Chapter 18: Return to Caelrhime

Aurette walked cautiously through the streets of Caelrhime, each step echoing across stone and snow. The storm that had roared outside the walls now seemed to whisper here — light flurries drifted from the sky, but the howling winds had stilled.

It was unnaturally calm.

And empty.

No voices. No signs of life.

But she knew.

There was only one place they could be — The Hollow, Caelrhime’s ancient sanctuary carved deep beneath the palace grounds. A place of safety, built long ago for war or worse. If anyone had survived, they would have taken shelter there.

Her pace quickened as she crossed the courtyard and reached the familiar path hidden behind the frostbitten statue of the late Patriarch Ilena.

She moved the concealed lever, still remembering how it worked.

The stone groaned faintly, revealing a narrow passage leading underground.

But just as she stepped forward—

Steel flashed.

A figure lunged from the shadows, a curved blade slashing toward her side.

Aurette reacted instantly. She turned, her own dagger drawn in a heartbeat, and deflected the strike with a sharp metallic ring. Snow kicked up around them as they both staggered back.

“I’m not your enemy!” she shouted, her breath sharp in the cold.

“Prove it,” the man growled.

“I am Aurette Rhimehart, daughter of the late Patriarch Elrian!”

The man hesitated, his stance faltering.

“…Aurette?” he said, voice cracking faintly. “Is it really you?”

She lowered her blade slightly. “Yes. I'm home.”

The man slowly stepped into the light — snow-crusted hair, a worn fur cloak, and eyes that looked like he hadn’t slept in days.

“Gods,” he muttered. “They said you were dead…”

“Who are you?” she asked softly.

“Ilan Norhart,” he said. “Captain of the Inner Guard. I served your father.”

His voice caught briefly on the last word.

Aurette’s grip on her dagger loosened. “…Then you know I wouldn’t lie about who I am.”

Ilan gave a stiff nod. “Forgive me, my lady. We’ve been on edge — feared spies, deserters… We didn’t expect you to return.”

“Take me to them,” she said. “To the ones who are still here.”

Ilan stepped aside, still stunned.

“…Of course, Your Grace. Right this way.”

And with that, Aurette descended into The Hollow, leaving behind the silent city above — and stepping into what remained of her kingdom below.

Deep beneath Caelrhime, in the ancient sanctuary known as The Hollow, fires burned steadily along the walls. The air was thick with silence and lingering tension. Old stones bore the weight of generations, and now, they sheltered the last hopes of a proud people.

Ilan led Aurette through the narrow corridors, past clusters of survivors. Wounded warriors lay in quiet corners, tended by healers. Children huddled close to their elders. Whispers spread like wind.

“She returned…”

“Is it truly her…?”

But Aurette didn’t speak. Her eyes stayed forward, focused and burdened. Her hand rested lightly on her sword’s hilt — more out of habit than fear.

They came to a wide hall, and at the end of it, beneath a carved arch bearing the Crest of House Rhimehart, stood the woman she had longed to see.

Seralyne, the current Patriarch of Caelrhime, stood tall despite the wear of recent days. She no longer wore ceremonial robes of leadership — only travel-worn leathers and a thick fur mantle. Yet she radiated the same quiet authority as always.

Seralyne’s pale eyes met hers.

For a moment, neither spoke.

“Mother,” Aurette said softly.

Seralyne took a slow step forward. Her voice was hoarse, as though unused. “You’re alive…”

“I am,” Aurette whispered.

Seralyne’s composure cracked just enough. She closed the distance, placing a hand gently to Aurette’s cheek.

“The storm whispered your name to me,” she murmured. “I prayed I wasn’t only hearing ghosts.”

Aurette leaned into her mother’s hand. “I walked through that storm. I think… I think it guided me home.”

Footsteps echoed from down the hall. Her brother, Aelric, rounded the corner, his usual stoic demeanour breaking as he laid eyes on her.

He exhaled sharply. “Aurette…”

And before she could respond, Lyara, her youngest sister, rushed forward with a cry. “Auri!”

Aurette opened her arms, catching her sister in a tight embrace.

“You’ve grown,” she laughed softly, her voice cracking.

Aelric approached more slowly, arms crossed, but his eyes betrayed the relief. “We heard rumors you’d gone to fight. Then… nothing. We feared the worst.”

“I feared I wouldn’t make it back,” Aurette admitted.

Aelric looked at her, voice lower. “But you did.”

Aurette nodded, then looked up to Seralyne once more, the warmth fading from her expression.

“I saw the gates empty. The Hollow… full. What happened to Caelrhime?”

Seralyne’s hand dropped to her side. She took a slow breath.

“They came during the third night of stormfall,” she said. “Swift, organized. Not a warband — not from the Northern Tribes we know. Something different. Unnatural.”

Aelric added, “They didn’t even try to parley. Just gave a message: kneel or perish.”

“We refused,” Seralyne said flatly.

“We always will,” Aelric finished.

Aurette’s gaze darkened.

“I know who they follow,” she said. “His name is Vaerond.”

The name settled like frost in the hall.

Seralyne glanced at her. “That name… we never heard it. Only felt the fear it brought.”

“Well, now you will,” Aurette said quietly, glancing around at the surviving people of her home.

“Because I’m going to end him.”

The Hollow was quieter now. Only the steady hum of torches and the murmur of distant conversations lingered as Aurette sat with her family in one of the more private chambers carved into the icy stone.

Seralyne stood beside her, arms folded, gaze unwavering. Aelric paced slowly nearby, while Lyara sat close to Aurette, fingers curled into the fabric of her cloak.

“I didn’t come back the same,” Aurette said, her voice even, though a flicker of something raw slipped through. “Not after that fight.”

Seralyne’s brows pulled together slightly. “You saw him… the one behind this.”

Aurette nodded slowly. “Vaerond.”

The name was a blade in the air. Aelric stopped pacing.

“I fought him,” she continued, her tone measured. “Or… tried to.

He’s something else entirely. Monstrous. His mana alone could crush a lesser man. I’ve never faced anything like it.”

Lyara’s eyes widened, but she stayed silent. Aelric frowned, eyes sharp. “And you fought him alone?”

“…Not entirely,” she said reluctantly.

Seralyne arched an eyebrow. “Who stood with you?”

There was a pause. Then: “Raye.”

Even saying the name made her jaw tighten. “The Prince of the Fire Kingdom.”

Aelric immediately stepped forward. “You fought alongside him?” His tone was sharp, incredulous. “You fought with him?”

“I didn’t say I liked it,” Aurette shot back. “But without him… I might not be standing here. That’s the truth.”

Seralyne blinked slowly. She knew how much pride lived in her daughter’s spine. To admit something like that — to acknowledge another had saved her — it meant the moment had cut deep.

“I never thought I’d hear you say something like that,” she said softly.

“I didn’t want to,” Aurette muttered.

Aelric’s voice rose again, full of old distrust. “He’s still Fireborn! He’s their heir. His bloodline burned our borders not even four decades ago—”

Seralyne raised a hand — firm, yet calm. “Aelric.”

He bit back the rest of his words, but his jaw worked with silent frustration.

Aurette didn’t flinch. “I haven’t forgotten what they did. But this isn’t just about old grudges. Vaerond would have killed us both. He nearly did.”

“I was wounded badly,” she added. “I was… about to die.”

Now the room was quiet.

“And then, just before I blacked out… the storm moved. It didn’t crush me. It felt like it was shielding me. Like it let me pass through.”

“We were done. I couldn’t lift my sword anymore. My ribs were shattered. Raye was barely standing. And then… the storm came.”

“You mean the blizzard that’s swallowed the north for days?”

Aelric scoffed. “The storm protected you?”

“I’m not saying it makes sense,” Aurette snapped. “But something happened. And before I knew it, Caelan — the King of Aeldenmarch — came with his men. They rescued us. Carried us back. Tended our wounds.”

“You were unconscious?” Seralyne asked gently.

“For two days,” Aurette said. “And when I woke, I left. Came back here.”

Seralyne looked at her daughter with a mixture of concern and pride. “You carry more than wounds, Aurette.”

“We all do,” Aurette said. “But we’ll need to carry more still, if we want to survive this war.”

Seralyne gave a slow nod. “Then rest tonight. Tomorrow, we plan. Caelrhime still stands — and we are not done yet.”

“I don’t trust Fireborn either,” Aurette said, softer now. “But right now, they’re not the ones tearing through our lands.”

Seralyne nodded slowly. “Then we’ll do what we must.”

And for the first time since she arrived, Aurette let her shoulders ease — just slightly.