Ashes of the Forsaken

Kieran had never walked openly in the noble district before.

Not since his return.

Not since his death.

He had always stayed in the shadows, lurking at the edges of power, watching from the darkness.

But tonight, he strode down the cobblestone streets of the noble quarter as if he belonged.

Because tonight, he did.

Or at least, that's what he needed them to believe.

The Keepers were watching.

And Kieran was about to make sure they saw exactly what he wanted them to see.

The estate of Duke Calderon Veyne loomed ahead, its towering gates guarded by men in dark blue armor—the Veyne house sigil branded onto their chests.

Kieran didn't hesitate.

He walked straight to the entrance, his cloak billowing behind him.

The guards stepped forward, weapons ready.

"State your business."

Kieran didn't slow.

"You already know who I am."

One of the guards hesitated.

A flicker of recognition passed through his face.

The dead man standing before him.

Kieran smiled.

"Tell the Duke his guest has arrived."

Minutes later, Kieran stood in the grand hall of Duke Calderon's estate.

The same halls where his death had been signed into motion.

The same halls where his name had been erased from history.

And now—he was standing in them once again.

Alive.

Waiting.

The doors swung open.

Duke Calderon strode into the room, his expression unreadable.

"You have a habit of making my life difficult, Kieran."

Kieran smirked.

"And yet, you keep letting me in."

Calderon sighed, gesturing toward a side chamber.

"Come. Whatever insanity you're planning, I'd rather not discuss it in the open."

Kieran followed.

Because tonight, he wasn't asking for help.

He was forcing Calderon to play his game.

Calderon poured himself a drink before sitting down, his sharp gaze settling on Kieran.

"Tell me why you're here."

Kieran leaned back in his chair.

"I need access to the war council."

Calderon blinked.

Then—

He laughed.

Not a short chuckle.

A deep, amused laugh that echoed through the chamber.

"You never cease to surprise me."

Kieran's smirk didn't fade.

"Good. That means I'm doing something right."

Calderon exhaled, shaking his head.

"You want a seat at the war council? Are you mad?"

Kieran tilted his head.

"You already know the answer to that."

Calderon sighed, rubbing his temple.

"You realize that even if I wanted to get you in, it's not that simple. The war council is controlled by more than just nobles."

Kieran nodded.

"The Keepers."

Calderon's eyes flickered.

A moment of hesitation.

A confirmation.

So the Duke did know about them.

Kieran leaned forward.

"They already know I'm alive, Calderon. They already know I've been looking for answers."

He let the words settle.

"Now, I need them to believe I'm useful to them."

Calderon studied him.

"You don't even know what you're walking into."

Kieran smirked.

"Then I suppose I'll have to make a good impression."

Calderon exhaled sharply.

"You truly don't care if they kill you again, do you?"

Kieran's smile faded.

"If I was afraid of dying, I wouldn't have come back."

A long silence stretched between them.

Then—

Calderon sighed.

"You really are a damn nuisance."

Calderon swirled the drink in his glass before finally speaking.

"The war council meets tomorrow night. But you won't be getting in through normal channels."

He glanced at Kieran.

"You'll be attending as my personal advisor."

Kieran's eyes narrowed.

"Why would they believe that?"

Calderon chuckled.

"Because I'll make them believe it."

Kieran studied him.

The Duke was a master manipulator.

A man who could bend the rules of the kingdom without breaking them.

And if Calderon wanted Kieran in the war council, then Kieran would be in the war council.

But the real question was—

At what cost?

Calderon set down his glass.

"Listen to me, Kieran. If you do this, you'll be stepping into a room full of men who would kill you the moment they suspect you're a threat."

His gaze darkened.

"The Keepers do not tolerate loose ends. And right now? That's exactly what you are."

Kieran exhaled slowly.

"So I'll just have to make sure they don't see me as one."

Calderon shook his head.

"You have no idea what you're walking into."

Kieran's lips curled into a grin.

"Then it's a good thing I'm quick on my feet."

Calderon sighed.

"Fine. I'll get you in."

"But once you're in that room, Kieran… you're on your own."

Kieran nodded.

He had expected nothing less.

The war council would be a den of wolves.

The Keepers would be watching his every move.

And the moment he slipped, the moment he made even the smallest mistake—

They would erase him again.

But Kieran had no intention of making mistakes.

Because for the first time, he was forcing them to play his game.

Calderon stood.

"You'll receive instructions tomorrow. Until then, stay out of trouble."

Kieran smirked.

"No promises."

Calderon rolled his eyes.

"Just try not to get yourself killed before you even walk through the damn door."

Kieran grinned.

And with that, he turned, stepping into the night.

The pieces were set.

The game had begun.

And tomorrow—he would walk into the lion's den.

Kieran left Calderon's estate with a plan.

It was dangerous.

Reckless, even.

But it was his best chance.

The war council was a place of power, deception, and bloodless executions.

Every noble who sat at that table understood one thing above all else—

Survival required control.

And if Kieran wanted to survive, he needed to make them believe he belonged.

The noble district was different at night.

Not empty.

Never empty.

The streets were lined with shrouded figures, spies and informants lurking beneath the glow of enchanted lanterns.

People who whispered in the dark.

People who saw everything.

Kieran knew the moment he stepped outside Calderon's gates—

The Keepers knew he was coming.

He kept moving, his steps measured, steady.

He couldn't let them see hesitation.

He couldn't let them smell fear.

Because they were watching.

He could feel them.

Not the nobles.

Not the hired blades.

Something else.

Something older.

A presence that lingered just beyond his reach.

The same presence he had felt in the ruins.

The same presence that had followed him since the moment he returned.

A reminder that the war was not truly over.

And now, he was walking straight toward its architects.

Kieran returned to the slums.

To the place where he had built his second life in the shadows.

The people here knew him.

They knew what he was becoming.

A ghost.

A legend.

A man who had died once and refused to stay buried.

But tonight, he wasn't here for them.

Tonight, he was here to prepare.

Because tomorrow, everything would change.

The hidden den was lit by flickering candlelight, the scent of damp stone and smoke filling the air.

At the center of the room, sprawled across a makeshift throne of broken crates and stolen silks, the slumlord waited.

She smirked as Kieran stepped inside.

"You've been busy."

Kieran exhaled.

"And you've been watching."

The slumlord chuckled.

"Of course I have. You think I wouldn't notice the way the city is shifting around you?"

She tilted her head.

"You're about to walk into the war council. Into the hands of the people who already killed you once."

Kieran didn't blink.

"I know."

Her grin widened.

"Then I assume you came here for more than just conversation."

Kieran never underestimated the slumlord.

She was more than just a crime boss.

She was an information broker.

A woman who had built her power by knowing things others wished to forget.

And right now—

Kieran needed knowledge more than weapons.

"The Keepers will be there."

The slumlord's smirk faded.

"I figured as much."

"What do you know about them?" Kieran asked.

She drummed her fingers against the arm of her chair.

"Not much. And that should tell you something."

She exhaled.

"I have eyes in every noble house. In every faction. I know what the war council eats for breakfast."

She met his gaze.

"But the Keepers? They don't leave footprints."

Kieran's chest tightened.

"Then how do I find them?"

The slumlord smirked.

"Simple."

She leaned forward.

"Make them find you."

"You're playing a dangerous game, Kieran."

The slumlord's voice was almost amused.

"And I like it."

Kieran studied her.

"You don't seem worried."

She chuckled.

"That's because I'm not the one walking into a den of murderers."

Kieran exhaled.

"If I don't come back?"

The slumlord shrugged.

"Then I'll drink to your memory. And steal whatever useful secrets you left behind."

Kieran smirked.

"Good to know."

Kieran left the slumlord's den before dawn.

The city was quiet.

Waiting.

And for the first time since his return, he felt it.

A shift.

A turning point.

The moment when everything that had been set in motion finally collided.

Tomorrow, he would step into a room full of men who held the power of the kingdom itself.

Men who had erased him.

Men who had rewritten history.

And tomorrow—

He would make them see him again.

Kieran stood at the edge of the noble district, watching the great towers loom in the distance.

Tomorrow, he would be in that room.

Facing men who had killed for power.

And if he wasn't careful—they would kill him again.

But this time, they would learn something new.

Kieran was not a man who could be erased.

And if they tried—

He would burn their kingdom to the ground.