchronized, reactions precise. For the first time, Kael felt a strange exhilaration—control in chaos, mastery over fear, partnership in battle. His nightmares still lurked, whispering faintly, but they no longer dominated him; he had learned to resist, to push back, to stay anchored in reality.
The Council commander's eyes narrowed in frustration. "So… this is what defiance looks like," he muttered.
Kaelin pressed forward, Kael matching him, forcing the attackers into retreat. Step by step, coordinated, unstoppable. They were a storm of rhythm and focus, not brute force.
But even as they gained the upper hand, Kael felt a shadow looming—not in the mind this time, but ahead. Something darker than the Council. A reminder that even with resistance, the consequences of his choices were far from over.
The mist swirled around them, patient, waiting. The Council paused, regrouping, wary now. Kael and Caelin stood side by side, swords ready, breath steady. The forest seemed to lean in, silent and observant, testing yet again the boy who had learned to resist nightmares—and the prince who had chosen to walk beside him.
Kael exhaled slowly. "We step forward… together."
Caelin nodded, eyes sharp. "Always."
And the Crown's wrath, relentless and patient, prepared to strike again.
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