Chapter 18: The Heir Rejected

The night stretched endlessly, the canvas of Kael's tent doing little to block the weight of his thoughts. The council's voices had long since faded into the distance, replaced by the restless hum of the camp. But for Kael, the silence was louder than any battle cry. He lay on his bedroll, staring at the faint shadows cast by the moonlight, his hands gripping the blanket as if holding on for dear life.

He couldn't sleep.

Every time he closed his eyes, the images came rushing back—his father's still body, Marek's sharp words, and the circle of elders staring at him as if he were a boy playing at leadership.

"Step aside," Marek's voice echoed in his mind, cruelly calm.

Kael rolled onto his side, clutching his chest as the suffocating weight of his decision pressed down on him. Had he made the right choice? Was stepping aside the honorable thing to do, or had he simply proven Marek right?

The knot in his stomach tightened. He had tried to convince himself that it wasn't surrender, that it was what was best for the tribes. But deep down, he knew the truth—he had given up.

A sudden rustling at the entrance of his tent snapped Kael out of his thoughts. He sat up quickly, his heart pounding.

The flap parted, and a warrior from the Ember Tribe stepped inside. His dark braids were pulled tight against his scalp, and the firelight glinted off the polished armor he wore.

"Kael," the warrior said, his tone formal but devoid of emotion. "The council has summoned you."

Kael's stomach churned. "Why?"

"They have reached a decision," the warrior replied simply.

Kael's mouth went dry. His hands trembled as he pushed himself to his feet, his legs feeling like lead beneath him.

The warrior stepped aside, gesturing for Kael to follow. "Come. The council awaits."

Kael hesitated, his mind racing. Part of him wanted to refuse, to stay in the safety of his tent and avoid whatever judgment awaited him. But the thought of his father—of Talar standing tall in the face of every challenge—spurred him forward.

He grabbed his cloak and followed the warrior into the night.

The walk to the council tent felt impossibly long, every step a battle against the growing dread in Kael's chest. The camp was eerily quiet, the fires burning low as most of the tribes slept. Only a handful of warriors remained on patrol, their shadows flitting between the tents like specters.

As they approached the council's gathering place, Kael noticed something strange. The air felt heavier, the atmosphere charged with an energy he couldn't quite place. He stepped through the tent's opening, bracing himself for whatever awaited him.

What he saw stopped him cold.

Marek sat on Talar's throne.

The golden accents of his ceremonial attire shimmered in the firelight, the cloak draped over his shoulders a clear symbol of his newfound authority. He looked every inch the king chief, his posture regal and his expression calm but commanding.

Kael's breath caught in his throat. He hadn't expected this.

"Kael," Marek said, his voice smooth and steady. "I'm glad you came."

Kael's fists clenched at his sides as he forced himself to step forward. "What's going on?"

The other elders were seated around the fire, their faces unreadable. Risa, who had spoken so sharply before, now looked uncharacteristically subdued.

Marek gestured to the throne beneath him, his lips curving into a faint smile. "The council has decided. I will take on the mantle of king chief."

Kael's heart sank. He had known this was coming, but seeing Marek already seated on Talar's throne made the betrayal sting all the more.

"I wanted you to hear it from me," Marek continued, his tone feigning sympathy. "Out of respect for your father—and for you."

Kael's jaw tightened, his gaze fixed on the throne. "When will the announcement be made?"

"Tomorrow," Marek replied. "The tribes will gather at sunrise for the official coronation."

Kael swallowed hard, the weight of Marek's words pressing down on him like a crushing tide.

"There is one more matter to address," Marek said, his eyes locking onto Kael's. "The question of an heir."

Kael's stomach twisted.

Marek's smile was faint but deliberate. "I will name my son as my successor. It is only fitting, given the need for stability and continuity."

The words struck Kael like a blow, his vision swimming as he struggled to process what Marek had just said.

"You'll always have a place among the tribes," Marek added, his voice softening as though he were offering a gift. "Your father's legacy will be honored, and you will be welcome here for as long as you choose to stay."

Kael's chest felt like it might cave in. "You're replacing me."

Marek tilted his head, his expression calm but unyielding. "I am making the best decision for the tribes. You are young, Kael. You have time to find your own path."

Kael's grip tightened on the edge of his cloak, his knuckles white. He felt like a child again, powerless and insignificant beneath Marek's calculating gaze.

He wanted to argue, to shout that he was more than just "young." But the words refused to come.

Instead, he bowed his head, his voice barely audible. "I understand."

Marek's smile widened slightly, as if satisfied with Kael's response. "Good. Rest well, nephew. Tomorrow begins a new chapter for all of us."

Kael bowed stiffly before turning on his heel and walking out of the tent.

The cool night air hit him like a slap as he stumbled away from the council tent. His vision blurred, tears stinging his eyes as the weight of everything came crashing down on him.

He wasn't Talar's heir. He wasn't a leader. He wasn't anything.

The memory of his father's strength weighed on him, a cruel reminder of the expectations he had failed to meet. He wanted to scream, to fight, to push back against the world that felt so intent on breaking him—but he couldn't muster the strength to do anything but keep walking.

"Kael?"

The soft voice cut through the haze, and he turned to see Frenna standing nearby, her expression filled with concern.

"What's wrong?" she asked, stepping closer.

Kael's composure shattered. He sank to the ground, burying his face in his hands as the tears came freely.

"I'm sorry," he choked out, his voice trembling. "I've failed everyone. My father... the tribes... myself."

Frenna knelt beside him, her strong arms wrapping around his shoulders. "Kael, stop. You haven't failed."

"Yes, I have," Kael said bitterly. "Marek's king chief now. He's naming his son as heir. I've been replaced."

Frenna's grip tightened. "That doesn't mean you're nothing. You're still Kael, and that means something to me—to all of us."

Kael shook his head, his tears soaking into his hands. "I don't know who I am anymore. Everything I thought I was supposed to be—it's gone."

"You're still here," Frenna said firmly, pulling back to look him in the eye. "And as long as you're here, you have a choice. To fight, to lead, to prove Marek wrong—whatever path you choose, you're not alone."

Kael met her gaze, his chest tightening. For the first time that night, the crushing weight in his chest seemed to lift, if only slightly.

"Frenna..." he began, his voice trailing off.

She smiled faintly, brushing a strand of hair from his face. "You're stronger than you think, Kael. Don't let anyone—not even Marek—convince you otherwise."

Without thinking, Kael leaned forward, his lips meeting hers in a kiss that was fierce and desperate, a release of all the pain and fear that had been building inside him.

Frenna didn't pull away. Instead, she leaned into him, her hands cupping his face as the kiss deepened.

For a moment, the world around them faded. There were no councils, no betrayals, no expectations—just the two of them, grounded in the here and now.

When they finally broke apart, Frenna's gaze held his, steady and sure.

"You're not alone," she said again, her voice soft but resolute.

Kael nodded, the weight in his chest easing just a little more. For the first time in what felt like forever, he believed her.