Chapter 135: Tales Along Forgotten Roads
The question stayed with Kael.Even after he woke.Even after breakfast.Even after training with the King's Guard.It lingered in the back of his mind like a distant bell.Do you think a person can still go home after ten thousand years?Auren's question or perhaps—not just Auren's.Perhaps Asterion's.Perhaps the city's itself.Twenty-Five DaysThe countdown continued.Twenty-Five Days Until Arrival.
The Silver Star now shone even during the afternoon.
Visible from nearly every part of the kingdom.
People had begun giving it names.The Returning Star.The Wanderer's Lantern.
The Eighth Light.The Star of Home.That last name had become surprisingly popular.
Kael wasn't sure why.Yet every time he heard it—he thought of Auren.An Old Chest
That afternoon, Lyra burst into the palace library.
Covered in dust.Holding a wooden chest.
An ancient wooden chest.A very ancient wooden chest.The kind of chest that immediately caused problems."I found something."The room groaned.Again.
The Wanderer's Collection.The chest had been discovered beneath the oldest wing of the royal archives.Hidden behind sealed walls.Forgotten.Inside were journals.Not complete journals.Fragments.Single pages.
Loose entries.Pieces of stories.All written in different ages.Different languages.Different styles.
Yet each bore the same symbol.Seven stars.
And a road.The First Story.Lyra carefully translated the first fragment."Today I traded stories for soup."Silence.Kael blinked."That's it?" "That's the entire page."Lyra confirmed.
Varyn frowned."A legendary document."
"Very inspiring."Bram nodded."I support soup."Another FragmentThe second entry was longer."A fisherman in the western sea claimed he had caught a moonbeam."
"I told him that was impossible." "He showed me the moonbeam." "I bought him dinner."
Silence."What does that even mean?"Nyra asked.Nobody knew.Not even Lyra.A Different Side.As they continued reading, a pattern emerged.These weren't grand records.Not prophecies.Not battles.Not divine revelations.They were moments.
Tiny moments.A traveler recording life.A man wandering.Living.The Baker
One fragment described a baker."The baker insisted his bread could cure sadness." "I doubted him." "The bread was excellent."
"I still miss that village."Kael smiled despite himself.The entry felt strangely human.
The sort of thing someone would write after a good day.The Lonely King.Another entry carried a different tone.
"Met a king today."
"He possessed everything except someone he could trust.""We walked the city walls together." "He never learned my name."
"I hope he found peace."The room became quiet.Because behind the simple words
There was kindness.Astraeus had never written about himself.He wrote about others.The people he met.The lives he touched.The Wandering GodThe more they read—the more a picture emerged.Not of a deity.Not of a legend.
A traveler.Someone endlessly curious.Someone who believed every stranger carried a story worth hearing.
Someone who could spend a morning speaking with kings—and an afternoon helping fishermen repair nets.Kael found himself smiling more with each page.
Because somehow—The stories felt familiar.
Kade's Memory.Later that evening, Kael found Kade sitting beneath one of the palace trees.Watching birds.Because of course he was.Kael sat beside him.Without speaking.
After several moments—Kade sighed.
"You've been reading the journals."Kael nodded."Was he really like that?"
The old man smiled.A genuine smile.The kind born from memory.The Road Builder
"Astraeus never cared about power."Kade said."He cared about people."A pause.
"He once delayed an important meeting between rulers because a child wanted to show him a frog."Kael stared."...A frog?"
Kade nodded."He spent three hours looking for more frogs."Silence.
"That sounds ridiculous." "It absolutely was."
The LessonKade's gaze drifted toward the Silver Star."One day I asked him why."
"Why what?" "Why he stopped for everyone."
A pause."Why every conversation mattered."
Kade smiled.Then quietly recited words he had not spoken in centuries."Roads are not remembered because of where they lead."
"They're remembered because of who walked beside us."The wind stirred the trees.
Neither spoke.
Because the words carried weight.The weight of a life fully lived.A New Dream
That night, Kael dreamed again.The silver bridge stretched into eternity.Asterion loomed larger than ever.Close enough now that he could see movement within its streets.Lights.Gardens.Shadows.Life.
And Auren waited at the bridge's edge.This time holding a fishing rod.Kael immediately gave up trying to understand anything.
A Story.Auren sat beside the silver river flowing beneath the bridge."You know."
He said."He was terrible at fishing."Kael sat beside him."Who?"Auren looked genuinely offended."The Wanderer."Of course.The River of Stars."He never caught anything."
Auren continued."Not once." "Then why did he keep fishing?"Auren smiled.
His silver eyes reflected distant constellations."Because he liked sitting beside rivers."A pause."He said every river was a road trying to find the sea."The dream felt quieter than usual.Softer.Not a warning.
Not a mystery.Just a story.A memory.
The First Hint.Auren stared toward Asterion.
Toward the approaching city.Then spoke softly."He visited thousands of worlds."
The words carried a strange sadness."He saw kingdoms rise." "He saw stars born."
"He watched civilizations disappear."A pause.
"And after all of that..."Auren smiled.
"His favorite place was still a little village where a baker made good bread."Kael laughed.The sound echoed across the silver bridge.For a brief moment—Auren laughed too.And for the first time—He didn't seem
Far above the world—The Silver Star continued its descent.Within Asterion, ancient streets glowed with silver lanterns.
Empty cafés reopened.Gardens bloomed.
Fountains flowed.The city was remembering itself.Piece by piece.Memory by memory.
Story by story.
And somewhere deep within its heart—A forgotten bell rang.The sound spread through every street.Every tower.
Every road.Asterion was preparing not for a battle.But for a reunion.Twenty-Five Days Remained.