The city of Serrin was louder than Ravel remembered.
Merchants hollered from both sides of the street. Guards marched in tight formation. Smoke from midday cooking fires drifted through narrow alleys and mixed with the clamor of thousands of people trying to barter, hurry, complain, or be heard over someone else. Tall banners snapped in the wind above every gate, the imperial crest bright against the sky.
Ravel kept his head down. A simple brown cloak covered the distinct white streak in his hair, and he kept his hands tucked inside his sleeves so no one could see the faint glow pulsing beneath the skin. The sphere had branded him with its light. He didn't know why. He didn't plan to explain it either.
He threaded through the crowds with careful steps. Five years had passed since he'd last walked these streets. Back then he had been escorted by tutors or guards on every visit. People used to whisper his name like he was some kind of prophecy.
Now, no one spared him a glance.
Good.
He blended into the mess of travelers and farmers and workers who poured in through Serrin's western gate. He needed that cover because something was wrong with the city. He could feel the tension in the air. Not fear. Not panic. Something sharper. Something organized.
A sharp whistle cut through the noise. Then a man shouted from the plaza up ahead.
"Clear the path!"
The crowd parted in waves. Four armored soldiers pushed forward, scanning the faces around them. Plates of polished black metal covered their shoulders and chests, and each helmet bore the red insignia of the capital's inner guard. People lowered their eyes. Some stepped back entirely.
The inner guard never patrolled the street markets. They only left the fortress for high-priority searches.
Ravel moved with the crowd, letting himself be swept to the side. The soldiers marched past, their eyes cold and calculating. One carried a device the size of a lantern. It vibrated faintly, as if tasting the air.
A resonance detector.
His stomach tightened.
They were looking for someone.
A moment later, Ravel reached the edge of the plaza. Posters hung from the stone pillars surrounding it. Dozens of them. Fresh ink. Fresh glue. A bit uneven, like they had been slapped up in a hurry.
Ravel stepped closer.
Each one showed the same sketch.
A teenage boy with sharp eyes. A single white streak in his hair.
The poster read:
WANTED FOR QUESTIONINGRAVEL KYRONHEIR OF HOUSE KYRONAPPROACH WITH CAUTION
He froze for a heartbeat. Then he felt the sphere inside his satchel pulse once, as if reminding him to keep moving.
He turned away. He walked calmly. No sudden steps. No panic.
He took the next street, then another, sliding deeper into the tangle of alleys behind the plaza. The noise faded. The air grew heavy. And when he was finally alone between two old storage buildings, he exhaled.
Five years of silence. Five years of hiding in the watchtower. Five years of ignoring the pull in his mind.
And now the empire wanted him found.
He placed a hand on his satchel.
"Not yet," he whispered.
The sphere thrummed beneath the canvas. Like it disagreed.
Ravel leaned his back against the wall and closed his eyes for a moment to steady himself. He wasn't sure what the empire wanted, but he knew why they suddenly cared again.
Three nights ago, the sky had split open.
A ring of light had burned across the clouds. The ground shook. Every cultivator in the region had collapsed under the pressure. Priests said it was a divine omen. Scholars said it was a rift. The emperors of the northern continent declared it a threat.
And Ravel?
He had watched it happen from the watchtower. The sphere had lit up brighter than the sun. It showed him the star map for the first time, shifting from a dull dead crystal to something alive. Something aware.
And then it whispered.
Find the Silent Star.
Not a thought. Not a guess. A voice that felt older than language, spoken directly into his mind.
That was why he'd come back to the city. Supplies. Tools. Maps. He had planned to enter quietly, gather what he needed, leave quietly.
Then he saw the posters.
Then the empire began sniffing for him.
He pushed off the wall and moved through the back alley. He had no intention of being caught. Not by them. Not now.
He turned the corner.
And stopped.
A woman blocked the path ahead. Lean, sharp-eyed, with a short blade strapped across her back. Her clothes were the worn kind used by mercenaries who lived far from cities. Dust clung to her boots. A crease at the corner of her eye suggested she was older than her youthful face let on. Her posture was too relaxed for someone who had wandered into a random alley.
She was waiting.
Ravel didn't move. His fingers twitched toward the sphere at his side.
"Don't do that," the woman said, raising one hand.
Her voice was calm but tired.
"I'm not here to turn you in."
He said nothing.
She nodded at the wall behind him. "Those posters are everywhere. You should avoid staring at them for too long. Looks suspicious."
Ravel studied her. Hard to read. Harder to trust.
"What do you want?" he asked.
"Same thing you do," she said. "A way out of this city."
He narrowed his eyes. "And why would I help you?"
She stepped closer, lowering her voice.
"Because the empire wants you alive. And they want me dead."
That wasn't an answer he expected.
She scanned the street behind him, then looked him straight in the eyes.
"My name is Seris. I used to serve in the inner legions. I deserted two months ago."
Ravel's pulse quickened. "…Why are you telling me this?"
"Because you're being hunted," she said. "And you don't know how they operate. But I do."
He glanced toward the edge of the alley where sunlight cut across the stone. More soldiers marched past, their boots echoing loudly. Seris leaned against the wall, her hand close to her blade.
"You're not safe here," she said. "And you look like someone who knows it."
Ravel hesitated, unsure whether to walk away or hear her out. Seris seemed to sense his distrust.
"You don't have to trust me," she said. "Just don't stand still long enough for them to surround you."
The sphere pulsed again. Once, sharply.
Ravel didn't know what it meant, but he moved.
"Fine," he said quietly. "Walk."
Seris nodded once and slipped out of the alley with practiced confidence.
Ravel followed.
He didn't trust her. Not yet.
But she wasn't wrong.
He needed to get out of this city before the empire got close enough to ask him questions he refused to answer.
And he needed to reach the Silent Star.
Whatever waited there…It was calling him.
And its voice was getting louder.