Chapter 95

Chapter 95: Chapter 95

The figure stepped forward into the candlelight, and the hood fell back.

He was tall—nearly as tall as Soren—with broad shoulders and the lean, wiry build of a warrior who had spent years traveling through harsh terrain. His hair was dark and unkempt, falling past his shoulders in tangled waves. A scar ran from his left temple to the corner of his jaw, old and faded but still visible. His eyes were the color of storm clouds—gray and turbulent and full of secrets.

But it was his face that made Nyra’s breath catch. Not because it was cruel or threatening, but because of the way Soren looked at him. The way Corvin looked at him. The way Ragnar looked at him. As if a ghost had just walked through the door.

"Roderic," the King breathed, and the name echoed through the silent hall like a prayer. "After all these years. You’ve come back."

Roderic bowed—a deep, formal gesture that spoke of old training and older loyalties. "Your Majesty. Forgive my late arrival. The roads from the northern territories were... difficult."

"Difficult." The King laughed—a short, surprised sound. "That’s all you have to say? You vanish for five years, and you come back with ’the roads were difficult’?"

"I have much to explain. But perhaps not in front of the entire court." Roderic’s storm-gray eyes swept across the assembled nobles, pausing briefly on Soren, on Corvin, on Ragnar. Something flickered in his expression—regret, maybe, or longing. "It’s good to see you all. I’ve missed you."

Soren didn’t speak. His hands were still trembling on the table, his dark eyes fixed on Roderic with an intensity that Nyra had never seen before. It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t joy. It was something more complicated—something that spoke of old wounds and unresolved pain.

Corvin was the first to break the silence. "Roderic. You look terrible."

Roderic’s lips curved into a ghost of a smile. "You look exactly the same. Still playing with your potions?"

"Still wandering the wilderness like a stray dog?"

"Some things never change."

Ragnar rose from his chair, his scarred face unreadable. For a moment, Nyra thought he might embrace his old friend. Instead, he stopped a few feet away, his hands clenched at his sides. "Five years," he said, his voice rough. "Five years without a word. Without a letter. Without anything. And you just walk in here like nothing happened?"

"I didn’t expect you to understand."

"Then explain it to me. Explain why you left. Explain why you never came back."

Roderic’s gaze dropped. "I will. I promise. But not here. Not like this. Not tonight." He looked at the King. "Your Majesty, I request a private audience. With my old friends. There are things I need to discuss with them. Things that have been a long time coming."

The King studied him for a long moment. "Very well. But whatever you have to say—whatever explanation you owe—it can wait until after the showcase. Tomorrow is a day of celebration. Let us not darken it with old ghosts."

"Of course, Your Majesty."

The musicians struck up a new melody. The servants resumed their rounds. The nobles returned to their conversations, though the whispers had taken on a new, urgent tone. Roderic approached the high table and took a seat near the end, close to where Ragnar sat. He didn’t speak. He didn’t try to explain. He just sat there, a ghost from the past, his presence a wound that had been reopened.

Nyra leaned close to Corvin. "Who is he? Really?"

Corvin’s jaw was tight. "Roderic was the fourth in our group. Soren, Ragnar, me, and him. We grew up together. Trained together here at the academy. He was a student here before he left. He was..." He paused, searching for the right words. "He was the best of us. The one who always knew what to do. The one who held us together."

"What happened?"

"He left. Five years ago. Without warning. Without explanation. He just... vanished from the academy. No one knew where he went or why." Corvin’s whiskey-dark eyes were troubled. "Soren took it the hardest. He never talks about it. Never even says Roderic’s name. Whatever happened—whatever made Roderic leave—it broke something between them."

Nyra looked at Soren, who was still staring at Roderic with that unreadable expression. "And now he’s back."

"And now he’s back," Corvin agreed. "But he won’t say why. Not yet."

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

"I don’t know yet. But I intend to find out."

The feast concluded an hour later, the nobles and dignitaries retreating to their assigned quarters. But for Soren, Corvin, Ragnar, and Roderic, the night was far from over.

They gathered in Soren’s private suite—the same room where so many secrets had been shared, where so many promises had been made. The torches burned low, casting flickering shadows across the stone walls. Roderic stood near the window, his back to the room, staring out at the moonlit towers.

"Five years," Ragnar said, breaking the silence. "Start talking."

Roderic turned. His gray eyes swept across the three of them—Soren rigid on the bed, Corvin leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, Ragnar standing with his fists clenched. "I know you want answers. I know you deserve them. But I can’t give them to you yet."

"Why not?" Corvin’s voice was cold.

"Because the reasons I left—the things I’ve seen, the things I’ve done—they’re not something I can explain in one night. And right now, there are more important things to focus on. The showcase begins tomorrow. The King is here. The realm is watching. Whatever else I have to say can wait until after."

Soren spoke for the first time. "You vanished without a word. You left us thinking you were dead. And now you come back and tell us to wait?"

"I’m not asking you to forgive me. I’m asking you to trust me. Just for a few more days."

"Trust you?" Soren rose from the bed, his dark eyes blazing. "You were my best friend, Roderic. My brother in everything but blood. And you disappeared without a trace. Do you have any idea what that did to me? To all of us?"

Roderic’s composure cracked. "I know. I know what I did. And I’ve regretted it every single day for five years. But I made a choice—a choice I thought was right at the time and I’ve been living with the consequences ever since." He stepped closer to Soren. "I’m not asking for your forgiveness tonight. I’m asking for your patience. Let me prove myself. Let me show you that I’m still the person you used to know."

Soren stared at him for a long moment. Then, slowly, he nodded. "Fine. But after the showcase—after my father has gone and the dust has settled you will tell us everything. No more secrets. No more excuses."

"Agreed."

"Then we have a showcase to prepare for." Soren turned to the others. "Get some rest. All of you. Tomorrow is going to be a long day."

Corvin pushed off the wall. "I’ll walk Roderic to his quarters. Make sure he doesn’t vanish again."

"I’m not going to vanish."

"Forgive me if I don’t take your word for it."

Roderic almost smiled. "Fair enough."

They filed out of the suite one by one, leaving Soren alone with his thoughts and the ghost of a friendship he had thought was lost forever.

While the four old friends wrestled with their past, Nyra sat in the Undercroft dorm with Finn, Marek, and Jasper, her mind still reeling from the events of the feast.

"So let me get this straight," Finn said, pacing the length of the room. "The mysterious stranger who walked in at the end of the feast is Roderic, the fourth childhood friend that Soren never talks about. He vanished from the academy five years ago, and now he’s back looking like he’s been living in the wilderness. Is that about right?"

"That’s about right," Nyra confirmed.

"And now Soren, Corvin, Ragnar, and this Roderic person are all holed up somewhere, probably talking about whatever secret history they have?"

"Probably."

Finn threw his hands up. "This is insane. First the King shows up and reveals that Soren is the crown prince—which, by the way, I’m still processing and then a mysterious former student walks in like a ghost from the past. What’s next? Is someone going to reveal that Marek is secretly a prince too?"

Marek looked up from sharpening his knife. "I’m not a prince."

"Are you sure? You have the brooding silence of royalty."

"I’m sure."

"That’s exactly what a secret prince would say."

"Finn," Nyra said, cutting off the tangent. "Focus."

"Right. Focus. Sorry." Finn dropped onto his bunk. "So who is this Roderic person? Did Corvin tell you anything?"

Nyra hesitated. She couldn’t tell them everything—couldn’t tell them about the danger that was closing in. They didn’t know. They couldn’t know. It would put them at risk.

"Roderic was their childhood friend," she said carefully. "He trained here at the academy with Soren, Corvin, and Ragnar. Five years ago, he left without warning. No one knows why. Soren never talks about him."

"And now he’s back," Jasper said quietly. "On the eve of the showcase."

"Coincidence?" Finn asked.

"I don’t believe in coincidences," Jasper replied.

"Neither do I," Nyra admitted. "But whatever his reasons for returning, they’re personal. Between him and the others. It’s not our concern."

"It is if it affects you," Marek said. "And everything seems to affect you these days."

Nyra couldn’t argue with that.

A knock at the door made all four of them tense. Marek rose and opened it a crack, then relaxed. "It’s the princess."

Freya slipped into the room, her dark hair loose around her shoulders, her formal gown exchanged for a simple nightdress and robe. She looked tired but determined. "I couldn’t sleep. Too much excitement." She perched on the edge of Nyra’s bunk. "I heard about Roderic. Soren mentioned him once—years ago. He said he was the brother he lost. I didn’t understand what he meant until tonight."

"Did you know him? Before he left?"

"A little. I was only eight when he vanished. But I remember him. He used to make me laugh." Freya’s expression was sad. "Soren changed after he left. Became colder. More distant. I think losing Roderic broke something in him."

The room was quiet. Finn had stopped pacing. Marek had set down his knife. Jasper’s sharp eyes were fixed on Freya with quiet sympathy.

"Your brother is strong," Nyra said softly. "Whatever happened with Roderic—whatever pain it caused—he survived it. He became the Sword Sovereign. He became the man he is today."

"With your help," Freya said. "I can see it. The way he looks at you. The way he’s changed since you arrived." She smiled. "You’re good for him, Thorne. I’m glad he has you."

Nyra felt a blush creep up her cheeks. "Thank you, Your Highness."

"Freya. Just Freya. We’re going to be family someday, after all."

Finn choked on air. "Family? Did she just say family? Thorne, what is she talking about?"

"Nothing," Nyra said quickly. "She’s talking about the alliance between our packs. Political family."

"Right. Political family. Of course." Finn didn’t look convinced. "That’s definitely what she meant."

Freya’s eyes sparkled with mischief, but she said nothing more.

"We should get some rest," Jasper said, coming to Nyra’s rescue. "The showcase begins at dawn. We all need to be at our best."

"Jasper is right," Nyra agreed. "Freya, you should get back to your quarters before your mother notices you’re gone."

"She probably already knows. Mothers always know." Freya stood and smoothed her robe. "Goodnight, everyone. I’ll see you at the showcase."

She slipped out of the room, and the dormitory settled into an uneasy quiet. Finn was still muttering about secret princes and mysterious strangers. Marek had returned to his knife. Jasper had opened his book, though his eyes weren’t moving across the pages.

Nyra lay back on her bunk and stared at the ceiling. Roderic. The fourth friend. The ghost from the past. What had brought him back after all these years? And why did his return feel like the first rumble of an approaching storm?