[Princess Seraphina’s Private Garden — Continuation]
Silence settled over the garden.
No one moved, no one spoke. The spring breeze continued carrying the fragrance of jasmine through the pavilion, yet somehow...the air had become unbearably heavy.
Levin stood before Arkhazunn; his blue eyes remained calm, patient, and waiting. Arkhazunn, however...could not bring himself to speak; his fingers slowly tightened beneath his sleeves.
Varesh noticed. Seraphina noticed. Even Levin noticed that the High Mage...was hesitating.
Then Levin finally broke the silence. "Arkhazunn."
The High Mage immediately raised his head. Levin’s voice remained steady. "If the answer is unpleasant...then all the more reason not to delay it."
Silence.
Arkhazunn lowered his gaze, then finally...he spoke, but his voice carried exhaustion. "My Malika...I spent these three months searching every forgotten temple...every ruined library, every royal archive, and even every forbidden scroll left by Lord Urzan himself."
The garden remained silent.
"I believed the answer was hidden inside the Inner Sanctum. I was wrong."
Levin’s brows slowly drew together as the silence deepened. Arkhazunn looked at him, yet for several long moments...he said nothing.
Finally, the High Mage spoke. "My Malika...before I explain the warning...there is something you must know."
Levin’s blue eyes remained fixed upon him. "Speak."
Arkhazunn lowered his head slightly. "The method to destroy Malik Slyvarakh...was not discovered by me."
Seraphina frowned. Varesh remained silent. Arkhazunn continued. "It was Lady Nyra who found it."
Silence.
Unlike the others...Levin’s expression did not change; there was no surprise, no disbelief, only calm acceptance because throughout Zahryssar...everyone knew one truth. Lady Nyra was no ordinary child; she was a genius blessed by Lord Urzan himself.
Levin simply nodded once. "Continue."
Arkhazunn inhaled slowly. "The answer was hidden within an ancient decree left behind by Malik Saqira."
"A decree?"
"Yes."
The High Mage’s eyes darkened. "It was never treated as a law...only as a warning."
The garden fell silent, then Arkhazunn continued. "As you know, every ruler of Zahryssar must undergo the Coronation Rite beneath the holy temple of Lord Urzan."
Levin nodded. "Lord Urzan acknowledges the Malik and Malika beneath the Full Moon. It is the divine covenant that grants legitimacy to the throne."
Arkhazunn slowly shook his head. "That is only part of the truth."
Levin’s eyes narrowed. "The rite does more than acknowledge a ruler. It also exists to prevent darkness from consuming Zahryssar."
Silence.
Then Arkhazunn’s voice became much heavier. "My Malika...Malik Slyvarakh has been devouring the souls of our own people."
The words struck the garden like thunder. Seraphina’s teacup slipped from her fingers.
CRACK.
Porcelain shattered across the stone floor.
"W-What...?" She staggered back.
Even Varesh lowered his head; only Levin remained still. His eyes hardened, his fists slowly clenched beneath his sleeves. Arkhazunn continued.
"During our investigation beneath the Inner Sanctum...we discovered records dating back to Slyvarakh’s childhood, the attendants who mysteriously disappeared, the servants who were never found, the prisoners who vanished without trial, and the serpents executed after he stole the throne..."
His voice lowered.
"...none of them truly disappeared. They became sacrifices."
The flowers swayed gently, yet the garden suddenly felt unbearably cold.
Levin’s jaw tightened. "...Sacrifices?"
Arkhazunn nodded. "Soul offerings, he offered every one of them to the darkness. He has been cultivating forbidden high black magic since childhood; the more souls consumed...the greater the corruption...the stronger the vessel becomes."
Levin immediately understood; his blue eyes darkened, but his voice remained calm. "So...that is why Zeramet could not overpower him."
Arkhazunn closed his eyes as his voice became almost bitter. "Yes, Malika. The Prime Alpha’s power is divine; it was blessed by Lord Urzan, but Slyvarakh’s strength...is born from corruption."
A long silence followed.
Then quietly—
"And corrupted power...always devours divine power."
No one answered because no one could. The truth itself was horrifying enough. Levin slowly closed his eyes, then opened them again; the hesitation had already disappeared; only resolve remained.
"Tell me how to destroy that corruption."
Arkhazunn looked directly at him, and for a long moment...he couldn’t speak. Then finally, "There is an ancient sealing incantation...a spell. It cannot be spoken incorrectly. It cannot be interrupted. It cannot be rewritten. It must be read from beginning...to end."
Levin listened silently. Arkhazunn continued. "And there is only one person capable of reading it, the one who inherited Sirrash’s Heart."
Silence.
Everyone’s eyes turned toward Levin; he remained expressionless, only his gaze sharpened. "...Me."
Arkhazunn nodded. "Yes."
Seraphina looked between them. "What is Sirrash’s Heart?"
Neither Levin nor Arkhazunn answered because some truths...could not yet be spoken. Levin ignored the question.
"Continue."
The High Mage swallowed; his throat felt dry because this...this was the part he had feared. "The spell can only be performed...inside the Inner Sanctum."
Levin nodded once. "I expected that."
"But..." Arkhazunn’s voice trembled. "...the Inner Sanctum recognizes only one master."
Silence.
"Malik Slyvarakh. No barrier can be broken, no portal can enter, and no divine blessing can force its way inside. Only the Malik...or someone he willingly allows...may cross its gates."
Silence.
A terrible and unbearable silence. The garden became still; even the wind refused to move. Levin’s heartbeat echoed loudly inside his own ears because suddenly...everything connected. Everything.
The obsession, the pursuit, his escape, the children, his father’s refusal to surrender him. The countless lives lost protecting him.
Everything...had led him back to the very beginning, to the one fate he had fought with everything he possessed.
His fingers slowly tightened, and without realizing it...he remembered Zeramet. The warmth of their home, the eggs resting beside the fire, and the promise he had made.
"I will never leave you."
The memory struck harder than any blade, then Varesh stepped forward, his head lowered deeply and his voice filled with guilt.
"My Malika...we searched every possibility, every hidden passage, every forgotten entrance; we even attempted to break the barrier with divine magic."
He slowly shook his head.
"Nothing worked; the corruption has become so powerful that not even the High Mage...could enter."
Silence.
The words settled heavily upon everyone, then Levin finally spoke, his voice calm and steady...almost frighteningly steady.
"So..." His blue eyes met Arkhazunn’s. "...you are telling me...that I must become his consort and sleep with him?"
No one answered, no one could because every person standing there knew...that was exactly what the method demanded. Varesh lowered himself even further; his fists trembled and his voice broke.
"No, my Malika...we are not asking you to surrender yourself. We..."
He stopped because the truth refused to change, no matter how he tried to say it and no matter how gently he tried to explain it. It always became the same answer.
And for the first time in his life... Captain Varesh wished that Lady Nyra had never found the solution because some answers...were crueler than ignorance itself.
Silence.
Levin said nothing, his blue eyes lowered toward the stone pavement beneath the pavilion; his mind...was no longer in the garden. It was calculating every possibility, every weakness, and every path.
One after another.
Then...he slowly raised his head. "No."
The single word made everyone look at him. Arkhazunn frowned. "My Malika?"
Levin’s expression remained calm. "The Sirrash Heart. It does not affect Slyvarakh. I clearly remember during that hill, the ability of Sirrash’s heart failed. It could not influence his mind. It could not alter his thoughts. and it was completely ineffective."
The garden became deathly silent.
Levin’s gaze narrowed.
"If the Sirrash Heart cannot affect him...then how am I supposed to make him willingly take me into the Inner Sanctum?"
"But Malika...the Sirrash Heart was never meant to control Malik Slyvarakh," Arkhazunn said.
Levin’s brows slowly furrowed.
Arkhazunn continued, "It exists...to control the ritual, the spell itself."
Levin remained motionless, his sharp blue eyes never left the High Mage, and Arkhazunn glanced towards Princess Seraphin and said, "Revealing half the truth may become more dangerous than remaining silent."
The words lingered heavily.
Levin did not press him because he understood a High Mage did not withhold knowledge out of fear. He withheld it because uncertainty could destroy an empire.
Then Arkhazunn raised his eyes once more.
"But one thing...I know with certainty, only you possess what the ritual demands. The Sirrash Heart chose you, no one else."
Levin’s fingers slowly tightened beneath his sleeves, but his voice remained steady. "So...I am merely the key."
Arkhazunn closed his eyes. "Yes."
Another silence settled, heavy and oppressive. Then the High Mage spoke again. "We do not seek for you to kill Malik Slyvarakh."
Levin looked at him. "We seek for you...to destroy what made him impossible to kill. If that corruption falls...then Malik Zeramet can finish what he began."
Silence.
Levin lowered his gaze; his thoughts immediately drifted toward the northern manor. Toward the snow. Toward the warm fireplace. Toward two eggs waiting to hatch. Toward the silver serpent patiently waiting for him to return.
His heartbeat quietly echoed within his chest.
Then—
"My Malika..." Arkhazunn took a slow step forward. "Zahryssar is already burning. Every day more serpents disappear, every day another family mourns, and every day the darkness grows stronger."
His voice became heavier.
"And every day...our empire moves one step closer to its end. You alone may still have the power to stop it."
No one spoke, not even Varesh because they all knew...the burden they were placing upon Levin’s shoulders was one no ruler should ever have to bear.
A long silence stretched beneath the blooming flowers, then Levin finally lifted his head. His expression remained unreadable, neither agreement nor refusal, only a deep and careful thought.
"I have already made one promise." His blue eyes drifted toward the northern horizon. "I will not make another decision... without speaking to Zeramet."
Silence...an absolute silence. No one argued, no one dared because they all understood... This was no longer a decision for the Malika alone. It was a decision that belonged to a husband...a father...and the ruler of an empire.
And somewhere beyond the snow-covered mountains...unaware of the storm approaching him... The Prime Alpha Silver Serpent continued waiting beside two eggs...
Not knowing...that fate had once again begun reaching for the one person he had sworn never to lose.
***
[Silthara Palace—Night—Malika’s Private Courtyard—The Same Time]
The night was unnaturally silent; no wind crossed the dunes, and no beast dared to howl. Even the moon seemed dimmer above the endless sea of sand; darkness twisted across the desert like living smoke.
Its center...was a lone figure. Silver scales reflected beneath the moonlight, his silver tail coiled lazily behind him. Black mist poured endlessly from his body, swallowing the sand beneath his feet.
His silver eyes...were no longer silver. Darkness had begun consuming them from within. Golden veins of corruption spread through the whites of his eyes like cracks across dying marble.
Before him...a tiny figure dangled helplessly in the air.
Lady Nyra, her small hands desperately gripped the hand crushing her throat. Her feet kicked weakly above the ground; she could barely breathe...barely speak. Her vision slowly blurred.
Slyvarakh watched her quietly, almost curiously, then...his lips curved upward. "You...little brat."
His grip tightened. Nyra gasped; the surrounding darkness immediately exploded outward. Black smoke erupted behind him like wings born from the abyss; the air itself became suffocating.
Every grain of sand seemed to recoil from his presence, not far away... Prince Sarash knelt upon both knees, his forehead pressed against the burning sand, his hands trembling violently, never once lifting his head and never daring to look directly at the monster standing before him.
"My Malik...I beg you...Please..." His forehead struck the floor once more. "...do not harm her."
Silence.
Only Nyra’s struggling breaths could be heard. Sarash’s voice grew weaker. "I beg of you...she is only a child. Punish me instead."
Slyvarakh slowly turned his head as his smile widened, cold, patient, and cruel.
"A child?" He chuckled quietly; the sound carried no warmth, only madness. "You still believe...that she is merely a child?"
His gaze returned to Nyra, studying her and judging her. "As expected...you’ve become troublesome."
Another silence stretched between them. Then...without warning...Slyvarakh loosened his grip. Nyra collapsed onto the floor.
COUGH!
COUGH!
She struggled for air; her small body trembled. Yet...she never cried, not once. That alone made Slyvarakh smile even wider.
"How interesting." He slowly crouched before her until their eyes met, one pair filled with ancient corruption, the other...quiet determination, and then he spoke almost gently.
"How could I possibly kill you..." His fingers brushed lightly beneath her chin. "...when you are so useful?"
Sarash’s body stiffened. Slyvarakh never looked at him; his eyes never left Nyra. "I’ve heard...that you and my runaway consort shared quite the friendship."
Silence.
Nyra stared back without answering; that amused him even more. "Good."
As he slowly stood, darkness gathered around him once again. Then his voice rolled across the desert like a curse. "Bring him back to Silthara. Convince him. Deceive him, do whatever that brilliant little mind of yours decides."
A long pause followed, then his smile became terrifying.
"Because when my beloved consort walks willingly into my palace...the gates of my greatest heart shall open once again."
Sarash’s heart stopped. Nyra’s small fingers slowly clenched against Sarash’s robe because the end has come, either the end of Slyvarakh or the end of Zahryssar.