Chapter 30: Between War and Delusion
His soul thrashed, demanding he save Shapira, but the call of war at the border echoed, demanding he protect Astellia. A choice he couldn't avoid, a destruction he couldn't prevent.
Even as Shapira thrashed in the magical light, William Valen Astellian, Astellia's future King, was forced to turn away. His heart screamed, but duty called him. With jaw clenched tight and his dark blue eyes burning with fury, he spurred his horse through the palace gates, towards the battlefield that summoned him. Guilt gnawed at him, making his hand tremble slightly, diminishing his focus, leaving small gaps in his defenses.
"Prince!" Commander Elizabeth, a loyal blonde warrior woman, cried, her sword slick with enemy blood. "They're retreating! We've retaken the left flank's defensive line!"
William merely nodded stiffly, his eyes sweeping across the battlefield. The small victory tasted bitter. He knew Lucian wasn't playing games. The frontal assault was merely a diversion. His primary target remained Shapira. Questions continued to haunt him, Was Shapira still there? Or had she completely become Lucian's puppet, through Isabelle? Bitter despair pierced his soul, weighing down shoulders that should have been mighty.
*
While William fought amidst a sea of fire and blood, Shapira was adrift in a vortex far more personal and terrifying. Isabelle's ritual had reached its peak. The green light binding her no longer merely enveloped, it seeped in, penetrating every cell, every fiber of her soul. She felt her body, which she once knew as her own, was a vessel filled by two foreign entities, Anya and Isolde. They whispered, screamed, laughed in her mind, vying for control.
Isolde's visions became so real, more than mere shadows. Shapira saw Isolde, with her sweet smile and cunning eyes, moving before an ancient mirror, tying her hair with a silk ribbon, choosing a gown for a palace ball. Then, suddenly, Shapira found herself speaking in a voice not her own, words not of her choosing.
"Anya, you cannot simply keep weeping," a voice, strange yet familiar, emerged from her throat. "Destiny calls you for more than just tears."
Isabelle, now standing before her, laughed with satisfaction. Her eyes, which had previously held a cunning glint, now radiated a cold, cruel light.
"Isolde and Anya, one within you. Unrivaled power will be yours."
Shapira wanted to scream, to say that it wasn't so. She wanted to say her own name, Shapira Elizabeth Swan, a university student from London, a local singer afraid of blood. But her voice was choked, the words she knew seemed to vanish, replaced by ancient phrases and alien thoughts. Her hand lifted, not by her command, but by an older will. Her slender fingers traced the carvings on the wall, a habit Isolde might have had millennia ago.
*
Isabelle stepped closer, her eyes gleaming with triumph. She saw Shapira, her trembling body now beginning to calm, her pale face now adorned with an expression that was more arrogant, more mature, yet still empty. She knew Shapira was almost completely within her grasp. The potions given, the subtle whispers, and the soul-binding ritual had successfully blurred the lines between Shapira, Anya, and Isolde.
"Ah, Princess Anya," Isabelle whispered, touching Shapira's cold cheek. "How beautiful. Your destiny is finally fulfilled. You and I, one. We will lead Astellia, not under the shadow of a frail prince, but as true queens."
Shapira gazed at Isabelle, her grey eyes now holding a terrifying depth, as if thousands of years of experience were amassed within them. Yet, there was an emptiness, an absence of personal will.
"William," Shapira murmured, a name that came out instinctively but felt alien on her tongue. "He ... he won't accept this."
Isabelle smiled, the smile of a predator seeing its prey trapped.
"William? Oh, William Valen Astellian. He only loves Anya, the perfect, obedient Princess. He won't love Shapira, the poor girl whose soul is fragmented, possessed by two ancient entities. He will leave me, Shapira. He will leave you when he learns who you truly are."
"He will be afraid of you. Afraid of the power you possess. He will never be able to accept the person you are now, your true self."
A furrow appeared on Shapira's brow. A sharp pain pierced her soul, an internal battle unseen by Isabelle. A part of Shapira wanted to refuse, wanted to scream that William would accept her no matter what. Yet, another part, poisoned by Isolde's whispers and reinforced by Isabelle, began to believe. Shapira's fear of abandonment, her past trauma, was a wide-open gateway for Isabelle to sink her manipulative claws deeper. She began to doubt. Did William truly love her, or only the image of Anya that he saw?
*
Far from Shapira's chamber and the turbulent battlefield, Astellia's King sat in his throne room, his face appearing ten years older overnight. Messenger after messenger came and went, bringing grim news from the border and unsettling reports from the palace. Lucian's General Hundred Shadows had devastated the City of Veridia, and William, despite fighting heroically, seemed overwhelmed.
"Your Majesty, the ladies-in-waiting report that Miss Shapira has become increasingly withdrawn. She talks to herself, sometimes in ancient languages, sometimes mentioning unfamiliar names. Isabelle remains by her side, claiming she is performing a healing ritual, but the ladies-in-waiting sense an unpleasant aura."
The King of Astellia clenched his fist, his eyes fixed on the fire in the hearth. He held a letter from William, which his son had slipped him before departing for the battlefield, concerning the discovery of the "Whisper of the Nexus" scroll and Isabelle's betrayal. William was on the battlefield, fighting for Astellia's survival, while Shapira, his prospective daughter-in-law, the future queen, was slowly being destroyed under Isabelle's watch.
"What should we do, Your Majesty?" asked Lord Kaelen. "If William is pulled from the border, our defenses will collapse. But if Shapira falls completely into the grasp of dark magic, Astellia will lose its last hope for eternal peace. Princess Anya's power within her is the only thing that can stand against Lucian."
The King sighed heavily. "Send word to Commander Elizabeth. Ask her to take temporary command at the border. Immediately."
Lord Kaelen was shocked. "Your Majesty, that's too dangerous!"
"I know the risks, Lord Kaelen," the King replied, his voice firm, yet heavy with sorrow. "But Lucian knows William's weakness. He knows that Shapira is his heart. If Shapira is destroyed, William will be destroyed too. And Astellia needs a whole King to face what is to come."
The King rose from his throne, his eyes fixed on the portrait of the late Princess Anya.
"Shapira is the key, Lord Kaelen. Princess Anya's soul. If Lucian controls her, nothing can stop him. William must stop Isabelle. We will seek aid. Summon the Resonance Guardians. Perhaps they have a way to sever this vile bond."
A heavy decision had been made, placing the fate of the kingdom on a thread of destiny.
*
Amidst Isabelle's vortex of illusions and manipulative whispers, at the moment Shapira almost fully surrendered to the will of the foreign entities possessing her, a glimmer of light pierced the darkness of her soul. The light was not of magic, but from a buried past, a memory that refused to fade. She saw a soft hand touching her hair, a warm smile, and a voice singing a lullaby in a language alien to Astellia, yet so familiar to her.
"Mom," she whispered, her voice trembling and almost inaudible.
A flash appeared, a small apartment in London, rain pattering against the window, the scent of warm tea and old books. She saw herself, a young girl with long black hair, sitting by the window, singing a simple melody that calmed her heart. She remembered her mother, the woman who had left her, but also the woman who had given her life and her name, Isolde Elizabeth Swan. Her mother. Not Anya, not that Isolde, the killer. But she was Shapira Elizabeth Swan.
That memory was a small ember burning in the midst of an ice storm. It spoke of freedom, of choice, of the identity she had fought for years to define. Her instincts screamed, rejecting Isabelle's claims of inevitable destiny, rejecting the idea that she was an empty vessel to be filled at will.
Isabelle, who had been observing Shapira closely, suddenly sensed a subtle resistance. The triumphant smile on her lips faded slightly. She saw Shapira frown, those grey eyes now showing a brief flash of awareness, a self-reflection she hadn't anticipated.
"What are you hiding?" Isabelle hissed, her voice sharp. "You must accept it, Shapira! Don't fight! You'll only destroy yourself!"
Shapira trembled, not from fear, but from an intense internal struggle. The memory of her mother, the whispered melody from her modern world, was an anchor holding her back from sinking completely. She was still there. She was still Shapira. Yet, the combined power of Anya and Isolde, now vying for dominance, felt so potent, so intoxicating. She felt her soul being pulled in different directions, towards a dark past, but a part of her still clung tightly to a thin thread of her former life.
A piercing voice filled her head, a voice not Isabelle's, not Anya's, not Isolde's. Lucian's voice.
"Just let go, little Princess. Let destiny guide you. I will give you power, the love you never got from William. He will always abandon you."
Lucian's whispers, creeping through the cracks in her defenses, merged with Shapira's deepest fears, of abandonment, of betrayal. William on the battlefield, Isabelle by her side, Lucian inside her mind. She didn't know who to trust, who truly cared. The pain in her head intensified, as if her brain would split apart. Between the warm memory of her mother and the vile promise of power, Shapira swayed. And in the midst of that vortex, her grey eyes opened, radiating a terrifying combination of power and profound fear, staring blankly ahead. She was now completely lost, a rudderless ship in a storm. And even more frightening, she felt herself beginning to like it.