Echoes of Us: The CEO and His Soulmates [BL]

Flames clawed at the darkened skies of Aeryndale, the once-proud kingdom reduced to rubble and ruin. The acrid stench of burning wood and flesh choked the air as Prince Caelan urged his Kinnarion—his loyal tiger-fox steed—through the carnage. The orange and white beast growled low in its throat, its massive paws pounding against the blood-soaked earth as it weaved through the bodies of soldiers, citizens, and children alike. Caelan's fingers tightened in the creature's fur, his knuckles white, his mind racing. Around him, the screams of the dying pierced the night, and he could do nothing but press forward.

How had everything gone so wrong?

Just hours earlier, the Festival of Radiance had filled Aeryndale's streets with joy. Lanterns danced in the breeze, their golden glow casting halos of light onto laughing faces. Dancers circled the streets, jesters entertained the children. The Ceremony of Unity had taken place in the castle's great hall, where goblets brimmed with wine, plates piled with bread and meat and the air buzzed with camaraderie. Caelan had stood by his father, the High King Tharion of Aeryndale, as the king raised his glass in a toast to their most trusted allies, the kingdom of Velentis.

"May our friendship continue to flourish," his father had proclaimed, his voice warm with conviction. "May our trade forever strengthen our alliance. May our children inherit a legacy of peace."

But the words had barely left his lips before King Aerund of Velentis, seated as an honored guest, rose from his chair and drove a dagger into Tharion's chest. Caelan remembered the moment with excruciating clarity—his father's expression shifting from shock to agony, the goblet slipping from his hand and spilling wine like blood across the white tablecloth. The hall had erupted in chaos. Guests picked up their robes and raced to the doors. Guards scrambled, but they'd been lulled into complacency, unarmed and distracted by the festivities. Aeryndale had been left open, vulnerable.

And Caelan had seen him. Edric. His closest friend. His confidant. The prince of Velentis. He'd stood behind his father, his face pale but his jaw set. Their eyes had met across the room, and for the briefest moment, Caelan had searched for an explanation, a sign of guilt, hesitation—anything. But all he'd found was hatred.

That image burned in his mind now as fiercely as the flames engulfing his kingdom.

Velentis had planned this perfectly. They'd struck during the ceremony, knowing the guards would be lax, the defenses lowered. Years of peace and trust had left Aeryndale unprepared for an ambush. By the time Caelan had cut down the traitorous Velentis soldiers surrounding him, the city outside had already begun to burn. Screams echoed from the streets. Families were dragged from their homes, their houses burned, the cattle slaughtered. Soldiers stormed through the gates, swords gleaming in the firelight. And by the time Caelan mounted his Kinnarion, it was too late to stop the massacre.

But he could still save Ashur.

The Kinnarion growled as it tore through the streets, its fangs sinking into any enemy foolish enough to block their path. Caelan barely registered the blood that splattered across his armor, his gaze fixed ahead. His father was dead. His people were dying. His city was ash. But Ashur was alive. He had to be alive.

The stables loomed ahead, shrouded in smoke and fire. Caelan leapt from the Kinnarion's back as the creature growled and paced restlessly, its fur singed and its tail flicking anxiously at the heat. The structure was engulfed in flames, the beams creaking ominously as they threatened to collapse. Caelan coughed against the thick, suffocating air, but he pressed forward, forcing his way through the blazing inferno.

"Ashur!" he bellowed, his voice raw. "Ashur, where are you?"

For a terrifying moment, there was only the crackle of flames and the groan of timber. Then, a weak cough, followed by a hoarse voice: "Caelan?"

He found him slumped against the back wall, his usually neat hair disheveled, soot smudging his pale skin. Ashur's wide, dark eyes locked onto Caelan's, disbelief flickering in them even as he struggled to breathe. "You shouldn't be here."

Caelan dropped to his knees beside him, wrapping his arms around Ashur's trembling frame. His stable boy—no, his love—felt far too fragile in his arms, as if the flames had already stolen half his life away. But he was here. He was alive. And Caelan would not leave him.

"Ashur," Caelan rasped, shaking his head. "I will not lose you. Not now."

Ashur coughed again, his voice barely audible over the roar of the fire. "My prince, you should leave at once. You must go. If you live, our kingdom will thrive again."

Caelan tightened his grip on him, his teeth clenched as the flames inched closer, licking at his boots. "It's too late for that, my love. Our kingdom has fallen. Velentis betrayed us. Edric betrayed me."

Ashur's eyes softened with sadness, his soot-streaked hand weakly brushing against Caelan's cheek. "You are Aeryndale's last hope. You must—"

A deafening crash cut him off as a burning rafter collapsed behind them, completely sealing off the exit. The heat grew unbearable, the flames roaring with a cruel hunger. There was no way out now.

Caelan pulled Ashur closer, their foreheads touching as tears stung his eyes. "What is a kingdom without you?" he whispered, his voice breaking. "The entrance is blocked. We're trapped here. Besides…" His hand cupped Ashur's face, and his next words trembled with the weight of his heart. "If I cannot live with you, I will not let you die alone."

Ashur's lips parted, his expression torn between sorrow and love, but before he could speak, Caelan leaned forward and captured his lips in a kiss. It was desperate and tender, a plea and a promise all at once. The flames roared around them, consuming the stable, the walls crumbling under the heat of the fire.