The weight of the secret was heavier than any armor I had ever worn.
I stood alone in the back of the cavern, staring at my reflection in a pool of stagnant water. I didn't see a knight of the Academy anymore. I didn't see a blacksmith's apprentice. I saw a ghost of a lineage that was supposed to be dead.
"You're overthinking it," Lucian's voice echoed against the stone.
He didn't look at me as he sharpened his blade. He never did when he was about to say something true. "The blood in your veins doesn't care about your titles. It only cares about survival."
"It's not just survival anymore, Lucian," I replied, my voice rasping. "If Merlik is right, I am a walking declaration of war. Every breath I take is a threat to those two crowns."
Lucian stopped the whetstone. The silence was absolute. "Then give them a reason to be afraid."
Merlik emerged from the shadows, leaning heavily on his spear. He looked at both of us—the two brothers, the two halves of a broken truth.
"The Crown believes that by erasing the name, they erased the right," Merlik said, his clouded eye fixed on the distance. "But history isn't written on paper, Draven. It's written in the marrow. And yours is screaming."
He stepped closer, his presence grounding the chaotic energy in the room. "The Minister thinks he owns the narrative. He thinks he can keep the King in a cage of lies forever. But he forgot one thing."
"What?" I asked.
"A claim is only a word until someone stands up to speak it," Merlik said firmly. "Tonight, you stop being a secret. Tomorrow, you become a reckoning."
I looked at my hands. They were scarred from the forge, calloused from the sword. They were the hands of a worker, a soldier, and now... a prince of a forgotten line.
"I don't want the throne," I whispered.
"Good," Lucian smirked, finally looking up. "The ones who want it are usually the ones who shouldn't have it. But the throne wants you, Draven. Not to sit on it, but to remind the world that it can be broken."
The air in the cave shifted. The uncertainty that had haunted me since the River of Red began to solidify into a cold, hard resolve.
I reached out and touched the signet ring on the table. It was cold, but as my skin met the metal, a strange warmth flickered in my chest—a resonance.
"Blood has a claim," I said, my voice finally steady. "Not to power. But to the truth."
Merlik nodded, a grim satisfaction on his face. "Then prepare. We don't just strike at a man. We strike at a legacy of lies."
Outside, the wind began to howl, carrying the scent of rain and impending change. The world didn't know it yet, but the forge was hot, the steel was ready, and the blood of Liora Veyran was finally coming home.