The proclamation arrived wrapped in blood-red wax.
Imperial couriers did not enter the Ashlands.
They nailed it to the ruins at the border and fled.
Lira tore it down and brought it to me.
I already knew what it would say.
But knowing did not make it lighter.
I read it once.
Then again.
By decree of the Crown Regent and the Imperial Council:Kael Viremont is declared an Enemy of the Realm.Any who shelter, aid, or follow him shall share his fate.All forces are authorized to destroy him without trial.
No more titles.
No more accusations.
No more lies dressed as law.
Just a single truth:
I was no longer a man.
I was a target.
"They've erased you from the empire," Joren said quietly.
"No," I replied. "They've admitted what I am."
Seraphine stood behind me, her brother resting against a stone wall nearby. His face was pale, but he was alive.
For now.
"They won't stop," she said. "Not after yesterday."
"I know."
She studied the proclamation.
"They're not just hunting you anymore," she said. "They're hunting everyone who believes in you."
The Ashlands was changing.
Where once there had been scattered outcasts, now there were banners—black cloth marked with a single symbol.
A broken crown.
My symbol.
People were arriving from burned towns. From ruined villages. From places that no longer existed.
They didn't come for safety.
They came for defiance.
And defiance draws blood.
I walked the edge of the camp as night fell.
Fires burned low. Voices whispered.
I could feel their eyes on me.
Not fear.
Expectation.
Seraphine followed.
"Your name is spreading," she said. "In the cities. In the borderlands. In places the empire pretends don't matter."
"What are they saying?"
"That you stood against a legion and didn't fall," she said. "That you broke their cages. That you chose war over mercy."
I stopped walking.
"That last part… isn't wrong."
She stepped closer.
"They're calling you something else now."
I looked at her.
"Not just the Rebel King," she said. "They're calling you a storm."
A storm does not negotiate.
A storm does not ask.
A storm destroys what stands in its way.
Her eyes searched mine.
"Is that who you're becoming?"
I was silent for a moment.
Then I said, "I'm becoming what they forced me to be."
She didn't look away.
"They will take more hostages," she said. "More families. More cities. They will keep using lives to control us."
I knew.
That was their greatest weapon.
And I was done letting it work.
We reached a stone platform overlooking the camp.
Below us, rebels trained with borrowed weapons. Healers moved between the wounded. Children slept in the shadows of broken walls.
People who believed in me.
People who would die if I failed.
"I won't let them use the innocent against us anymore," I said.
She frowned slightly.
"What does that mean?"
"It means I stop fighting the empire the way it expects," I said. "I stop defending only. I stop waiting for them to strike first."
She studied me carefully.
"You're talking about offense."
"I'm talking about removing their ability to threaten us."
Her breath stilled.
"That kind of war… changes people."
"So does watching your world burn while you hesitate."
She looked toward her brother.
Toward the refugees.
Toward the wounded.
"I don't want to lose you to this," she said softly.
I turned to her.
"You won't," I said. "Because I'm not doing this for power."
I placed my hand over hers.
"I'm doing it so that no one ever again has to kneel to live."
She swallowed.
"And what if the only way to protect them… is to become what they fear?"
I met her eyes.
"Then I will carry that weight," I said. "So they don't have to."
The next morning, I gathered the leaders.
Lira.
Joren.
The commanders who had survived the assault.
"They're regrouping," Lira said. "Another army will come."
"Not if they can't move," I replied.
I spread a map across the stone table.
Imperial routes.
Supply chains.
Shadow Guard strongholds.
"This is where their control begins," I said. "Their food. Their weapons. Their messengers."
Joren's eyes widened.
"You're not talking about raids."
"No," I said. "I'm talking about cutting out the heart of their war machine."
Silence fell.
"This will not look like defense," Lira said. "It will look like conquest."
"No," I replied. "It will look like survival."
I lifted my gaze.
"They call me an enemy of the realm," I said. "So I will become the enemy they cannot contain."
Outside, the wind moved through broken stone.
I could feel it.
The story changing.
From rebellion…
To war.
That night, Seraphine stood with me beneath the stars.
"You're about to cross another line," she said.
"Yes."
"And once you do… you won't just be hunted."
I met her eyes.
"I'll be remembered."
She reached for my hand.
Then rested her head against my shoulder.
"Then let them remember you," she whispered. "Not as a monster… but as the man who refused to let the world decide who was allowed to exist."
In the distance, fires burned across the Ashlands.
Not as signs of fear.
But as beacons.
People were coming.
Stories were spreading.
And somewhere in the heart of the empire…
They were already whispering my name.
Not as prince.
Not as traitor.
But as something far more dangerous.
A legend.
The Rebel King.