Before their son had reached the doorway, he had gone, steps echoing down the corridor and the heavy doors closing in a single, final thud. The empress could not help herself; she expelled a bright, trilling laugh.
"You will not spare our boy a moment's peace?" the emperor asked.
"And where would be the fun in that?" the empress answered, the emperor joining her mirth with a rumbling chuckle.
The emperor and empress had but one child, Flavian, the centre of their world, their pride and their torment alike. He was the single jewel of their union, for after his birth, the empress was declared unfit to bear another. The news had rattled the court in its cold practicality. Ministers, ever cautious of succession, urged the emperor to take a mistress, arguing that another heir was necessary in case fate proved cruel and the young prince was unable to ascend.
But the emperor's temper was legendary. At the first whisper of such counsel, he thundered with wrath, declaring punishment upon those bold enough to suggest it. "While I draw breath, there shall be no shadow cast upon my wife nor upon my son," he had proclaimed, silencing all further talk with a single stroke of authority. The matter was closed, and never again did the subject of another heir surface in the council chamber.
Thus Flavian grew, not only as the sole hope of the dynasty but as the deeply cherished heart of his parents. He was shielded, yes, but sharpened as well, fashioned into a crown prince whose bearing none could question. The emperor took pride in his strength and temper, the empress in his wit and spirit. To their eyes, he was not merely an heir but the living proof of their love.
And though politics now stirred dark waters with the arrival of Wraisan's daughter, the imperial household clung to another certainty, that Lady Marlene, their empire's only princess, would soon return. Her absence was felt in every corridor of the palace, most keenly by the crown prince himself. The days counted down, and with them grew a quiet anticipation, for her presence was more than duty; it was the breath of life to him.
It was a long and weary journey to the Mage Tower. The uneven road, and the air grew colder with every mile. Yet Leesa gave no orders to rest. Flavian's command to "return swiftly" still echoed in her mind. There was no time to waste. When at last they reached the outskirts of the forest, the path opened into a small settlement, five or six houses scattered in quiet disarray. Smoke no longer rose from the chimneys, and the stillness that lingered there was not of peace but of something unnatural.
At first glance, the place seemed inhabited. Figures moved between the houses, men and women of various ages. But as the knights watched longer, unease crept through them like a chilling draft. The people were walking, yes, but not living. They wandered aimlessly, circling the same paths over and over. When one of them reached a wall or a tree, they simply turned and began again, expressionless, their eyes blank and unfocused.
Leesa dismounted, her boots crunching on the brittle ground. "They're not... working. Not farming. Not even speaking."
Greg, the mage who accompanied her, raised his staff slightly, his gaze fixed on the pale stone at the heart of the village. "That's because they're not truly conscious," he said, his voice low. The knights exchanged wary glances. "Their minds are bound," Greg continued. "Look there, at the centre."
In the middle of the settlement stood a smooth white stone, almost luminescent even in the dim light. Its surface pulsed faintly, and Greg's eyes glowed a soft violet as he whispered a detection spell.
"The stone is alive with mana," he murmured. "A purple aura seeps from it, like threads, connecting to every soul here. They're being controlled, kept in a loop of existence. They move, breathe, stand… but they no longer live."
Leesa frowned, watching the silent figures drift aimlessly in the dusk. "Then they're prisoners," she said softly.
Greg nodded. "Prisoners of someone's magic. And if that stone is what I think it is…" His expression darkened. "We may have just found a piece of something far more dangerous than a simple spell."
Leesa's gaze lingered on the white stone, its pallid sheen gleaming faintly under the fading sun. Something about it tugged at her instincts; it did not belong here. The still air, the eerie silence, the lifeless villagers, it all circled back to that thing.
She took a cautious step forward, her knights moving in behind her. "Keep your weapons drawn," she said quietly. "If this is magic of the mind, it may not stay dormant once disturbed."
"Yes, commander," the knights answered, though a few hands trembled faintly on their sword hilt.
As Leesa approached, Greg began tracing sigils in the air with his staff. Soft violet light coiled around his fingers. "It's feeding," he muttered, half to himself. "The stone draws mana from them… or perhaps gives it, in exchange for their will."
Leesa frowned. "A parasite or a master?"
"Either way, it's alive."
The last few steps brought her close enough to feel a strange hum beneath her boots, a vibration deep and rhythmic, as though the stone pulsed with a heartbeat. When she crouched beside it, she could see faint veins of dark amethyst threading through the white surface, spreading like roots into the ground.
She extended her hand. "If it's alive… it must have a connection."
"Wait!" Greg reached out, and an alarm flashed across his face. "We don't know what it will do if you..."
Too late. Leesa's fingers brushed the surface. A shock like lightning shot through her body, and the world around her bled away into a violet haze. For a moment, she saw nothing but eyes, hundreds of them, glassy, hollow, and staring through her. Faces of the villagers, whispering soundlessly, bound to her mind like smoke to flame. Their fear pressed into her chest, their exhaustion bled into her veins, their emptiness clawed at her thoughts.