The sea still hissed in distant, faint and angry, as if unwilling to let go of what it had devoured. The warship was now- nothing but drifting embers- fragments of what once took the heirs across the vast waters.
The heirs had escaped before the final explosion tore through the vessel. Now soaked and bruised they trudged along the damp coastal, their boots sinking into the wet sand that clung like ash. None spoke for a long while. The air carried the weight of loss and the taste of salt.
Their destination lay far ahead but their path unclear. Trees moved like blackened silhouette, their branches howl to the wind. The warship was gone and with it, their sense of safety
Ammon walked behind them, his steps slow but steady. His hands bore the heavier pack- weapons, supplies and whatever they could salvaged before the flame claimed the rest.
Prince Simon has insisted that Ammon take the supplies, as the weakest heir.
He didn't complain. Not when his shoulders ached, the straps cut into his skin. He'd endure worse. The others, princely and proud, moved forward without glancing back.
Only Ayden looked over his shoulder. His gaze lingered, troubled, as he saw Ammon's weary frame under the weight.
Let me take one, he offered quietly.
Ammon shook his head. "I'm fine."
"I said I'm fine", Ammon repeated, firmer this time, not out of anger but pride and something fragile beneath.
Ayden hesitated but finally nodded and walked on. He understood Ammon's silence better than the everyone did it was not just defiance but the will to stand- even if the world pushed him to his knees.
As the sun vanished beyond the cliff, darkness take over the coast. The heirs made camp under the shade of twisted trees. Small fire crackled, their light flickering like frightened hearts. One by one, they drifted to sleep, their exhaustion deeper than their thoughts.
But Ammon remained awake, he sat apart from them, looking at the distant sea. The waves shimmered faintly beneath the starlight, black and endless. The night felt... alive.
The wind moved strangely too slow, too deliberate. It carried the chill that pricked his skin and made the fire tremble. Finally, he heard it.
A whisper.
It came from nowhere and everywhere all at once- a low mummur like the ocean's sigh, but threaded with words too faint to catch. Ammon froze, his breath quiet, his eyes narrowing into the darkness.
"Who's there?" he called softly.
No one answered. Only the trees rustled, the waves rolled. Yet the whisper returned clearer this time- sliding through the air.
"Why did you carry their burden, child of the dust?"
Ammon's chest tightened, the voice was not human. It was smooth, cold and unearthly like silk drawn over steel. He turned, looking for shadows but saw nothing.
His finger twitched towards the hilt of his blade. But, the whisper came again- softer now, almost kind.
"You bear their weight, but they would never bear yours."
Ammon clenched his fist.
Show your self, he demanded.
The night laughed- or something like that. A faint rippled through the darkness, as though the air bent to watch him.
"Not yet", the voice mummured. "But soon, when the star bleed" you will see me."
The fire beside him cracked sharply, bringing him back. When he looked again, the air was still. The whisper was gone, swallowed by the night. Only the sea remained, whispering it endless secrets to the shore.
Frozen by fear and exhaustion, Ammon joined the sleeping heirs but something was off. General Lucian was gone.