The canyon was restless that night. Smoke drifted low, curling through the camp like a living thing. Elira lay awake, the crown heavy against her chest, her wrist burning faintly. Kael slept nearby, his blade within reach, his face turned away.
The whispers came softly at first—like wind through stone. Then sharper. Voices she didn't know, but that seemed to know her.
He turned away once. He will again.
Brothers betray. Shadows consume.
The crown remembers what you cannot.
Elira sat up, heart pounding. The smoke thickened, forming shapes—half-faces, ember eyes. The Smokebound. They didn't attack. They circled, whispering.
"You carry fire," one hissed. "But fire burns what it touches. Even him."
She clenched her fist. "Kael is not Marlic."
The smoke laughed. "He is worse. Marlic reached for him. He let him fall. And now he hides the truth from you."
Elira's mark flared. The crown pulsed, echoing the vision she had seen. Marlic's hand reaching. Kael turning away. Betrayal—or mercy. She couldn't tell.
The Smokebound drifted closer. "When the fire consumes you, he will not save you. He will watch. As he always has."
Elira rose, flames sparking at her fingertips. "Leave me."
The smoke recoiled, but its whispers lingered. Trust the crown. Not the shadow.
When the canyon fell silent again, Kael stirred. He looked at her, eyes narrowing. "You're awake."
Elira turned away. "I couldn't sleep."
But the truth was heavier: she couldn't trust her own heart.