The tavern was a symphony of chaos—clinking tankards, raucous laughter, the occasional drunken brawl—and Kael loved every note of it.

  He strummed his lute, fingers dancing across the strings with practiced ease, and flashed a grin at the crowd. "Gather 'round, you lovely wretches! Tonight, I sing the tale of the Hollow King’s Fall—a story so tragic, it’ll make your ale taste sweeter by comparison!"

  A few cheers rose up. Sorin, slumped in the corner with a tankard of something suspiciously dark, raised an eyebrow. Aeris, ever the skeptic, folded her arms. "You’re butchering history for coin."

  Kael winked. "History’s just gossip with a fancy title, Archivist."

  He launched into the ballad, his voice rich and rolling, the melody a familiar one—or so he thought.

  "The king once stood in halls of gold,

  His crown a weight too great to hold..."

  The words flowed easily, a well-worn path. But then—

  His fingers faltered.

  The tune twisted.

  The next verse spilled from his lips unbidden, raw and aching:

  "The crown is not yours to bear,

  Oh fallen king, beware, beware—

  The hands that built will break the throne,

  And you will stand there all alone..."

  A hush fell over the tavern.

  The crowd, sensing blood in the water, leaned in.

  Jessa plucked the lute from Kael’s hands—too fast for him to stop her—and strummed a chord that sent a shiver down his spine. It was his melody, the one he’d just sung, but older. Sadder.

  "The crown is not yours to bear..."

  Sorin flinched.

  Kael’s chest ached. That tune—it wasn’t just a song. It was a memory.

  Flashback:

  Smoke. Rubble. A city in ruins.

  A child’s voice, hoarse from screaming: "Lira! LIRA!"

  No answer. Only the wind, howling through broken streets.

  Kael blinked, the vision fading as quickly as it came.

  Jessa leaned in, her breath warm against his ear. "You remember now, don’t you?"

  He didn’t. Not fully. But the name Lira sat heavy on his tongue, bitter as regret.

  Aeris stood abruptly. "Enough. We’re leaving."

  Jessa smirked. "Running away again, Kael?"

  He opened his mouth—to protest, to demand answers—but then a scream cut through the tavern.

  The door burst open.

  A Sanctum Knight stood there, bloodied and wild-eyed. "They’re coming," he gasped. "The Hounds."

  And then—

  A note fluttered from the rafters, landing at Sorin’s feet.

  In jagged script, it read:

  "The Hounds are coming."

  The tavern erupted into chaos. Patrons scrambled for the exits, tankards shattering, benches overturned.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  Kael grabbed his lute, heart pounding. "We need to move. Now."

  Sorin stared at the note, his scars pulsing. "Who left this?"

  Aeris snatched it, her face paling. "The Exiled One."

  Jessa hadn’t moved. She watched Kael with something like pity. "You can’t outrun them forever."

  He didn’t answer. He couldn’t.

  Because the melody was still humming in his bones, and the name Lira was a wound that wouldn’t close.

  As they fled into the night, Kael risked one glance back—

  Jessa stood in the doorway, her silhouette framed by firelight, still strumming that damned song.

  And this time, the lyrics were clear:

  "The crown remembers,

  The king forgets,

  And all that’s left...

  Is blood and debt."

  The night air was thick with the scent of burning oak and distant rain as Kael sprinted after Aeris and Sorin through the twisting alleys of Lumin Hollow. His lungs burned, but the melody—that damned melody—still echoed in his skull, each note a needle pressing deeper.

  "The crown is not yours to bear..."

  Why did those words make his hands shake?

  Lyria, perched on Sorin's back like a wraith, peered over his shoulder. "Kael," she called, "your song made the magic angry."

  "It wasn't my song," he muttered.

  Aeris whipped around a corner, her boots skidding on wet cobblestones. "Less talking, more running."

  Behind them, a howl cut through the dark—long, low, and wrong. Not an animal. Not human.

  The Hounds.

  Kael's stomach lurched. He'd heard stories. The Order's hunters, teeth sharper than sanctum steel, trained to track the scent of heresy. And now they were coming for them.

  They collapsed inside a crumbling watchtower on the city's edge, its stones slick with moss. Sorin barred the door while Aeris paced, dagger glinting in the moonlight.

  Kael slumped against the wall, his lute clutched to his chest like a shield. "So. Jessa."

  Aeris's glare could've flayed skin. "You know her."

  "Knew," he corrected. "Bard circles are small. We... crossed paths."

  Paths. Blades. Same thing.

  Sorin rubbed his scars, now dull but aching. "She acted like you'd stolen that song. Like it was real."

  Kael forced a laugh. "All songs are real to someone."

  Lyria tugged his sleeve. "But this one hurt you."

  Silence.

  A memory flickered—a child's hands, bloody from digging through rubble. A voice screaming "Lira!" until it cracked.

  He shut his eyes. "I don't remember." Liar.

  Aeris unfolded the Exiled One's message again, holding it up to the moonlight. "There's more," she said slowly.

  Invisible ink, reacting to the cold, revealed jagged additions:

  "The Hounds are coming.

  So is she.

  The crown remembers.

  Do you?"

  Sorin's breath hitched. "She?"

  Another howl, closer this time. The walls trembled.

  Kael's fingers found his lute strings, plucking a nervous rhythm. "We need a plan."

  Aeris snorted. "Your plan got us hunted by demon dogs."

  "My plan? You're the one who dragged us into a sunken death archive!"

  Lyria clapped her hands over her ears. "Too loud! They'll hear!"

  Too late.

  A thud shook the door. Then another. Wood splintered.

  Sorin's scars ignited. "Move. Now."

  They scrambled up the tower's rotten stairs, Kael half-dragging Lyria as the door below shattered. Glimpses of shadows—too many limbs, eyes like smoldering coals—flashed in the dark.

  The roof was a gamble: a ten-foot leap to the next building. Aeris went first, landing hard but rolling. Sorin followed, Lyria clinging to his back.

  Kael hesitated.

  A growl rumbled below.

  He jumped.

  His foot slipped on the rain-slick tiles. For one heart-stopping second, he hung in open air—

  —then Sorin's hand clamped around his wrist, hauling him up.

  Panting, Kael managed a grin. "Knew you liked me."

  Sorin didn't smile. "The song, Kael. What was it?"

  The truth sat like a stone in his throat. "I don't know. But I think... I think it's mine."

  A shriek tore through the night. The Hounds had reached the roof.

  No time left.

  As they fled across the rooftops, Kael's mind raced. Jessa knew. The Exiled One knows. And now the Hounds are coming.

  But worst of all?

  The crown remembers.

  And he was starting to.

  Dawn bled across the sky as they collapsed in a derelict temple, its altar cracked like a skull. Lyria curled into Sorin's side, already asleep. Aeris kept watch, her dagger unsheathed.

  Kael stared at his hands, calloused from years of playing.

  Then, softly, he hummed the cursed melody.

  Sorin's scars flared in response.

  Aeris turned, eyes wide. "Stop. Now."

  But Kael couldn't.

  Because the next verse came unbidden—

  "Lira waits in halls of gold,

  Her name the key, her fate untold..."

  —and the temple doors rattled.

  Something was knocking.

  Kael’s breath caught. That wasn’t the song.

  Across the room, Sorin’s scars flared gold—just for a heartbeat—before dimming again. His knuckles whitened around his tankard.

  Then, a slow clap cut through the silence.

  "Bravo," drawled a voice from the shadows. "Though I’d recognize that melody anywhere—even stolen."

  A woman stepped into the firelight, her grin sharp as a blade. She wore a bard’s coat, patched with scraps of foreign silks, and her fingers tapped a rhythm against her thigh—one that mirrored Kael’s own restless habit.

  Jessa.

  His stomach dropped.

  "Jessa," he said, forcing a laugh. "Fancy meeting you in a pit like this."

  She tilted her head. "Still stealing songs from dead worlds, Kael?"

  The words struck like a slap.

  Aeris’s gaze flicked between them. Sorin was unnaturally still.

  Kael’s fingers tightened on his lute. "I don’t know what you’re talking about."

  Jessa’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. "Liar."