Kael stared at her like the mountain had caved in beneath his feet.
The silence that followed was too sharp, too raw. It wasn't just shock—it was betrayal, confusion, heartbreak all folding in on themselves.
"Say that again," he said. His voice was low and tight, as if it took everything in him to keep it steady.
Elira met his eyes. "Eryx Thandrel. That's the name the Queen gave me in the vision."
Kael stepped back like the words had struck him.
"You're sure?"
She didn't waver. "I didn't just hear it—I felt it. It wasn't like a whisper. It was… carved into me. I think it always was."
Kael turned, running both hands through his hair. His shoulders rose and fell in jerky motions.
The silence between them wasn't quiet—it buzzed with things unsaid.
"Kael…" Elira stepped toward him, her voice soft. "Talk to me."
He turned quickly, his jaw clenching, his eyes glassy with something dangerously close to pain. "You think I didn't want to see it? That I didn't notice things—small things—that never sat right?"
She waited.
Kael let out a long breath, shaky and worn. "I always knew something was wrong with Eryx."
They stepped out of the heart of the temple and into one of the upper halls where the weight of magic felt a little lighter. The walls here weren't pulsing with ancestral energy or memory ghosts—they were just stone again.
Kael sank onto a low bench, the stone cold beneath him, and dropped his head into his hands.
Elira stayed standing, arms crossed, her posture rigid but her eyes full of something softer.
"I should've told someone years ago," he muttered. "But you don't accuse your own blood of evil lightly."
"Then start now," she said. "Start with me."
Kael looked up, and for a moment, he wasn't the commanding prince or the warrior or the would-be king. He was just a man who'd ignored a growing wound for too long.
"When we were kids, Eryx was always the favorite. Golden boy. Everyone called him a prodigy—smarter, faster, charming enough to light up a room just by walking in." He paused. "But I saw… glimpses."
He rubbed his hands together, like the memory made him cold.
"There was this bird," he said quietly. "One of the hawks we trained with. It had a broken wing. I wanted to help it. Eryx beat me to it. Looked me straight in the eye… then snapped its neck. Just like that. No hesitation."
Elira's jaw tightened.
"He said he wanted to 'see what would happen when it stopped.' Like it was an experiment."
Kael's eyes lifted to hers. "He was ten."
"What did your family say?"
"They excused it. Said he was sensitive. Brilliant. Misunderstood. They didn't see it—or didn't want to. His father feared him, and his mother… she loved him too much to believe anything was wrong."
Elira moved closer, crouching beside him. "But you knew."
"I did," Kael admitted, bitterness seeping into his voice. "And I kept quiet. Because it was easier. Because I was scared of what it meant if I was right."
"You're not the only one who's looked away too long," Elira said gently. "But now, we face it."
They returned to the vault chamber, where glyphs still glowed faintly in the wake of the Queen's vision. The crystal had stopped floating, now dormant and cracked—but the air buzzed with lingering echoes of power.
Elira stepped into the arc of inscriptions. Her fingers brushed along the floating script—blood-bound glyphs, echoing through time.
"This isn't just a tomb," she said. "It's a record. A bloodline archive."
Kael moved to her side. "You mean—?"
She pointed at a glyph that burned darker than the rest.
"Eryx's name is here. His soul, marked. It's already begun—the awakening. The King is using him like a vessel."
Kael stepped back, breath catching. "Then he's not Eryx anymore."
"Not fully," Elira agreed. "But he's still… in there. That's what makes it harder."
Kael didn't respond right away. His silence said more than words could.
They camped that night in one of the outer alcoves—an old ceremonial room with cracked walls and a ceiling open to the clouded sky. The air was colder. Meaner. Like the world outside had taken a deep breath and was holding it.
Mira returned from her patrol with something clutched in her hand.
"A hawk fell out of the sky," she said, tossing the limp body near the fire. "Eyes burned out. No wounds."
Everyone fell quiet.
Jareth stared into the flames. Sienna swore under her breath.
Elira said nothing.
Later, Mira approached her where she sat alone beside the fire, gaze locked on the embers like they held answers.
"I saw the look on your face back in the vault," Mira said quietly. "You changed."
Elira glanced up.
Mira hesitated, then asked, "Are we going to survive this?"
Elira's answer was quiet, but solid. "That depends."
"On what?"
"On whether I can kill Kael's cousin before the King inside him wakes up completely."
And she meant it.
She stood alone in the temple's central dome that night, a vast, starlit space with cracked relics and air thick with ancient sorrow. The stars overhead weren't real—illusions etched into the stone. But they still felt eternal.
Kael found her there, his presence soft.
"You didn't answer me earlier," he said.
She didn't look at him. "Which part?"
"If you'll do it."
She sighed, shoulders rising and falling.
Then she turned.
"Yes," she said. "If Eryx stands in the way, if it's the only way to stop what's coming—I'll kill him."
Kael's expression didn't change, but the tension in his body did.
Elira stepped closer, voice low but unwavering. "But I'll give you a choice, Kael. You can stand beside me. Or step aside."
His eyes darkened. "And if I try to stop you?"
"Then I'll go through you."
The silence that followed was awful.
But Kael didn't back down.
His voice, when it came, was barely more than breath. "Then don't miss."
They stood like that as the sky outside began to shift.
Except—it didn't turn to dawn.
When they stepped out into the upper terrace, the world wasn't lit by day.
It wasn't night either.
It was… wrong.
The sky was black, but not dark. Starless. Still.
A kind of silence that didn't feel natural.
Jareth was already at the cliff, looking out.
"We have a problem," he said as they approached.
They joined him—and froze.
A rolling wave of black fog was coming up from the north. It wasn't mist. It was thicker. Heavier. It pulsed like a living thing. Inside, vague shapes moved—too tall, too many.
Sienna hissed, "That's not weather."
Mira stepped forward, stringing her bow. "It's a message."
Kael turned to Elira. "Can you protect the temple?"
She nodded. "I can ward the entrance. But if they breach it…"
"Then we fight," Kael said. "No retreat."
He looked to the others. "If we fall—burn the glyphs. The knowledge cannot survive in their hands."
Elira stared out at the fog, her magic already stirring.
He's coming for me, she thought. Himself. He's not afraid.
But then—
A tug.
Something sharp.
Not from outside.
From within.
Her head snapped around. Her magic flared in warning.
"Elira?" Kael asked.
But she was already running.
Back into the temple.
Back into the vault.
What she saw made her heart stop.
Thorne stood in front of the cracked pedestal, dagger in hand, its blade gleaming black.
"No!" she shouted, sprinting forward.
But the blade plunged down.
It struck the crystal—and shattered it.
A blast of dark energy exploded through the chamber, flinging Elira and Kael backwards. Her ears rang. Her magic roared. She hit the ground hard.
And then—
A voice.
Smooth. Ancient.
Familiar.
"Thank you, Princess," it purred. "I needed your blood to open the rest."
Elira gasped.
She looked down. Her palm—cut. A thin line of blood dripped from it. She hadn't even noticed.
Thorne turned slowly.
His eyes glowed gold and black.
But it wasn't Thorne anymore.
And the voice that followed—
Kael's blood ran cold.
"See you soon, cousin."