Two months had passed since that day—no, more accurately, that night—when Ashgrave walked in Zay's body and eliminated his enemies. And yet, for those same two months, Zay had remained in a coma. Lying in the same silk bed. Lightning streamed past, storms roared and vanished, and still, he remained unmoving.
Renzo had made it a rule to visit his brother for at least three hours a day. The rest of the time, he meditated or trained relentlessly. He tore muscles, dislocated bones, shoved them back into place—and kept going. It was the only distraction that worked.
The prisoners lay scattered across the cracked, broken wood of the ship. No one had tried to repair it—because they couldn't. The materials and manpower needed for such a massive fix weren't on board.
Nova stayed with Zay, watching over him every hour of the day—except for when exhaustion overtook her or when she heard Renzo entering. Then, and only then, would she slip away to tend to her own affairs.
It was late at night. The sky brimmed with stars. Dolphin calls echoed across the ocean waves. Mist curled around Nova as she stood at the ship's tip, gazing toward the distant horizon. There it was—the island from all those months ago. Land. Finally.
She exhaled slowly and began practicing a sword art she had developed with her father, King Celdone. She had chosen her own path, her own name, waiting patiently for the day she could serve the one her soul resonated with.
From ancient books she read in her youth, she knew.
The one who forbids the light. The one who made creatures of the dark feel safe, calm, and understood. That was the one she would swear herself to. Not out of love, not out of servitude. She would do it because he was destined—destined to save the creatures of the dark. To rule once more, as he had thousands of years ago.
The First and Only King Who Forsook the Dawn.
He was a powerful man. Said to possess a heart vast enough to protect those he deemed worthy, and wrath sharp enough to tear down any enemy—whether under the sun, or beneath the moon. Especially beneath the moon. He wore black armor, lined with crimson patterns. An hourglass symbol burned into the flesh of his left hand. A crescent moon marked with two fangs crossed over it, etched into his right.
His name was lost to time. Burned by priests. Cursed by the world. Forbidden to be spoken.
He was born into nothing. No name. No home. No future. Sold into slavery, tortured day and night. No one saw potential in him.
Except for one.
A goddess.
Why she chose him, she did not know. Pity? Curiosity? Loneliness? Whatever the reason, something in his soul spoke to her. Resonated with her.
This man, who came from nothing, who was nothing, refused to remain that way. He forsook the light, embraced the shadows, and used every means necessary to grow stronger. He lied. Manipulated. Killed. Again and again. He burned farms, razed kingdoms—all for one goal: strength. To never fail those who believed in him.
From dirt, he built an empire. He ruled with an iron will. Gave all a chance—at life, or at death. It was fair in the truest sense.
Fight to live. Trade your life for bread. Harsh, yes—but within this empire, people lived together. In unity. With respect. In awe of their king.
They would die to protect him.
That was the kind of honor he earned.
The empire became a sanctuary. A haven for vampires, werewolves, wolves of the night—creatures so twisted and forsaken that no other kingdom dared to even look at them.
To his people, he was a kind king.
To his enemies, the last thing they'd ever see.
He saw time—past, present, future. He built his empire to last, knowing full well the day would come when it would fall. He peered hundreds of thousands of years ahead, burning his soul as fuel to reach across time. He saw the rise of light. The fall of shadow. The blood-soaked ruin of his kingdom.
And so, he left.
Just as he foresaw.
He let his empire die by itself as it's people ran.
He broke his soul into nine fragments—eight forged into rings. One remained a mystery.
Then, on the night he foresaw the kingdom's demise countless years in the future if he had stayed alive, he executed himself. Out of love. For his people. For the future. For all those who believed in him when the light had cast them all aside.
Nine pieces of his soul were scattered through time, warping the very threads of reality, traveling across eras... waiting.
Over four hours had passed. Nova finally eased out of her practice, exhaling slowly. Sweat clung to her body before vanishing into mist. She sighed in frustration—after all these years, she still couldn't perfect the technique she'd envisioned so long ago.
She leapt down from the ship's tip, dissolving into mist midair and reappearing in Zay's room. Her eyes fell on Renzo, sitting nearby, but she said nothing at first. Instead, she walked over and sat at the edge of the bed.
"What the hell do you want? We haven't seen you since that cell."
Renzo glanced at her from the wooden chair he sat in.
She let out a small yawn, barely glancing at him before turning her attention back to Zay.
"Nothing from you."
Clouds gathered above the ship. The stars vanished behind them as rain poured down in thick sheets. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and lightning lit up the porthole beside the beds.
For a brief second, the flash illuminated her frame in white light—she was sitting exactly where the lightning struck outside. Renzo noticed her silhouette cast sharply against the wall before it faded. Her golden-brown eyes remained fixed on Zay as she sighed.
She blinked, and when her eyes opened, she was already standing. Her fists clenched tightly at her sides as mist gathered in the room. Without another word, she vanished without a trace.
Renzo looked at his brother again, placing two fingers on Zay's neck and feeling for a pulse.
"Come on, man... you gotta wake up."
Renzo leaned back in his chair, his head tilting toward the ceiling before slowly lowering to stare at the floor. He spread his legs apart, resting his arms on his thighs, and interlocked his fingers. With his eyes closed and a deep, steady exhale, he began to pray—to Vaelisir, the god of healing and rain.
His voice was low, almost a whisper, barely audible over the sound of the storm outside.
"Vaelisir... I don't know if you listen to people like me. I don't even know if you give a damn about me at all."
Thunder rumbled in the distance. The room flickered with white light again.
"But if there's anything left of that mercy they say you carry—if the rain is really your tears, like the old folks back home said—then let this storm mean something. Let it do something. Heal him. Bring him back."
His jaw clenched. The words nearly caught in his throat.
"He's… my brother. My family. I love the rest of them, I do… but I've always trusted him the most. It's the older brother's job to keep the youngest safe, no matter what. Even if we fight, even if we pull stupid jokes or throw words like 'I hate you' around… none of that means a damn thing when it really matters. When we're in trouble… we show up. That's how it's always been."
His voice broke slightly, but he pushed through it.
"So please… if you care at all. Even just a little—about the people of Ovaris… about me, about my family. If the love and mercy they say you carry are real… then please. Help him. Help us."
Renzo opened his eyes slowly and looked over at Zay's still form. His chest rose and fell, steady… unchanged.
Renzo dragged a hand down his face, rough calloused fingers scraping over skin worn from training and worry.
The rain turned violent—slamming down on the ship with a force that shook the wood. Thunder cracked across the sky like an answer from above. The porthole on the far wall creaked, then burst open with a sharp clang, wind and water surging through. Rain blasted into the room, and in an instant, Zay was soaked to the bone.
Droplets hit his skin—not cold, but oddly warm. Glowing faintly, they shimmered a soft light blue as they touched him, sinking into his skin like whispers from another realm.
Then—barely noticeable at first—Zay's fingers twitched.
Renzo froze.
Zay's arm moved, slow and uncertain, before he suddenly pushed himself upright, gasping like he'd been drowning for months. His eyes blinked open, unfocused and blurry, breath ragged.
Zay didn't speak—just breathed.
That was enough.
Renzo shot forward and pulled him into a fierce, shaking hug, arms locking tight around his brother like he might vanish again if he let go. The storm outside softened. The downpour lightened into a gentle drizzle. The porthole creaked again—and closed itself with a soft click, sealing the room in warmth and stillness.
Zay coughed up water as it turned to steam and vanished.
"D-did we win?" He chuckled.