Author's Preface
"Are you awake?"
The voice came from somewhere far off, muffled by a sting at the back of his head.
"How do you feel?"
The Wanderer forced his right eye open. Leaves blocked out the late afternoon sky above him. Beside him sat Zeek, hands resting on the wheels of his chair.
"I'm fine," the Wanderer said. He reached behind his neck with his hand, his fingers coming away blooded.
"The guards knocked you out," Zeek said softly. "I'm sorry. I couldn't get anyone to patch it up before they threw you past the gates."
The Wanderer pushed himself upright as the ground swayed beneath him. They were resting beneath a tree. In the distance, the walls of Valoria cut through the horizon. He looked back at the captain. "What happened?"
Zeek stared down at his own lap, his eyes bloodshot and swollen. "You don't remember?"
The Wanderer’s right hand froze against the back of his neck.
"The trial..." Zeek’s voice trembled, holding back his tears. "The execution..."
The memories flashed in his head.
Serenya’s giving up body.
The guards dragged her to the block.
The final hollow stare she gave him.
The blade fell before everything went dark.
The Wanderer crushed the grass beneath him between his fingers.
He watched tears dropping onto his hand.
"There was nothing we could have done," Zeek said, looking up at the sunlight. "We can only honor her now. She chose to give her life so thousands of others could keep theirs. Including us."
The Wanderer’s sobbing grew louder.
They sat drowning in sorrow as the afternoon faded, watching the shadow of Valoria’s walls stretch across the plains while the sun sank behind the battlements.
"What now?" Zeek finally asked. "Do you have somewhere to go?"
The Wanderer stared into the orange sun. "If I hadn't made her a promise... I would tear those walls down and burn everything inside them."
Zeek turned his head toward him. "She died to save those people. You’d render everything she did meaningless."
"I know," the Wanderer said softly. He turned to face the captain. "I promised her I wouldn't harm Valoria, and I won't. But I will show them the truth they've denied for centuries."
Wind blew from behind the Wanderer toward Valoria. Zeek looked up, fear crossing his face as he met the Wanderer’s gaze.
"You know I can't let you threaten this city," Zeek said quietly.
The Wanderer stood up, his face fading into dark as the sunlight slowly escaped his features.
"Change is coming, captain," the Wanderer said, his voice calm and steady. "And this time, not even Altharion is going to stop it."
The sun dipped beneath the horizon, swallowing the field in a dark night. Zeek remained still, staring up at the darkened silhouette standing over him.
The Wanderer turned his back on the city gates and began to walk. "Take care of yourself, Zeek. You’ve already given enough to an ungrateful kingdom. Next time, make sure you know which side you're on before giving up what's left."
The Wanderer reached for his mana and flared it despite the Nullstones.
Zeek watched in stunned silence as the Wanderer surged forward, vanishing between the trees like a gale.
What should have been a full day's journey on foot to Hosar took him less than an hour using his wind.
At the outer gates of Hosar, two guards stood watch beneath the starless sky.
"What’s with this wind all of a sudden?" one asked, squinting into the dark sky.
"Feels like a storm coming in," the second replied.
"A storm? This time of year?"
The second guard raised a hand, shielding his face from the sand rushing from outside. "You're right. Something about this ain't natural."
High above their heads, the Wanderer swept past them, riding the currents over the walls. He dropped into the heart of Hosar and began to march down the familiar streets.
He stopped outside the Hand of Justice.
The tavern doors were bound by a heavy iron lock, and a sign hung across the frame: CLOSED PERMANENTLY.
With a burst of his mana, the lock shattered, blowing the doors inward.
Inside, the tavern wasn't much different from the past days, empty as always. The Wanderer bypassed the counter and headed for the storage room at the back.
He struck a wooden chair against the wall and ignited the splintered leg with a small flame, holding the makeshift torch aloft.
He ransacked the storage room, overturning crates and sifting through dry goods, but found no trace of the Owls' devices.
"That's private property, you know," a voice drawled from the doorway.
A tall silhouette leaned against the doorframe. The Wanderer turned, the flickering torchlight catching the features of the man standing there.
"I need to meet the escaped nobles," the Wanderer said.
Daniel shrugged. "No idea what you're talking about, friend. Though I might be able to scrounge up a bottle if you're just looking for a drink."
The Wanderer closed in. "I'm not in the mood for games, old man. The Owls and the rest of the Morningstar family fled here, at least temporarily."
Daniel sighed, rolling his eyes. "Look, son. You've done enough. Zero was a fool to trust the Draemirans, and he dragged the rest of us down with him. If you're hunting for a bounty, you're looking in the wrong place."
The Wanderer pushed past him, stepping outside. "Tell the Owls we need to talk. I can give them what they want."
Daniel chuckled. "And what would that be?"
The Wanderer replied, looking back over his shoulder.
"The throne of Valoria."
"I'll be back in an hour," the Wanderer said. "Make sure you deliver the message."
He flared his wind magic once more, launching himself into the night sky toward the Red Citadel.
Clearing the outer walls with ease, he landed in the courtyard. He stepped openly through the grounds without a second glance at the patrol routes.
Two guards stood watch at the grand entrance. Spotting a silhouette approaching through the dark, one leaned toward the other and whispered, "Do these Red Crowns ever sleep?" both snapping to a formal stance.
As the Wanderer stepped into the circle of torchlight, the guard's eyes widened.
They instantly leveled their spears. "Sound the alarm!" the lead guard barked at his comrade. "We have an intru-"
The Wanderer raised his hand, making a crushing motion with his fingers. The air was ripped from their lungs. Both guards dropped their weapons, clutching at their throats as they gasped against the vacuum, their eyes rolling back until they crumpled unconscious to the stone.
The Wanderer released his grip and stepped over their bodies.
He navigated the grand, stopping outside the door of Jericho’s chamber.
He kicked the doors open.
Baylen jolted upright in bed, in panic. "Who are you?! Guards! Guards!"
The Wanderer closed his fist, cutting the air from Baylen's throat. "Save your breath, kid. No one outside is coming."
He loosened his grip, allowing the air to return.
Baylen drew a breath, coughing violently. "Who are you?"
The Wanderer pulled out a chair nearby and sat down. "You used to know me as Vincent Dragonborn. Though I no longer wear that face."
Baylen’s face turned as red as his hair. "You fucking bastard! You're the reason my father is dead!" He reached blindly for the sword near him and lunged off the bed.
With a flick of his right wrist, the Wanderer unleashed a burst of wind that slammed Baylen back onto the mattress. "I beat you without magic back then. What do you think happens now?"
Tears of helpless rage welled in Baylen’s eyes. "I’ll have your throat! I swear it!" He tried to surge forward a second time.
Iron chains materialised out of thin air, wrapping around Baylen's wrists and ankles, binding him to the bedposts.
"I didn't know Jericho was dead," the Wanderer said softly.
Baylen strained against the cold metal. "What did you think the Council would do to him after you fled the city? He stood up for you!"
The Wanderer lowered his head. "I'm sorry..." He looked up. "But this entire kingdom is falling apart, Baylen. Your father was unfortunate enough to get caught in the middle of it."
Baylen spat at him. "More lies!"
The Wanderer watched him for a moment, untouched by the spit. "Get me a meeting with the Council. Or I'll force my way into their chambers myself. I’d prefer a peaceful approach, our goals align."
The chains rattled as Baylen thrashed. "You damned mage! No one is going to trust you now!"
The Wanderer stood up. "They don't have to."
He turned toward the shattered doorway. "Tell them their deal with the Owls can still happen and then some. The Red Crowns will have their foothold in Valoria."
He paused at the threshold, looking back over his shoulder. "Don't be stubborn like your father, Baylen."
The Wanderer returned to the Hand of Justice.
He stepped through the entrance to find a figure sitting motionless in the shadowy gloom of the tavern.
"Those are some bold claims you made to the barkeep," the man said smoothly. He chuckled. "Especially coming from someone who betrayed us."
The Wanderer laughed. "You speak of betrayal... Lord Morningstar?"
The man rose and stepped out of the shadows into the faint moonlight.
It was Hidan Morningstar, Hand of the King. He narrowed his eyes, studying the stranger. "Have we met before?"
"We don't need to have met," the Wanderer replied. "Your reputation precedes you."
Hidan chuckled again, leaning back against the counter. "A reputation you helped tarnish. And now you come here claiming you can hand me the throne?"
The Wanderer closed the distance between them. "You tarnished your own name, my lord. As for me... I can bring all your failed plans back to life."
Hidan tapped his fingers on the counter. "And how do you propose to do that?"
The Wanderer slammed his single palm onto the counter. "Before we get to the how, we both know we don't trust each other. But right now, our goals align."
"I severely doubt that," Hidan said, crossing his arms. "So tell me, what exactly do you have to offer?"
The Wanderer leaned in.
"We make a blood pact."