The banners of Avalon snapped in the morning breeze, each crimson flag bearing the golden wyvern of the royal line. Fifty mounted guards flanked the procession as it wound through Highcourt's forested hills. At the center, an ebony carriage trimmed in gold rolled smoothly over the leaf-strewn trail.
Inside, sixteen-year-old Aaron lay sprawled across a cushioned bench, tracing patterns on the polished wood with one finger. The air smelled of pine and the sweet pastries his mother had packed that morning—honey cakes dusted with cinnamon that Neria had already devoured half of.
Beside him sat Concubine-Consort Lira Aserion, her dark hair caught in a silver clasp. She held his eight-year-old sister Neria, who pressed her face to the window with both palms flat against the glass.
"Mama, look! A white bird!" Neria tapped the glass excitedly. "Right there! Did you see it?"
"That's a dove, sweetheart." Lira kissed the top of her head. "A sign of peace."
Aaron wrinkled his nose, sitting up slightly. "Then why are we hunting during a peace ceremony? Doesn't that defeat the purpose?"
His mother laughed, the sound like bells. "Because nobles rarely understand the words on their own banners. Unity means nothing when breaking it offers more advantage."
"So it's all pretend?"
"Not pretend. Performance. There's a difference."
"What difference?"
"Pretend is for children. Performance is for survival."
He didn't grasp everything in her reply, but he caught the edge beneath it—the careful way she chose her words, as if every sentence could be overheard. Still, her smile remained warm, and Neria's laughter filled every corner of the carriage.
The procession slowed.
A rider ahead raised his hand. Voices carried back—commands, confirmations. Hooves repositioned on the trail. The escort tightened around them like a fist closing.
Lira's hand moved to the small of her back, fingers brushing the dagger hidden in her sash.
Aaron had seen the gesture enough lately to recognize it.
She sensed something.
"Is something wrong, Mama?" he asked quietly.
Her eyes turned toward the window, but she wasn't looking at anything visible. She was listening to the absence of sound.
"The woods are too quiet," she said.
Neria blinked up at her. "Quiet like sleeping?"
"Yes, my love. Like sleeping. Very deeply sleeping."
"That's good, isn't it? Sleeping is peaceful."
Lira's lips pressed together in something that wasn't quite a smile. "Sometimes peace is just held breath before a scream."
Aaron felt it too—a prickling behind his ears, a pulse at the base of his skull. The air felt heavy, as if the forest itself held its breath.
A memory flickered through him.
Not his memory.
Something else.
He saw asphalt under streetlights. Heard voices in a language he didn't understand. A red sign flashing. Metal humming. The screech of brakes. Someone shouting his name—but not Aaron. Another name. Different.
When he tried to hold onto it, it vanished like smoke.
He rubbed his temples, wincing.
"Again?" Lira's voice softened, concern bleeding through her careful composure.
He nodded. "That strange feeling. Like I've been somewhere else. Like I'm remembering something that hasn't happened yet."
"You're young. Maybe your mind is just vivid. Overactive imagination."
But he heard the doubt in her reassurance. The way her eyes lingered on him a moment too long.
"Does Father ever feel this way?" Aaron asked.
"Your father feels many things. But he's learned not to speak of them."
"Why not?"
"Because speaking of strange things makes people nervous. And nervous people are dangerous."
The procession resumed. Ancient trees stretched shadows across the path like black veins. Morning mist curled around the horses' legs. Armor clinked with each cautious movement.
Neria climbed into Aaron's lap without asking and rested her head against his chest, her small fingers clutching his sleeve.
"Tell me a story," she murmured.
"What kind? Happy? Sad? Heroic?"
"Heroic," she decided, grabbing a lock of his hair and twisting it absently. "With a brave hero who saves everyone."
He adjusted her so her feet wouldn't bump the wooden panel. "Once, there was a brave boy who went on an adventure—"
"Was he a prince?"
"No. Just a boy. But he had someone to protect, so he became strong."
Neria smiled sleepily. "Sounds like you."
Heat crept into his cheeks. "I'm not that strong. I can barely lift a practice sword without Felix laughing at me."
"You're strong enough for me. That's what matters."
Lira watched them with a wistful expression, something distant and sad moving behind her eyes. She rubbed her thumb over Aaron's hand.
"You've always been strong, Aaron. Even when you don't realize it."
"Have I?" He glanced up at her. "Father says I'm too soft. That I think too much and act too little."
"Your father mistakes caution for weakness. They're not the same thing."
"Then what's the difference?"
"Caution keeps you alive. Weakness gets you killed." She paused, then added quietly, "You have your father's stubbornness and my caution. A dangerous combination."
"Dangerous how?"
"Dangerous enough to survive what's coming."
Before Aaron could ask what she meant, nobles' trumpets sounded faintly from deeper in the forest, signaling positions for the ceremonial hunt. The Queen led from the vanguard, surrounded by her loyalists and favored nobility. Lira, being only a concubine, kept a respectful distance behind—third carriage from the rear, positioned just far enough to show deference without disappearing entirely.
The driver called back, "Your Grace, we're approaching the ridge. There are wild boar tracks—more than expected."
"How many?" Lira's voice sharpened.
"Enough to suggest a pack, Your Grace. Unusual for this season."
"Proceed carefully," Lira replied. "Keep the formation tight."
Aaron returned to watching the forest. Pines swayed overhead. Sunlight poured through gaps like molten gold, painting the path in shifting patterns. Despite its beauty, something felt wrong.
Not frightening.
Just wrong.
Like a painting where all the colors were correct but the proportions were subtly off.
The déjà vu hit him again—standing in the same woods but older, taller, someone else entirely. His hands were different. Scarred. Callused. Holding something that gleamed gold.
His breath caught.
"Aaron?" Lira touched his arm. "What is it?"
"I..." His voice trembled. "I feel like I know this place. But not from here. Not from now. Somewhere else. Some other time."
"What do you see?"
"Light. Trees. A shadow watching me. Like it's waiting." He swallowed. "Like it knows what's going to happen."
Lira stiffened. She glanced at the guards outside, then leaned close, voice dropping to barely a whisper.
"If you feel anything strange again—anything at all—tell me immediately. Promise me."
He nodded, though he didn't understand the urgency or the fear hiding behind her calm expression.
"Why? What's wrong?"
"Nothing. Everything. I don't know yet."
The procession climbed a gentle slope. Birds suddenly scattered from the treetops in bursts of white and gray, wings beating frantically against the air.
Neria sat up and pressed both hands to the window. "Aaron, look! So many birds! Where are they going?"
"I see them."
Unease twisted in his stomach.
Lira's fingers tightened around Neria's waist, pulling her daughter closer. "Birds don't flee without reason."
"Maybe we scared them?" Neria suggested.
"Maybe."
But Lira didn't believe it. Aaron could tell by the way her other hand moved back to her hidden dagger.
The driver cracked the reins, sensing the tension. The carriage creaked as it rounded the bend along the ridge. The cliffside dropped sharply on one side—so steep the forest below looked like a sea of green stretching endlessly into mist.
Guards closed formation tightly around them, shields raised slightly. Aaron heard murmurs among the armored men riding alongside.
"Did you see that?"
"What?"
"Movement in the bushes. Left flank."
"No—up the hill. I saw something up the hill."
"You're jumping at shadows."
"Shadows don't move like that."
Lira leaned toward the window, chin dipping, eyes narrowing as she scanned the treeline.
"Driver, pick up pace."
"As you command, Your Grace."
The horses responded immediately. Hooves drummed faster across dirt and scattered leaves. The banners snapped sharply in the wind.
"Are we racing?" Neria giggled, bouncing slightly on Aaron's lap. "Can we go faster?"
"No, my heart. We are—"
The shout cut her off.
"TO ARMS!"
A horn blared—high, piercing, desperate.
Horses screamed. Armor clashed. The world lurched sideways.
Aaron grabbed Neria and tumbled onto the cushions as the carriage jerked violently. His shoulder slammed into the wall, sending pain shooting down his arm.
"What's happening?!" he shouted.
"Stay down!" Lira's voice turned fierce, all pretense of calm shredding away. "Both of you—down!"
The next sound split the air: a sharp crack like wood snapping under pressure.
Aaron lifted his head just enough to see.
An arrow tore through the carriage window.
It whistled past his cheek so close he felt the wind of its passage, felt the displaced air like a slap.
It buried itself in the opposite wall with a solid thump, the shaft still quivering.
Neria screamed and curled into a ball, hands over her head.
Aaron automatically covered her with his arms, his body moving before his mind caught up.
"Mother!" he cried.
Lira was already moving. In one motion she shoved both children behind her and reached for her hidden dagger, blade flashing as she drew it.
"Driver! Move! Move now!"
Another shout rang outside. "ARCHERS ON THE RIDGE!"
Steel clashed. Horses reared. The carriage jolted as arrows rained down from above, embedding into wood with vicious thuds. One shattered a lantern hanging near the door. Glass sprayed across the interior, glittering like deadly rain.
Lira crouched low, covering the children with her body. "Stay under me. Don't move. Don't make a sound."
"Mother, what's happening?" Neria sobbed into her dress. "Why are they shooting at us?"
"Assassins." Lira's voice trembled with contained fury. "They're aiming for the rear carriages. They're aiming for—"
She stopped.
Aaron saw her eyes widen as realization struck.
Then—
A single arrow sliced through the window, spinning end over end with terrible precision, and struck Lira in the shoulder.
The impact threw her against the wall.
She gasped, breath stolen, hand flying to the wound.
Blood spread across her sleeve like a crimson flower blooming.
"MOTHER!" Aaron lunged toward her.
Neria shrieked and clung to his shirt, pulling him back.
Lira's hand shot out and caught his wrist despite the pain. Her grip was iron.
"Stay down. Protect Neria."
"But you're hurt—"
"I said stay down!"
Aaron froze—not from fear, but because the look in her eyes was the same as every night she tucked them into bed. Fierce, unyielding love mixed with something else now. Desperation.
Outside, guards roared. Swords scraped from scabbards. Bodies fell with heavy thuds. The panicked horses bolted forward, dragging the carriage with them.
The wheels hit a jagged stone and the entire carriage bounced, tossing Lira sideways. She cried out as the arrow shaft jarred against the wall.
Aaron scrambled across the floor to her, ignoring her earlier command. "Mother, hold still! I'll pull it out—"
"No!" She grabbed his hand again, gripping so hard it hurt. "Leave it. If you pull it now, I'll bleed faster. Do you understand? Leave it in."
Blood dripped down her arm in thin streams, pattering onto the cushions. The arrow had gone deep, buried almost to the fletching.
Neria's voice quivered. "Mama?"
Lira forced her breathing steady, each breath a visible effort. "I'm here, little one."
"Mama, you're bleeding..." Tears streamed down Neria's face. "You're bleeding so much."
Lira pressed her forehead to Neria's for a heartbeat, eyes closing. "It's nothing. Nothing at all."
"But—"
"It's nothing, my love. Mama's fine. Mama's always fine."
But her face had gone pale. Too pale. Her lips were losing color.
The carriage continued jolting as it tore down the path away from the ambush. The angle shifted—the ridge dipped downward—and Aaron could hear guards shouting over the thunder of hooves.
"Left flank collapsing!"
"Protect the carriage!"
"They're targeting the Consort!"
"We need reinforcements! Where are the—"
The voice cut off abruptly.
Aaron clutched Neria while trying to steady Lira, who sagged against the wall. His hands pressed against her wound, desperately trying to slow the bleeding. His palms came away slick and red.
"It's going to be okay," he whispered, voice breaking. "I'll protect you. I'll protect both of you. I promise."
Lira managed a weak smile. "My brave boy..."
Another arrow struck the carriage roof with a heavy thunk. Splinters rained down, one cutting Aaron's cheek. He barely felt it.
The driver shouted something hoarse and panicked, words lost in the chaos.
Then the carriage tilted forward—one wheel lifting off the ground.
Physics took over.
"Hold on!" Lira screamed.
Aaron grabbed Neria and wrapped himself around her, bracing for impact. He pushed her against the front wall, his body between her and everything else.
Outside, a guard's final cry echoed into the forest.
"WE'RE UNDER ATTACK—"
The carriage careened down the slope, wheels skidding across loose soil and rocks.
Wood groaned. Metal screamed. The world became a spinning blur of sound and motion.
And through it all, Aaron held his sister and prayed to gods he wasn't sure existed that they would survive the next ten seconds.