Aurel's POV — In Aeria's Chambers
The room still smelled faintly of her. Jasmine and sea salt, like the breeze from the cliffs where we used to sneak away as children. I walked in quietly, as if not to disturb a ghost, and shut the door behind me.
Everything was just as she had left it. The scarf thrown over the chair. The brush tangled with strands of silver-blonde hair. A single seashell bracelet lying forgotten on the vanity. I touched it gently, running my fingers over the worn string.
"You always said you hated sentiment," I murmured. "But you kept this."
Then I saw it. Draped across the bed, wrinkled and carelessly discarded—her nightgown. And not just any one. The pale silk one she wore on stormy nights, when she couldn't sleep without hearing my voice down the hall.
It was soaked in dried blood.
I staggered back a step. My breath caught.
"Aeria…"
My hands trembled as I reached out, fingers brushing the stiff, stained fabric. Too much blood for a wound that would have let her walk away.
I moved slowly, folding it with trembling hands. Like if I handled it gently enough, she might come back whole.
Then my eyes caught on the painting above her desk. The one of us. She was laughing in it, really laughing. Mouth open, eyes closed, wind in her hair.
I stood in front of it and let my tears fall.
"You don't show it," I said softly. "But I feel like I should thank you."
My voice cracked. "Aeria, if you're listening… please, hold on. I will find you. I will bring you back."
Silence answered me.
But still, I stood there, looking at her smile in the painting. Not the monster they were trying to turn her into. Just my sister.
And I whispered one last thing before I left the room, clutching her bloodied dress to my chest.
"Wait for me."
---
Luceris stood in the doorway, his jaw tight.
"Helius and Crixus spoke to me," he said. "They believe we must reach the Veil before the transformation is complete."
I didn't turn to face him. "And if we're too late?"
His silence was answer enough.
I let out a bitter breath. "Did they ask you to kill her if I can't?"
Luceris looked away for a moment—ashamed or afraid, I couldn't tell. "They said what must be done."
I turned to him then, slowly. "And would you? If they commanded it. Would you strike her down?"
"I would protect you," he said. "Whatever it takes."
I laughed—quiet and cold. "Of course you would. The gods would be pleased. Their favorite blade, polished and obedient."
"That's not fair."
"No?" I cut him off. "They used my mother to create me. They call it destiny. I call it desecration. And now they think they can steer our choices, our future—with threats and visions. You think they care about us, Luceris? We are chess pieces. Useful, until we bleed too much."
He didn't flinch. "I know."
That caught me off guard.
He met my eyes, steady and sure. "I know what they are. I know what they've done. But this—" he reached for my hand "—what I'm doing, what I've already done… it's not for them."
His voice dropped to a whisper.
"It's all for you."
The Dungeon Beneath the Keep
The dungeon stank of damp stone and rusted iron. Torches hissed low in their sconces, barely holding back the dark. Water dripped steadily in some unseen crevice, ticking like a slow, relentless clock.
Virelya sat chained to the wall, her wrists bruised, her once-royal bearing dimmed but unbroken. Across from her, King Haedron stood with arms folded, his face carved in grim stone. Nytheria lingered near the door, silent as a blade in the dark.
"I've had enough of riddles," Haedron said, voice low and dangerous. "If we are to save Aeria, we need the truth. All of it. No more deflections. No more games."
Virelya's gaze met his—sharp, unflinching. "And if I give you what you want? What then? You hand it to the priests? Let them carve prophecy from her bones?"
"I swore an oath to protect her," Haedron said.
"You swore a thousand oaths," she snapped. "To gods, to men, to dead kings who never bled for the price of their thrones."
Nytheria stepped forward, her voice cold. "You don't have the right to hesitate, Virelya. Not after what you've done. Either speak now, or let your daughter be lost, because of the choices you made."
Virelya flinched—barely. But Nytheria saw it.
"Tell us," she pressed. "Or you've already buried her."
Silence. The kind that wrapped around the ribs and squeezed.
Then Virelya turned to Haedron, voice barely above a whisper. "Swear to me. Not on your gods. On your blood. That you'll do everything in your power to bring her back—not as they want her, but as she is."
Haedron hesitated. Then, solemnly, he said, "I will."
Virelya closed her eyes. And when she opened them again, the queen was gone. Only the mother remained.
"It began twenty-four years ago," she said, her voice hollow with memory. "Long before I met you.
Twenty four years ago
Virelya's POV
They called it a celebration. Trumpets blared, nobles paraded in silks, and foreign princes lined up like painted dogs—all eager to claim my hand. My father called it diplomacy. I called it a sentence.
This kingdom was never my home. It was a cage built from expectation and duty. Every hallway whispered what I should be, who I should serve, what dreams I must bury. I was born to be a queen—but not my own.
The day King Haedron arrived with his father, the halls swelled with tension. The warrior-king of the North, they called him—blood on his sword, ice in his veins. He came not for trade or peace, but power. An alliance. And to seal it, I was offered like coin.
To marry a man I had never spoken to. Like a lamb dressed in silk.
So I ran.
I left the banquet behind and slipped into the woods behind the palace, barefoot, my gown torn by brambles. The moon was high and the air sharp, carrying the scent of pine and rain. My breath came fast—half from fear, half from fury.
And then I saw him.
A man standing just beyond the trees, half-shrouded in shadow. Watching me.
"You look too pretty to be crying like that," he said, voice low and rough like riverstone.
I should've screamed. Run. But I didn't.
Something about him didn't feel… human. The woods had gone quiet. Every bird had fled, as though his presence rewrote the rules of the forest.
"Who are you?" I asked.
He tilted his head. "That depends. Who are you?"
I answered without hesitation. I don't know why. Maybe because no one had asked me in so long—asked like it mattered.
"My name is Virelya."
He stepped closer, and the moonlight caught his face. Sharp, striking, too beautiful to belong to any court I'd ever known. And yet… dangerous, ancient.
"That's a good name," he said. "You'll need it. You'll want to remember who you are."
I asked his name.
He smiled, slow and secret.
"Casimir."
That was the night everything changed. The night I met the man who would father Aeria.