[Silthara Palace — Malika’s Private Courtyard — Continuation]
The night refused to breathe; the moon hung high above Silthara Palace, its pale light swallowed by the endless darkness pouring from Malik Slyvarakh’s body.
No servant dared approach and no knight dared breathe. Even the sacred trees surrounding the courtyard had fallen silent.
Lady Nyra remained upon one knee, one small hand resting against her throat where crimson fingerprints slowly darkened her skin and the other hand clenched Sarash’s robes. Every breath burned, yet...she neither cried...nor trembled.
Before her stood the ruler of Zahryssar. Silver robes stirred beneath a wind that did not exist. Black mist curled around his feet like countless starving serpents.
His silver eyes...no longer resembled those of a living being. Darkness had begun devouring them from within. Behind him... Prince Sarash remained kneeling, his forehead pressed against the cold marble floor.
Slyvarakh never turned around; he continued watching Nyra, studying her as though trying to peer directly into her thoughts.
Then...a smile slowly spread across his lips, and his voice drifted softly through the courtyard. "It fascinates me...that you continue looking directly into my eyes."
Silence.
"Most grown men cannot; they begin trembling, they lower their heads, and they beg for mercy." His smile widened as he slowly crouched before her until their eyes met. "But you...continue staring."
Nyra finally spoke; her voice remained quiet. "You have not given me a reason to look away."
Silence.
Sarash’s heart nearly stopped; even the surrounding darkness hesitated. Then...Slyvarakh laughed, not loudly, not madly but softly and almost...pleasantly.
"A dangerous answer." He reached forward; his fingers gently brushed a strand of hair away from Nyra’s face. "Do you know...how many people have spoken to me without fear?"
Nyra remained silent.
"None." The answer echoed through the empty courtyard. "For years...none."
Silence settled once again, then Slyvarakh slowly stood. His gaze drifted toward the northern horizon, beyond the palace...beyond Zahryssar...and beyond the frozen mountains as his smile deepened.
"My beloved consort..." he whispered almost affectionately. "...you truly do know how to make me wait."
The words chilled even Sarash, then Slyvarakh looked back toward Nyra.
"I shall grant you one week."
Sarash slowly lifted his head, and his eyes widened... Nyra remained expressionless.
"If, within one week...my consort walks willingly into Silthara Palace..." His silver eyes gleamed beneath the moonlight. "...then this child lives."
Silence.
"But if he refuses..." He looked directly into Nyra’s eyes. "...I shall begin the end of Zahryssar with you."
The black mist surrounding him suddenly expanded.
BOOOOOOOOM!!
The courtyard trembled; ancient pillars cracked. The sacred trees bent beneath overwhelming pressure.
"My patience..." His voice became cold enough to freeze blood. "...has finally come to its end."
Silence...an absolute silence. Then without another word...his body dissolved into countless strands of black smoke. The darkness vanished; the pressure disappeared...only silence remained.
Sarash immediately held her tightly. "Are you alright?"
Nyra quietly touched the bruises upon her neck; her small fingers trembled...only once. Then they became still again. Sarash looked at her desperately.
"He is getting stronger and dangerous day by day...this cannot keep continuing?"
For several long moments...Lady Nyra remained silent; she did not look toward the moon, nor toward the palace. Instead...she slowly turned her head toward Sarash; those gentle eyes...now carried something they had never carried before.
Hatred, not the hatred of a child but the hatred of someone who had watched an empire rot before her eyes.
Then...she remembered, the one person standing at the center of every prophecy...every sacrifice...and every impossible choice.
Her Malika Levin.
A long silence followed, then she whispered; her tiny voice barely rose above the desert wind as Nyra’s eyes slowly closed.
"I pray...that every breath he takes becomes a punishment...that every moment he remains alive...he begs the heavens for death..." Her fingers slowly tightened against her torn sleeves, and a single tear escaped. "...and I pray...that Lord Urzan grants this child’s wish."
Silence.
No one spoke, no one dared. Sarash slowly stepped forward without saying another word...he gently lifted Nyra into his arms; the little girl rested against his chest, exhausted and broken...yet still frighteningly calm.
Sarash adjusted the cloak around her shoulders, then quietly whispered as his voice became hoarse. "Come...let us return to your chamber."
Nyra said nothing; she simply rested her head against him. Sarash slowly looked toward the moonlit heavens, his eyes closed, and for the first time in years...the prince prayed.
"I hope...Lord Urzan listens to this child’s voice."
Silence.
Around them...the attendants lowered their heads, and the palace guards closed their eyes. Even the servants standing in the distant corridors silently repeated the same prayer within their hearts.
Not for vengeance, not for justice, but for one serpent’s end.
***
[Thalryn Empire — House Veyrhold — At That Same Moment]
BOOOOOOOOOOM!!!
The entire audience hall shook violently.
CRAAAAAASH!!
Arkhazunn’s body struck a massive stone pillar; the impact echoed throughout the chamber. Fragments of marble were scattered across the floor, and the high mage dropped onto one knee.
Blood slid from the corner of his mouth; before anyone could react, Varesh rushed forward. "High Mage!"
He immediately caught Arkhazunn before he collapsed completely, supporting him carefully. The hall had fallen utterly silent.
Duke Aren, Levin, Raviel, and Zyvera.
Every one of them stood frozen because standing in the center of the hall...was no longer the gentle husband Levin knew.
The Prime Alpha had disappeared; only the Tyrant remained. Golden eyes blazed like molten fire. Silver scales slowly spread across his neck; his enormous serpent tail lashed against the marble floor.
CRACK!!
Another section of stone shattered beneath him; his overwhelming Prime Alpha pressure filled the hall. The servants immediately dropped to one knee; some struggled just to breathe, and then Zeramet spoke.
His voice...was terrifyingly calm. "Who...gave you the audacity...to suggest that my consort sleep with another serpent?"
Silence.
No one answered; his golden eyes settled upon Arkhazunn, cold and merciless. "You crossed a line...that should never have been crossed."
Varesh instinctively stepped before Arkhazunn, not to fight only to shield him. "My Malik—"
"Move."
One word and nothing more. Varesh’s entire body stiffened; his instincts screamed. Every Alpha instinct within him demanded submission.
Yet...he remained standing. Arkhazunn slowly placed a hand upon Varesh’s shoulder.
"...Stand aside."
Reluctantly Varesh obeyed. Arkhazunn steadied himself; blood still stained his lips, and his breathing remained uneven.
"My Malik...I understand your anger but we—"
"Enough." Zeramet’s voice cut through the chamber like a blade. "I spared your life...only because we were raised beneath the same roof, but speak those words again...and not even Lord Urzan himself will stop me from ending yours."
Silence... an absolute silence. Even Arkhazunn lowered his head because he knew...the prime alpha was not threatening him; he was making a promise.
Levin finally stepped forward.
"Zer—"
Before he could finish, Zeramet turned; those burning golden eyes met Levin’s immediately...every trace of rage softened, only slightly. Yet it was enough for everyone to notice as his voice lowered, but its possessiveness became even stronger.
"Not another word, Consort."
Silence.
"I can endure betrayal. I can endure war, and I can even endure watching my empire burn." His jaw tightened. "But I will never...never...stand here while others decide that you should be offered to another."
His gaze never left Levin.
"You are mine. My equal, the father of our children." His voice became almost a growl, and his golden eyes darkened. "You are not a tribute. You are not a bargain...and you are certainly not...a prize to be placed before another male."
The hall became deathly quiet, then came the words that made even Duke Aren’s heart pause.
"If Zahryssar must burn...then let it burn. If every throne upon this continent must fall...then let them fall but no one..." His eyes never left Levin. "...takes my consort from me."
Silence...a long and heavy silence. Then unexpectedly... Duke Aren smiled, a small smile. The smile of a father because no father...no matter how proud...could fail to feel relief after hearing another man declare that he would sooner watch kingdoms perish than surrender the person his son loved.
Then Duke Aren quietly stepped forward; his calm voice broke the silence. "Then...we shall not surrender him."
Everyone turned toward him. Duke Aren folded his hands behind his back; his gaze moved from Arkhazunn...to Levin...then finally...to Zeramet.
"We shall follow the High Mage’s plan but not in the manner Slyvarakh expects."
Levin’s brows slowly furrowed. "Father..."
Duke Aren’s eyes narrowed and a small, low smile appeared as his voice became colder. "The High Mage has shown us the destination, but the path toward that destination...shall be ours to decide."
Silence.
The tension inside the hall became suffocating because every person standing there understood one thing. Whatever Duke Aren had just conceived... It was not a desperate plan. It was the beginning...
Of Slyvarakh’s downfall.