Two weeks after being pulled from the river, Ash sat on the edge of the bed, testing his strength. His legs trembled slightly with the effort of supporting his weight, but he remained upright. A small victory after days of being confined to bed rest.
The wound in his chest had healed remarkably, though the sword fragment remained embedded near his heart, a constant reminder of what he had lost.
"Don't push yourself," Kalen warned, watching from across the cabin where he prepared a simple stew. "Recovery takes time."
"I've been lying in this bed for two weeks," Ash replied, frustration edging his voice. "I need to move, to do something."
Kalen gave him an appraising look. "Patience isn't your strong suit, is it?"
"It never was," Ash admitted, thinking of his childhood impatience with lengthy court ceremonies and formal education.
His brothers had often teased him about his restless nature, his preference for action over contemplation. The memory brought a fresh wave of grief that he quickly suppressed.
"Well, you'll need to learn it," Kalen said, stirring the pot. "That wound should have killed you. The fact you're sitting up at all is miraculous."
Ash's hand moved unconsciously to his chest, feeling the hard protrusion beneath his shirt.
The strange blue patterns had spread further across his skin, faint but visible when uncovered. They no longer glowed constantly, but still illuminated during sleep or moments of strong emotion.
"You mentioned Systems before," Ash said carefully. "You think that's what this is?"
Kalen shrugged. "What else explains your survival? Normal men don't live through heart wounds. And those patterns..." He gestured toward Ash's chest. "Definitely not natural healing."
Systems were rare and coveted, typically manifesting in those with noble bloodlines or after exposure to ancient artifacts.
The Valerian dynasty was known for the Imperial Light System, which granted enhanced strength and healing abilities to those who manifested it. Ash had been the disappointment and the only child of Emperor Tiberius, who showed no signs of System potential despite numerous tests and ceremonies.
Yet now, something had awakened within him. Something that was triggered by the sword fragment and his near-death experience. Something different from his family's hereditary System.
"If it is a System," Ash said, "it's not like any I've heard of."
"There are many types beyond the common ones," Kalen replied. "During my service, I encountered users with abilities ranging from elemental manipulation to mind influence. Some Systems remain dormant until triggered by specific circumstances."
"Like nearly dying?"
"Trauma is a known catalyst," Kalen confirmed. "Though usually not quite so extreme."
Ash attempted to stand, gripping the bedpost for support. His legs held, though the effort sent a wave of dizziness through him. Kalen watched but didn't move to help, seeming to understand Ash's need to test his own capabilities.
"Small steps," the older man advised. "Try walking to the table and back."
The distance, perhaps ten feet, seemed suddenly vast. Ash released the bedpost and took a tentative step forward, then another.
His body felt simultaneously too heavy and too light, as if his sense of himself had been fundamentally altered. By the fifth step, sweat beaded on his forehead from the exertion.
"This is pathetic," he muttered, reaching for the table's edge to steady himself.
"This is recovery," Kalen corrected. "A month ago, you were dead in the river. Perspective, lad."
Ash knew the man was right, but the frustration remained.
As Third Prince, he had never been the strongest or most martial of his siblings; those distinctions belonged to his brothers.
But he had always been physically capable, able to ride for hours or climb the palace walls on a whim. This weakness felt like yet another loss, another piece of himself stripped away.
After resting a moment at the table, he made the return journey to the bed, collapsing onto it with relief. The simple exercise had exhausted him completely.
"You'll get stronger," Kalen said, bringing him a cup of water. "But you need to be patient."
Ash drank deeply, his throat still perpetually dry from his days of fever. "I don't have time for patience. The longer I stay in one place, the greater the danger."
"To you or to me?" Kalen asked shrewdly.
"Both," Ash admitted. "If Varius discovers I survived..."
He stopped, realizing he'd said more than intended. Kalen's expression remained neutral, but his eyes sharpened at the name.
"So you do have connections to the coup," the older man said. "Personal ones, from the sound of it."
Ash looked away. "I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Saw things I shouldn't have."
"And General Varius, now Lord Protector Varius, tried to ensure your silence personally?" Kalen's tone made it clear he didn't believe the simplified explanation.
"Something like that," Ash replied evasively.
Kalen studied him for a long moment, then sighed. "Your secrets are your own, lad. But remember this: lies have a way of tangling around your feet when you need to run fastest."
The wisdom in the statement struck Ash forcefully. His entire existence now depended on deception; hiding his identity, concealing his past, masking his emotions. How long could he maintain such a pretense before it unraveled?
"I'm not who I was before the river," he said finally. "That person died. Whoever I am now... I'm still figuring it out."
This, at least, was completely true. Prince Aedan Valerian had died that night in the palace. The person who emerged from the river was someone something else entirely.
Kalen seemed to accept this partial truth. "Fair enough. But if you're creating a new identity, you'll need more than just a name."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean you need a complete transformation," Kalen explained, returning to the hearth to check the stew. "Your speech, your mannerisms, your reactions: they all scream nobility. One conversation with you in a public place would raise questions immediately."
Ash hadn't considered this. His royal upbringing was so ingrained that he didn't recognize its markers in himself: the formal diction, the perfect posture even when exhausted, the expectation of deference that colored his interactions.
"Can you help me?" he asked after a moment.
Kalen raised an eyebrow. "Learn to pass as common? It's not something taught in a day."
"I'm a quick study," Ash insisted. "And I have strong motivation."
"I imagine you do," Kalen muttered. He stirred the pot thoughtfully before continuing. "First thing to go would be that hair. The dye job you did before was amateur work already washing out at the roots."
Ash's hand went instinctively to his hair. The distinctive Valerian silver-blonde was indeed beginning to show at the roots, a telltale sign of his heritage that could prove fatal if noticed.
"You have dye?" he asked.
"Basic stuff for treating leather," Kalen replied. "Dark brown, permanent. Not pleasant-smelling, but effective."
"Do it," Ash said without hesitation. "Whatever it takes."
Kalen nodded, seeming pleased by the decisiveness. "After we eat. You need strength for what comes next."