[Silthara Palace — One Week Later — The Throne Hall]
SLAAAAASH!!!
Steel flashed beneath the palace lights, a dagger pierced straight through the attendant’s chest. The young serpent’s eyes widened; blood spilled across the polished black marble.
She looked down...almost unable to understand what had happened; her lips parted, and a broken gasp escaped.
"My...Malik..."
THUD.
Her body collapsed before the throne, and silence...an absolute and horrifying silence. No one moved, and no one screamed because everyone inside the Throne Hall already knew...the moment anyone raised their voice...they would be next.
Then black mist slowly rose from beneath Slyvarakh’s robes. It crept across the floor like living darkness, reaching the lifeless body. The mist wrapped itself around the fallen attendant, around her chest, around her throat and around her face.
Then—
HISSSSSSS...
A translucent soul was slowly pulled from her body; her expression remained frozen in terror. For one final moment...then the darkness swallowed her whole.
Silence.
The black mist flowed back toward the throne, toward its master and toward the serpent whose smile widened with every soul he consumed. Slyvarakh slowly closed his eyes; a satisfied breath escaped him.
"...Excellent." His silver eyes opened once more; darkness swirled within them. "So very...excellent."
The pressure filling the throne hall became heavier. Several nobles nearly collapsed; others lowered their heads even further. None dared meet his eyes. Near the rear of the hall... Lord Sharukh quietly watched, his fingers slowly tightening beneath his sleeves.
Beside him, High Ensi Rakhane stood motionless; one visible eye remained fixed upon the throne.
Sharukh lowered his voice. "He no longer hides it anymore."
Rakhane answered without turning. "He no longer needs to."
Silence.
Sharukh continued watching Slyvarakh absorb the last traces of the attendant’s soul. "...He’s become stronger."
Rakhane’s expression remained unreadable. "No...he has become fearless."
Silence.
Sharukh looked toward him for several moments...he simply stared, then his gaze returned to the throne, to that smiling face and to those silver eyes that no longer resembled a serpent’s.
Only then did he understand. His heart quietly whispered—"You’ve changed."
Rakhane smirked. "Did I?"
Sharukh didn’t answer, and another thought followed immediately. One that he dared not speak aloud.
’...Yes, and somehow...you have become even more terrifying than the monster who is wearing his cruelty openly.’
Upon the throne...Slyvarakh leaned back lazily like a ruler enjoying an afternoon of leisure, and then a trembling maid approached, both hands supporting a golden tray. Upon it rested a silver goblet filled with crimson wine.
She knelt so violently that the goblet rattled, without looking at her. Slyvarakh reached down, took the goblet, and swirled the wine slowly.
Then asked almost absentmindedly, he smiled at the crimson reflection. "My dear consort...has he finally decided to return home?"
Silence; no one answered. The nobles slowly looked toward one another, then...toward Lord Sharukh.
Sharukh quietly exhaled. ’Of course, It has to be me...’
He stepped forward, bowing until his forehead nearly touched the marble floor. "My Malik...we delivered your message exactly as commanded."
Slyvarakh took a slow sip. "And?"
Sharukh answered carefully. "We informed Malika Levin...that Lady Nyra’s life depends upon his arrival. We informed him that your judgment would begin should he refuse."
Silence.
Slyvarakh’s smile never disappeared. "And yet...he has not answered."
Sharukh lowered his head further. "...No, Malik."
Silence.
Only the crackling of distant braziers echoed throughout the enormous hall. Then Slyvarakh lazily rested one elbow upon the throne, and he glanced toward the towering palace doors.
"I shall wait...until midnight."
His silver eyes slowly swept across every noble, every servant, every guard, and every trembling soul. His smile deepened.
"If my consort still refuses to come...then I truly pity all of you."
No one dared breathe; his voice remained almost gentle.
"So many loyal subjects...and yet none of you shall remain alive long enough...to mourn one another."
Silence.
A servant collapsed to his knees; another noble quietly closed his eyes. Further back...soft whispers slowly spread through the hall.
"So...he truly isn’t coming..."
"What if the Malik carries out his threat?"
"We’ll all die..."
"Why would the Malika refuse...?"
"If he came...perhaps this nightmare would end."
Another voice whispered immediately—"But...Malika Levin will have to suffer."
Silence, and then...
"But we all will be alive."
"I agree..."
"I agree...too..."
The whispering stopped because everyone knew the truth. Some blamed Levin. Some blamed the throne. Some blamed fate, but none...none possessed the courage to say the real name aloud.
Slyvarakh.
For within Silthara Palace...fear had become a greater ruler than any Malik ever could.
***
[Midnight — Malika’s Residence — Silthara Palace]
The night lay heavy over Silthara Palace.
Moonlight cascaded from the heavens like liquid silver, bathing the towering statue of Malika Ninsara in a ghostly glow. The gardens stood silent. The fountains had fallen still. Even the desert wind seemed reluctant to breathe.
For a moment...the world was peaceful.
Then—
"Aggh—!"
A strangled cry shattered the silence.
"Leave me... p-please...!" Lady Nyra’s feet kicked helplessly above the marble floor. Slyvarakh held her aloft with one hand.
Not as a man, not as a king, but as a nightmare.
His lower body had become that of an enormous silver serpent, scales gleaming beneath the moonlight like silver polished obsidian. Dark mist coiled around him like living shadows, stretching far beyond his massive form. It writhed and whispered, as though countless unseen spirits crawled within it.
Ancient, hungry, and malevolent. Nyra clawed desperately at his wrist, unable to breathe, unable to scream and unable to escape. Nearby, Sarash remained on one knee, motionless and silent.
His hands trembled, the veins along his arms bulged violently as he fought against something within himself. Something that wanted to rise. Something wanted to kill him, but he remained where he was, and Slyvarakh noticed.
A cruel smile spread across his lips.
"Did I not warn you?" His voice echoed through the courtyard like thunder rolling across forgotten tombs. "If my consort did not return...the fall of Zahryssar would begin with you, little one."
Nyra gasped desperately; her frightened eyes searched for Sarash.
"U-uncle..." she reached toward him. "Please... save me..."
Sarash’s entire body shook, yet he did not move, not a single step and not a single word. Slyvarakh laughed; the sound sent chills through the air as his gaze shifted towards Sarash.
"What a touching scene. Did you truly believe this pathetic white serpent could save you?" The dark mist behind him twisted. "He was born a failure. A consort’s child, he is merely a slave, a creature whose only blessing is the inability to die."
His eyes gleamed with cruel amusement.
"He awakens every morning wishing the night had taken him."
Sarash lowered his head, his fists clenched so tightly that blood began dripping between his fingers. Slyvarakh continued mercilessly as his gaze returned to Nyra.
"And yet...you thought you could become his reason to live?"
Silence...it was heavy and oppressive. Then Slyvarakh slowly raised his hand; black energy gathered around his fingers.
"Enough." The darkness thickened. "It is time for you to die, and your corpse shall be delivered to my consort as a final warning—"
"There is no need for that..."
The voice echoed through the courtyard. Everything stopped; even the darkness seemed to hesitate. Slyvarakh’s smile froze; he did not turn immediately because he already knew that voice.
The voice he had waited months to hear, the voice that had haunted every waking moment.
Slowly...a smile appeared on his face, and he released Nyra, not onto the ground, not safely, but simply released her midair.
Nyra screamed before she could hit the floor; Sarash surged forward like a white blur, and he caught her, holding her tightly against his chest.
"It’s alright." His voice shook but his arms did not. "You’re safe."
Nyra buried her face against him and broke into sobs, and then Slyvarakh finally turned, and there he stood.
Levin, a golden shawl draped over his shoulders. Simple Zahryssari sleep garments, sandals, nothing royal, and yet the entire courtyard seemed to revolve around him.
The moonlight itself appeared drawn toward him. Levin’s face remained expressionless, cold, empty, and dead. Exactly as Slyvarakh remembered.
"I have come." Levin’s voice was calm and steady. "I am here, as you wished."
Behind him stood Arkhazunn and Varesh, both silent and both watching. Slyvarakh stared for a long moment; he simply stared, as if afraid the vision before him might disappear.
Then he began walking, one step, two steps, and three. Until he stood directly before Levin. Close enough to hear his breathing, close enough to feel his warmth and close enough to confirm he was real.
Slyvarakh lowered his head and sniffed him near his neck. The scent lingers upon Levin’s skin, his eyes widening slightly. Then a laugh escaped him, soft and disbelieving.
"You’re real."
Levin said nothing; his fists tightened beneath his sleeves.
WHOOOOSH—
Suddenly Slyvarakh’s arm wrapped around Levin’s waist, pulling him forward, straight against his chest. Arkhazunn’s eyes narrowed. Varesh instinctively stepped forward. Sarash rose halfway from the ground.
Every instinct screamed at them to attack, to tear Slyvarakh apart, but they stopped because the plan had already begun.
Levin remained still, even though disgust churned within him; even though every nerve screamed to attack him, he remained still.
Slyvarakh leaned closer.
"Where is that Prime Alpha?"
For the first time, hesitation flickered across Levin’s face as his voice lowered. "I...I deceived him and came here."
Slyvarakh blinked once and twice, then laughter erupted from him, dark, delighted, and obsessive, and then his fingers tightened around Levin’s waist, hurting him.
"There is my consort, my beautiful consort." His smile softened dangerously as his hands rose, lifting Levin’s chin. "I shall forgive you from running away from me, my beloved consort."
He leaned forward, staring at his lips, ready to have the audacity to kiss him, but Levin immediately placed a hand between them. The atmosphere froze, and the temperature seemed to drop.
Slyvarakh’s eyes darkened dangerously. "You stopped me. How dare you have such audacity to stop your husband?"
Levin met his gaze unflinching, and his voice remained calm.
"I ask forgiveness, Malik, but I still bear another serpent mark." The courtyard fell silent as Levin continued, and he lowered his eyes. "As long as the Prime Alpha’s mark claim remains upon me...I cannot become yours."
For a moment Slyvarakh stared, then realization crossed his face. "Ah...how careless of me. How could I forget that I will naturally be rejected on our first night."
He turned sharply. "Arkhazunn."
"Malik."
"Summon the High Priest." The darkness around Slyvarakh stirred. "Make sure he is here tomorrow by afternoon. If he refuses...drag him here."
Arkhazunn lowered his head. "As you command."
Satisfied, Slyvarakh turned back toward Levin, his expression softened once more, possessive and obsessive. Almost affectionate, which somehow made it worse.
He took Levin’s hand, lifting it slowly, then pressed his forehead against the back of it and kissed his hand like a devotee worshipping a forbidden deity, but Levin’s fingers flinched.
"Only one more night." His voice became almost a whisper as his eyes gleamed dangerously. "Tomorrow...you will finally belong to me."
Levin lowered his gaze, hiding the storm inside him. "Yes."
Slyvarakh smiled, then suddenly grabbed a handful of Levin’s hair, hurting him and tilting his head back, forcing him into eye contact.
"I adore those eyes; they are empty and dead, and I have always loved dead things."
Levin’s jaw tightened. Slyvarakh continued softly.
"I will cherish you exactly as you are." His fingers brushed Levin’s cheek, his eyes darkened with lust and obsession. "You may hate me, you may fear me, and you may curse my name every night, but every sunrise...you will awaken in my embrace."
Every word sounded like a prophecy. One that could not be escaped, then suddenly his smile returned, bright and terrifying; he wrapped an arm around Levin’s waist once more, and his eyes followed Levin’s lips and then at his chest under the shawl.
"I will make sure...you will never forget the heat of my body...every morning, afternoon, every time...you will be marked as mine."
Levin felt disgusted; he almost puked but held himself tighter.
"Now, it’s midnight; the desert sleeps, so shall we."
Levin forced himself to nod. "Yes, Malik."
Together they disappeared into the palace corridors; moonlight swallowed them, darkness followed, and behind them, Arkhazunn’s gaze shifted toward Sarash only for a moment.
A silent exchange.
Nothing spoken, nothing needed. Sarash gave the slightest nod. Nyra still clutched his robes, trembling, and as he led her away into the shadows of Silthara Palace, he knew.
The true battle had finally begun.