The kingdom of Haelithon, once fractured, now bloomed under a sky lit with fireworks above the Grand Arena. The Sixtieth Contram Ranker Tournament was just a week away, and its opening ceremony had begun.
But in Taksh's chamber, it was silent. Too silent.
He sat alone by the window, watching the fireworks cast a flicker of color across his shadowed room.
His loyal companion, Rode, entered quickly. "My Lord… the tournament is about to begin."
Rode waited a moment, bowed, and silently exited.
The silence returned-until soft footsteps echoed behind him. Taksh didn't turn. He recognized the presence all too well.
"I was hoping you came to stab me," he murmured.
Celene Veilith, princess of Haelithon, stepped into the light, quiet as frost. The air chilled with her presence.
"You're supposed to be dead," she said flatly, tossing a folded sketch onto his desk. "But it's not time yet."
Taksh picked it up. A portrait of Noel Veilith, drawn by him. "You kept it."
"I kept everything," she said, voice sharp like a knife, "Including the truth. You killed my sister."
His breath caught, but he said nothing. He folded the sketch slowly, as if it burned in his hands.
"You killed her," Celene repeated, unblinking. "She trusted you, but-"
He turned to face her. "Then why are you still talking? Kill me."
Celene laughed low and cruelly. "You think I want justice? No. I wanted power. You helped me remove her… without the curse."
A long silence passed between them until a knock came at the door.
"Princess," a guard called. "The ceremony has begun."
Celene looked back at Taksh, her expression smug. "Help me win this tournament, and I'll find a way to lift your curse."
She left. But her words stayed in the air, like dust refusing to settle.
Moments later, the chamber filled again.
Not with warmth, but with the cold eyes of blood relatives-the Haelithon Council. Draped in finery, masked in pride.
"Reunion with the elder princess?" Aunt Luafey fanned herself. "She still thinks you're worth something?"
Taksh remained silent.
"You don't even look aesthetic slouched like that," scoffed Uncle Udon. "It's pathetic."
They circled him like ants around sugar, drawn to power, feeding on his silence.
"You had the mind. The power. The chance," Udon hissed. "And now you just rot."
"You were supposed to be our sharpest weapon," another one sneered. "Now look, all brains, no spine."
The room held its breath.
Taksh stood. He moved to the window, brushing imaginary dust from his sleeves with practiced elegance.
"I let you talk," he said. "I let you mock me. You're good at that."
He smiled coldly, sharply. "I don't need your approval. Or your respect. You're just leeches feeding on me."
Then he left the room.
That evening, as the ceremony ended and nobles returned to their chambers, Celene reclined towards her palace. On reaching her chamber, she threw herself at her couch until a voice startled her.
"Didn't expect me to find you, did you?"
She turned sharply.
Taksh stood before her.
"Well," she said, crossing her arms, eyes scanning him. "After all these years, you finally stepped out."
"I can't use magic anymore," he said flatly.
"I know," she smirked. "I only need your brain."
The real threat smiled, not from the arena, but from the bloodline itself.
—
The next day, Celene and Taksh entered the Grand Realm Archives. Security parted for Celene; this place was almost hers.
They reached the Data House. Celene waved her hand over a file, and glowing magical profiles flickered to life.
"These are the ones standing between me and the throne," she said. "Study them. Find their cracks. Break them."
A voice cut through the air. "Sounds like dating advice."
They spun around.
Celene's heel slipped. She flailed, then a hand caught her.
Their eyes meet.
"Taksh's next target is you?" the newcomer said with a soft, unreadable smirk.
He held her just long enough to make a point, then let go.
She hit the floor.
He dusted his hands, like brushing off dirt.
Ozzy's grin faded.
The mood thickened, charged, heavy, not angry, but something else.
With a cool gaze, he turned to Taksh. "Look who has risen from his coffin."
Celene snapped, "Ozzy, you dropped me-"
But he didn't look at her. "Still pretending she didn't die because of you?"
"Enough." Celene grabbed his arm.
Ozzy smiled, too sweetly. "Sorry. Too dark for a reunion? Should I pretend my feelings don't exist?"
He sighed, turned to leave, but paused at the door.
"To you," he said to Celene, "Good luck in the tournament."
Then, to Taksh, without meeting his eyes, "You may have forgotten her… but I haven't."
He stepped close and whispered, "I will bring her back."
Then he vanished down the hall, his cloak trailing tension behind him.
"I hate wild cards," Celene muttered. "I hated him then. I hate him now."
Taksh said nothing.
The magical display glitched. Flickered. Noel's name flashed just for a second.
They heard footsteps.
Celene waved her hand, and the display vanished. With a twist of her robe, she and Taksh disappeared.
Back in her chamber, she lounged on the couch.
"You studied them?" she asked.
Taksh nodded. "I studied everything-"
"Good. Tomorrow, tell me how to use them."
"I don't predict," he said, rising. "I remove the future they want."
He left.
Celene chuckled. "He's crazy. Once I get my hands on that book, I'll destroy that pathetic brain of his first."
She laughed as if the world were made of toys.
Then, in a cooler voice, she turned to the shadows near the curtain.
"Any update on Ozzy's little obsession?"
A figure stepped forward, bowing, "He's still looking in the human world for any trace of Noel. But till now, no one survived."
Celene smiled faintly. "Good. Let him waste his energy on ghosts."
A slow wicked smile spread across Celene's face as she walked to her windows. Her eyes were coldly calculating and framing things in her mind.
"A distraction while we move on the true prize."
Celene nodded, "He doesn't know, but he will be only burning if Noel gets back here. And in this chaos, I will again get what I am seeking. He doesn't know he is just a pawn in my game. It's upon me whether I promote him into a rook, or a bishop, or a knight or maybe, a Queen."