Chapter Six
I Will Show You Who You Are
He was never meant for more than a soldier's grave—until fate lit fire in his hands.
Light slipped through the tent’s canvas, gilding dust and shadow as Viktor woke.
His first thought was of her—the golden hair bent over him when he collapsed, the gentle hands that had held him.
He spied the cup of broth still sitting on the low table.
She was here.
A breath steadied him.
She was real.
Ache weighted his ribs, his limbs heavy as stone, yet his mantle and boots waited by the entrance.
He had survived—and the world expected him to rise.
The flap rustled.
Gabriel stepped in, eyes sharp and mouth too quick.
“Our tent was cozy enough, darling,” he drawled from the flap. “But I’m still not pledging myself to you.”
Viktor shoved him with a weary hand, forcing himself upright. Every limb ached as he reached for his gear, shoulders stiff with the reminder of the run.
“Take your time,” Gabriel said, watching him wrestle into his mantle.
“Storne’s on the archery ridge, but he won’t vanish before second hour.”
“I’ll go now,” Viktor rasped, buckling the last strap.
Gabriel caught his arm, tugging him back.
“Not yet. There’s a surprise first.”
A sharp, familiar scent curled through the air as Gabriel set a cup before him.
Emberbrew.
Viktor’s brows rose.
“Where did you—”
“Bartered with the scouts.”
Gabriel’s grin slanted into a smirk.
“Are you going to cry?”
“Dask, I might.”
Viktor wrapped his fingers around the cup, heat seeping into his palms. The first swallow tethered him straight to home—straight to mornings that felt farther away with each breath.
He stared into the dark liquid, the truth breaking clear.
“I’m not going home, am I?”
Silence lingered long enough for the question to sting.
Then Gabriel sighed.
“You’d better go see Storne.”
Viktor’s chest tightened.
He smoothed his mantle and turned for the door. For an instant, he imagined her waiting beyond it—then forced the thought away.
Gabriel plucked the cup from his hands, took a sip—and nearly spat it back. He shoved it at Viktor with a grimace.
“Dask, Viktor—how do you choke this down? Tastes like burned earth.”
Viktor only smiled, savoring the bitter heat.
“Mock it now. But when you’ve had too much ale, this is the only thing that’ll keep your head from splitting.”
Gabriel clapped his shoulder once more, sending him on his way.
* * *
At the stables, Viktor found Obsidian waiting in the first stall.
The stallion pressed his head against Viktor’s shoulder, and for a moment the ache in his chest eased.
He stroked the white star between his eyes, murmuring low—until a stablehand burst in, flustered.
“Careful, Captain—that’s our lady’s horse.”
The phrasing made Viktor pause.
Our lady?
He drew back, curiosity sparking.
But the boy was already tugging another lead rope forward.
“This one, sir. A blood bay—Aerdanian, like you.”
The mare stood tall and lean, legs built for distance, eyes bright with fire.
Viktor ran a hand along her neck, feeling the strength coiled beneath her skin. She shifted under his hand, nostrils flaring, as if sensing his unrest—another creature born to run, but never free.
He mounted, the bay carrying him swiftly through the maze of stone paths until the air opened. The ridge spread before him, narrow and windswept, the air sharp with pine and distance.
Commander Storne stood above the line of Sagittarii, watching arrows bite into distant targets, his face unreadable as shadow.
Viktor tightened his grip on the reins, the mare steady beneath him.
Somewhere behind his ribs, Amerei’s image lingered—the hush of her breath against his skin, the warmth of her careful embrace.
The memory threatened to bloom, but he forced it down. Storne hadn’t summoned him to speak of love—only of what no man should be able to do: run like a horse through the desert.
Storne’s gaze weighed him as heavily as armor.
“You survived the night.”
“My life was never in danger, sir,” Viktor said evenly. “I only overexerted myself.”
A faint curve touched Storne’s lips.
“You’ll learn to master that.”
Viktor opened his mouth to press him, but Storne’s eyes had already shifted to the horizon.
“We’ve seen this before,” he murmured. “Beasts rising out of chaos. At first, mindless. And then—organized. It’s happening again.”
Below, Evander loosed arrow after arrow, each one striking its mark with unnerving precision.
Storne’s voice drifted back.
“You run as though bred from a royal horse—and…”
His eyes flicked to Viktor, sharp and knowing.
“…you create fire.”
Viktor stiffened.
“That’s not—”
But Storne caught his hand, forcing his fingers to curl.
Sparks leapt to life—bright, treacherous—searing shame into his chest.
Viktor wrenched his hand back, heart pounding.
What am I becoming?
“Why keep me here in Sevrak?”
The words tore out sharper than he intended.
Storne’s eyes did not soften.
“You came to this camp. You came to me. Whether by fate or ignorance, you stand at the cusp of a great and terrible awakening. The powers you carry are proof enough. Never mind the beasts that followed you out of Oustinon…”
“I didn’t—” Viktor started.
“You did not,” Storne cut him off. “But you were used to draw the darkness out.”
The memory struck him—Evander’s hissed warning.
Zeporah…
“I have little evidence yet,” Storne went on, voice low and certain, “but I suspect she stirred what she cannot master. The dragon in the forest was not the last. The Bloodforge nearly ended us once. If this usurper queen wakes it again, she’ll drag Casqadia—and all the realm—into ruin.”
The pieces fell together like iron bars, trapping Viktor.
Zeporah had sent him.
Storne now claimed him.
He was caught between them—pawn to their unseen war.
His throat tightened as he forced out the question that pained him most.
“Who does Zeporah usurp?”
Storne huffed a quiet laugh.
“You’re the last to know, aren’t you?”
He swept a hand toward the valley below, where men and elves bent their bows in silent pledge.
“Every soldier here has sworn fealty to Casqadia’s rightful queen.
Even wearing the cloak of a handmaiden, she is still ours.
To keep her from Zeporah’s knives, I let her serve in the usurper’s own hall—pouring her wine, carrying her messages, bowing when it should have been she who was bowed to.
Hidden in plain sight, until the time came. ”
Viktor’s chest went cold, dread and awe tangling together.
The world tilted—memory, duty, desire all colliding at once.
He already knew the answer, but still he asked:
“Your daughter…”
Storne’s gaze did not flinch.
“Her mother was Cassandra, Queen of Casqadia. My half-elf wife. She ruled five years before her death. And when she fell, her half-sister Zeporah seized the crown—a she-elf with no blood claim, ruling where Amerei should be.”
Viktor could scarcely breathe.
Amerei had already been forbidden—the commander’s daughter, far above a nameless soldier. And now fate set a crown upon her head, sealing the distance with blood and fire.
“Commander—I have no crown to give you. No name worth pledging. I was never meant for more than a soldier’s grave.”
“Fate will not wait for you to decide,” Storne said, catching his hand again.
Flame sparked at Viktor’s fingertips, undeniable.
“Just as it did not ask before it endowed you with this.”
The fire guttered out, leaving Viktor shaken.
“Come back to the ridge in the morning,” Storne ordered, turning to the archers. “Bring Captain Feindoran with you.”
As Viktor stepped back toward his mare, Storne’s command followed him—low, inevitable, heavy with promise.
“Rest today. You’ll need your strength come morning.”
Storne’s final words struck like prophecy.
“I will show you who you are.”