The sun was warm on Kael's face. It was the first day of spring, and the palace gardens smelled like flowers and fresh dirt.

  He was ten years old. His sister Elara was eight. They stood in the center of the garden with wooden swords in their hands.

  "Again," Kael said. "Elbow up. Wrist straight."

  Elara stuck out her tongue. "You are not the teacher. Papa is the teacher."

  "Papa is busy being king. I am busy being your brother. That makes me your teacher today."

  Elara laughed. She had a laugh like bells. Kael loved that laugh. He wanted to protect it forever.

  They raised their wooden swords. The garden was full of people today. Servants carried food for tonight's festival. Musicians practiced near the fountain. Everything felt safe and happy.

  Kael did not know this was the last happy day.

  Their father watched from the balcony above. King Aldric was tall and broad, with hands that looked like they could hold up the sky. He had been a soldier before he was a king. He still moved like one.

  Beside him stood Queen Lenore. She was smaller, with kind eyes that saw everything. She held baby Lila, who was only one and mostly slept.

  "They are good children," the queen said.

  "They are better than good," the king replied. "Kael wants to stop all fighting. Elara knows fighting will always exist. Between them, they have wisdom."

  "And what do you have, my love?"

  The king was quiet for a moment. "I have worry. The war goes badly. Our allies have fallen. Uvara and Israne circle like wolves."

  "The people do not know."

  "The people should not know. Not today. Today we celebrate spring. Tomorrow..." He stopped. Shook his head. "Tomorrow I will worry again."

  The queen touched his arm. "Come down. Teach them properly. Kael's form is wrong."

  The king smiled. "He is ten. His form will improve."

  But the king never got to teach them.

  The sound came first. A high whine, like a thousand bees. Then the sky turned white.

  Kael dropped his wooden sword. He looked up. The white was beautiful and terrible.

  "ELARA!" he screamed.

  Their father was already running. He moved faster than Kael had ever seen. He swept up Elara with one arm and grabbed Kael with the other.

  "THE BUNKER," he roared. "NOW."

  The queen was already running, baby Lila clutched to her chest. She did not scream. She moved like water, fast and smooth.

  Behind them, the white sky began to fall.

  The royal bunker was under the palace. It was built for this. For war. For the worst day.

  King Aldric threw open the heavy door. Pushed Kael and Elara inside. Turned to help his wife.

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  Then he stopped.

  Down the hall, three hundred palace servants ran toward them. They had no bunker. No protection. The white death was seconds away.

  The queen saw her husband's face. She knew that face. She had loved it for twenty years.

  "No," she whispered.

  "Take them," he said. "The back tunnel. Go."

  "ALDRIC—"

  "I hold the door. I save them. I save you." He smiled. It was a sad smile. "I was always going to die in service. Let it mean something."

  He turned to the servants. "INSIDE. QUICKLY. MY FAMILY FIRST, THEN YOU."

  They poured in. Cooks. Cleaners. Musicians. The gardener who taught Kael to plant seeds.

  The queen grabbed her children. Pulled them toward the back tunnel. Kael fought. He wanted to stay. He wanted to help his father hold the door.

  "KAEL." His mother's voice was iron. "Your father chooses this. Honor his choice. LIVE."

  They ran.

  The tunnel was long and dark. Behind them, the white light found the door.

  Kael heard his father shout. Not words. Just sound. Defiance. Then silence.

  They emerged in the eastern woods. The palace was gone. The garden was gone. Everything was ash and white dust.

  Kael turned to his mother.

  She was on her knees. Her back was burned. Her eyes were ruined. She could not see. But she smiled.

  "Papa?" Elara whispered.

  "Your father," the queen said, "held the door. He is with us always."

  Men came out of the smoke. Soldiers. Not Javon soldiers. Uvaran.

  The queen pushed her children behind her. "Run," she whispered. "The river. Hide. I will find you."

  "Mama—"

  "RUN."

  Kael grabbed Elara's hand. They ran.

  Behind them, their mother screamed once. Then was silent.

  Kael ran until his lungs burned. Elara stumbled. He carried her. She was small. He was not much bigger.

  They reached the river. Found a hollow log. Hid inside.

  "Kael?" Elara's voice was tiny. "I'm cold."

  He wrapped his arms around her. "I will warm you. I promise."

  They waited. The sun went down. The world became dark and cold.

  More soldiers came. Uvaran voices. Searching.

  Kael pressed his hand over Elara's mouth. Both silent. Both shaking.

  The soldiers stopped near the log. One shone a light inside.

  Kael saw his face. Young. Hard. Tired.

  "Nothing here," the soldier said. "Just a dead log."

  They moved on.

  Kael breathed again. But when he looked at Elara, she was not moving.

  "Elara?"

  Her eyes were open. She was breathing. But something was wrong. She was too still. Too cold.

  "Elara, please."

  He shook her. She blinked. Focused on him.

  "Kael? I can't feel my legs."

  He looked down. Her legs were blue. The cold. The shock. Something was broken inside her.

  "I will carry you," he said. "I will find help."

  He lifted her. She was heavier than before. Or he was weaker.

  He walked. The forest had no end. The night had no end.

  Then he saw light. A house. A woman with a kind face.

  "Please," Kael said. "My sister. She's cold."

  The woman took Elara. Wrapped her in blankets. Put her near the fire.

  "And you, child? Where are your parents?"

  Kael looked at his hands. They were covered in ash. His father's ash. His mother's ash. The world's ash.

  "Gone," he said. "Everyone is gone."

  He did not cry. The tears would come later. For now, there was only the cold. And the promise he could not keep.

  Elara was warm now. But when he reached for her hand, soldiers burst through the door.

  Not Uvaran. Javon. His own people.

  "Royal survivors!" one shouted. "The prince! The princess!"

  They took Elara first. She was bundled, carried, rushed toward a cart.

  Kael ran after them. "I am her brother! I am Kael!"

  Another soldier grabbed him. Hard. "You will come with me. The princess goes west. You go east. Split targets. Safer."

  "NO—"

  The soldier struck him. Once. Kael fell.

  When he woke, the cart was gone. Elara was gone.

  The soldier stood over him. Older. Scarred. Name tag said VORN.

  "She is dead," Vorn said. "The princess is dead. You are dead. You are nobody now. Say it."

  Kael looked at the empty road. The dust where the cart had been.

  "Nobody," he whispered.

  "Good. Nobodies survive. Princes die. Come."

  Vorn pulled him up. Led him into the dark.

  Kael did not look back. If he had, he might have seen another cart. Western road. A girl with golden hair, wrapped in blankets, being taken to a different fate.

  He did not see. He only walked. East. Into the cold.

  Into the years of being nobody.

  But in his pocket, he found something. He did not remember putting it there. Perhaps his mother had. Perhaps it had always been there.

  A wooden sword. Small. Elara's.

  He held it until his hand bled.

  And he made a promise to the dark.

  "I will find you. I will warm you. I will choose mercy. Even if it kills me."

  In the distance, something answered. Not a voice. A weight. A sense that choices mattered. That mercy had power.

  Kael did not understand it yet. But he carried it.

  The Trust had found him.

  END OF CHAPTER 1