Prince Kaal Therys stared at the ceiling of his chambers, counting the cracks in the stone.
Seven.
There were always seven.
That was something, at least.
His breath came easier now.
No fever today. No fire in his blood. No waking hallucinations of mirrors shattering or books bleeding ink. Just stillness, like the calm after a storm.
For months, he had wasted away under silk sheets and perfumed poultices, watched by physicians who offered guesses disguised as cures. They didn't know what was wrong with him. Neither did he.
The healers whispered outside his door. He caught fragments.
"Impossible."
"Not natural."
"Miraculous."
Kaal didn't believe in miracles.
But this morning, he had woken up clear.
He hated it.
He hated that he felt better.
After months of decay, pain had become routine. Predictable. Safe. Now his body was quiet and his thoughts loud and that was worse.
The door opened, and light spilled across the marble.
"Kaal?"
His mother's voice called softly.
He turned his head slightly. " Mother."
Queen Mair crossed the threshold, her gold-trimmed gown rustling . She looked radiant as ever, poised, polished, perfect. And her eyes brimmed with tears.
She hurried to his side and took his hand as if she feared he might disappear.
"They told me… they said you were sitting up, that you'd asked for your books. Oh, Kaal." Her voice trembled. "I thought I was going to lose you."
He gave a weak smile and said blandly
"I'm still here."
Her smile was careful. "The gods must be watching. After all these months…"
Her thumb swept slowly across his knuckles. It looked tender, but her hand was cold. "You have no idea what it's been like. Watching you disappear one breath at a time."
Kaal looked away. "I was ready for it. I still am."
The silence that followed was thick and unfinished, like a sentence neither dared complete.
Then she pulled back slightly. "I'm not ready. There's a chance, Kaal. A chance."
He sighed. "Let me guess. Another sage with scented oils and a stick to wave over my chest?"
"No," she said. "This is different."
Kaal lifted his gaze back to her, skeptical.
"The mountains," She moved to the window, eyes fixed on the mountains.
"The Zmrylian mountains rose this morning. Lightning struck the horizon and the mist cleared. They say Eternity has woken."
He blinked.
"You want me to go on a myth quest."
She smiled through her tears.
"No. I want you to have a choice. You can stay and possibly waste away again. Or you can go where others have found miracles. Eternity… it can save you…"
He didn't answer.
She took his hand again. "Please, Kaal. I don't want to bury another son."
That made him freeze.
They never spoke about the other one. The stillborn. The child who was never named. A ghost in the palace nursery. He'd always assumed they were better left in silence.
He swallowed. "I don't have the strength to climb mountains."
"Then we'll send someone to guide you. Someone who can keep you safe until you reach it."
He didn't ask who.
Because the answer, he was sure, was already decided.
Deep beneath the palace, Lyra eyed the bucket of murky water they'd left in the cell with her. Steam rose faintly.
She didn't look up. "Is this for drinking or bathing?"
"Both," the guard grunted, shifting his weight. "Clean yourself. The queen's coming."
She blinked, then raised her eyebrows. "Here, to see me, wow, Execution already? How efficient."
He coughed. "No. You're being… recruited."
Lyra laughed, a sound too loud for the cramped stone cell. "Oh. That's far worse."
The guard didn't reply. Didn't meet her eyes, either.
She dipped a finger in the bucket, swirled it once, then flicked a drop to the floor.
"Tell Her Grace I'll be ready," she said, voice sweet and sharp as broken glass. "Wouldn't want to disappoint my future employer."
Later that day, Queen Mair walked the stone halls beneath the palace, escorted by two silent guards. Her nose wrinkled at the dungeon's stink and the silence that came from the other inmates with every step, but her mind was elsewhere.
A name had come up in a report that morning.
'Lyra Vael'.
Once a guild-trained assassin. Then a traitor. Caught because of a slip-up and imprisoned after murdering her own guildmaster. Dangerous. Clever. Forgotten. But obviously not good enough if she got captured.
Perfect.
She stopped outside a cell and peered inside.
Lyra was lying on her back, legs propped up against the wall like she had nothing better to do. Her eyes slid sideways to the queen and she smiled, catching the gleam of gold and cold authority.
"Well, if it isn't the crown jewel herself," she said, flashing a grin too wide to be sincere. "Come to collect back taxes, or just slumming for fun?"
Queen Mair didn't smile. One brow arched, elegant and dangerous. "You're Lyra Vael?"
"That's what the rats call me." Lyra leaned back against the damp wall, stretching like a cat with nowhere to go.
"You killed your guildmaster."
She rolled one shoulder, unconcerned. "He started it."
The queen studied her in silence, the kind that made most people fidget, not Lyra. She smiled instead.
"You have a reputation."
"Infamous, deadly, and devastatingly charming," Lyra said, holding up three fingers. "You get to pick two. Limited-time offer."
Mair's gaze didn't waver. "I need someone to escort my son through the Zmrylian Mountains."
"Ah," Lyra said, sitting up with mock interest. "And here I was hoping this was a date."
"The journey is dangerous. If you succeed, you'll be free."
"And if I don't?"
"You won't be my problem."
Lyra stood, brushing prison dust off her sleeves like silk. "Do you always court potential hires with promises of certain death?"
Queen Mair turned toward the door. "Only the ones I expect to come back."
She stepped out, leaving the cell colder than before.
Lyra stood frozen for a breath longer than she meant to, fingers curling at her sides.
'I expect you to come back.'
She hadn't heard that in a long, long time.
That night, in his chamber, Kaal stood by the window, arms folded against the cold.
He could still feel her fingers on his cheek. Her tears on his hand.
He didn't want to go.
He wanted the illness back, its silence, its certainty. No more sham cures. No more being forced to fit a world that had never made space for him.
But her tears...
They hadn't belonged to a queen.
They had belonged to a mother.
And for that, just that, he had to try.
What did it matter? If Eternity was a myth, he would die all the same.
But if it wasn't...
He wasn't ready to hope.
Not yet.