"Again," Kael told him.
The broker poured tea into metal mugs as if he'd not recently removed them from a haunted mansion mere seconds before the manor came crashing down.
"I said," Kael repeated, his voice acid-edged, "again. Why were you there?"
The broker set down the teapot and looked at them. "Because someone had to be."
They stood in what was evidently an old underground tram stop converted into a safehouse. Chipped wooden benches occupied the walls, and flickering signs above retained old ghost-line routes from fifty years ago.
Lira remained quiet, eyes still locked on the pendant around her neck. It had lost some of its sheen since they left. Kael noticed.
The broker sighed. "You want to hear the whole thing? Okay. Name's Calen. Ex-logistics man for House Viremont's vaulting division. My job was moving things—things too dicey to sit."
"You were a messenger," said Kael.
"I was the one they called when messengers got killed." Calen took a sip. "And I knew your father."
Kael's face locked up.
Lira blinked, confused.
"My… father?"
Calen nodded. "Kael Viremont's son. Elyric's son. Born at the end of the months before the siege. We thought you died. Everyone did. But I knew the relic your father wore wouldn't let you go without a fight. So I waited."
"You waited on what?"
"On you. On your habits. How your shard reacted to other relics. And when that lockhouse blew, I knew it wasn't chance. It was calling you."
Kael remained standing. Did not blink.
"You're telling. you've been following me since I was a kid?"
"No. I've been following the shard. You just happened to live long enough to be relevant once more."
"That's worse."
"No," Calen agreed. "It is."
Lira broke the silence. "Why did the house try to kill him?"
Calen rubbed his temple. "Because that vault was a self-destruct safety feature. Designed to kill anyone who failed the bloodline test."
"Then I passed," Kael replied. "I survived."
"That's what's terrifying the Court," Calen continued.
Lira's body tensed. "They knew he was alive?"
"They knew someone was waking up pieces of Viremont. That's why they sent Ferin. Not to watch. To destroy."
Kael's knuckles curled. "Why save us now, then?"
Calen looked him in the eye. "Because I was a servant of your father. And whether you'll admit it or not, you're the last heir.".
Kael's voice dropped. "Don't call me that."
Outside, thunder rolled across Hollowgate's skyline. A new storm building.
Calen poured more tea. "Like it or not, you're going to need allies."
Meanwhile…
A forge crackled beneath the city. Quiet. Hidden.
Inside, an older woman worked alone, sleeves rolled, firelight dancing across her face.
She had once been the forgekeeper of House Merel, an allied noble line wiped out during the same purge that shattered Viremont.
Now, she worked in exile.
Tonight, her hammer fell on something that would not ring.
It sang.
The steel beneath her hummed—not heat, but memory.
A fragment of armor bearing two crests: Viremont's flame, and a second, lost mark—a spire entwined with chains.
The forgekeeper stared.
Then breathed, "Not yet. Too soon."
But the relic pulsed again.
And far off, something very old responded.