Vard Realm
The days after their return from the forbidden realm stretched like shadows too long for the hour. In the great halls of the Vard palace, silence had become its own language—doors closed softly, servants lowered their voices, and even the marble corridors seemed to carry grief in their echo.
It had been five days since Gerald had led them to the Banished Realm. Five days since Veyran's revelation that Blue lived, though not in any world they could easily reach. Five days of waiting for the shard to stabilize, for the veil between realms to open at moonrise.
Five days of secrets.
Siren bore the weight of them all. He carried them in the stiffness of his shoulders, in the restless pacing of his steps, in the sleepless shadows beneath his eyes. He could not tell his father. He could not tell his mother. Not because he didn't want to, but because if he did, the fragile thread of hope he held would snap under the force of their fear.
So he hid.
When Christina Vard asked why his training faltered, he blamed exhaustion. When Areane pressed him about his late hours, he lied—books, research, wandering. And when Winter looked at him with eyes that asked How much longer can you keep this up?, he answered with silence.
The palace had always been grand, but now it felt cavernous. Chandeliers glittered above empty tables. Curtains fluttered through still rooms where laughter once lived. Every sound seemed too loud, too sharp against the absence of Blue's voice.
Christina Vard had not smiled since the night her son vanished.
She sat for hours in the east wing, where the windows overlooked the silver gardens. She did not tend the flowers anymore. She did not greet the servants. Her hands, once steady, now trembled faintly when she lifted her cup. And every evening, when Areane returned from his council duties, her eyes would cut to him with a blade's precision.
"You lost him," she said once, when the silence between them broke like thin glass. Her voice was cold, brittle, laced with weeks of unspoken grief. "You swore to guard our children with the strength of the Vard name, and yet my son is gone."
Areane did not answer. Not because he had no words, but because every word would have sounded like excuse. He carried his own blame, heavy as the armor he no longer wore. His hands had built empires, had shattered armies, had carried worlds to safety. But they had not kept Blue safe.
That truth poisoned every attempt at peace.
So Areane stood by the window, silent, his jaw tight, while Christina turned her face away, tears unshed but burning in her eyes.
Siren learned to avoid those rooms. The air in them was too sharp, too filled with accusations he couldn't bear to hear. If his parents ever discovered that he had walked willingly into the Banished Realm, that he had seen Blue's face within Veyran's magic and said nothing…
He did not know if their anger or their grief would destroy him first.
---
On the sixth day, the summons came.
Not for Siren, not for Winter, not for Gerald. For Areane.
The gods were gathering.
It began with a whisper through the palace—messengers cloaked in the emblems of realms long distant, arriving at the gates in solemn procession. Their banners cut through the gray skies: the golden wings of Solvane, the crimson storm of Thariel, the blue flame of Otrius, the silver crescent of Lumae. One by one, their envoys filled the marble halls, bearing tidings heavy enough to draw even the proudest gods together.
The Celestial Vein was weakening.
Siren overheard it in fragments, caught between the steps of servants too fearful to speak plainly. The stars tremble. The threads of magic strain. A crack in the vein… the realms will bleed.
By nightfall, the council chamber burned with light. Torches lined the high stone pillars, their flames steady against the still air. The round table at the chamber's heart gleamed with inlaid constellations, each star a symbol of the gods who ruled them.
Areane stood at the head. His armor was gone, replaced by robes of midnight blue edged with silver. His face was stern, but the weight in his eyes betrayed the truth—he had been called not as a sovereign, but as a witness to disaster.
One by one, the gods arrived.
High Lord Tharion of Thariel, tall and broad, his crimson cloak trailing like a river of blood. Lady Ilyra of Lumae, her silver hair braided with strands of starlight, her gaze sharp enough to pierce through pretenses. Orian of Otrius, his body wreathed faintly in blue flame, every step a reminder of the fire he wielded. And Solvane's envoy, High Priestess Kaelis, golden light clinging to her robes as though the sun itself had followed her.
Their voices filled the chamber, low at first, then rising with each word.
"The Celestial Vein has thinned."
"The skies no longer sing as they once did."
"Already, mortal realms report storms without source, stars dimming before their time."
"If the Vein collapses—"
"—then the realms will fracture."
"—and the Banished will return."
At that word, silence fell. Even the torches seemed to still, their flames frozen in place.
The Banished. The demons sealed beyond the Vein, locked away by divine hands millennia ago. If the barrier weakened, if their prison cracked…
Areane's jaw tightened. He remembered Christina's voice, sharp with blame. You lost him. He wondered if soon she would say it again—not just of Blue, but of all their people.
Lady Ilyra's gaze swept the room. "We must act before it breaks. Already, shadows move in the places between worlds. If we wait, we will be too late."
Tharion slammed his hand against the table, constellations shivering beneath his palm. "Action without unity is chaos. The realms are fractured enough without panic."
"Panic?" Orian's flame flared brighter, heat searing the edge of his chair. "You call this panic? The very blood of the universe bleeds, and you speak of patience?"
Kaelis's voice cut through, soft but carrying. "Then what would you have us do? Bind the Vein tighter with power we no longer possess? Sacrifice mortals by the thousands to feed it?"
The silence that followed was heavier than thunder.
Siren, hidden behind the chamber's shadowed archway, pressed his fist against his chest to steady his breathing. They spoke of cracks and blood, of Banished shadows and sacrifices—but not of Blue. Not of the brother trapped in a realm where gods held no dominion.
He wanted to shout at them, to demand their power, their answers. But he bit his tongue until it bled. If they knew what he had done—if they knew he had already walked into the Banished Realm, had already bargained with Veyran—what punishment would follow?
Areane's voice broke the silence at last. Deep, commanding, the voice of a god who had led armies through endless wars.
"The Vein cannot fail. If it does, none of us will stand. Not god, not mortal, not demon. We cannot afford division. We cannot afford delay."
"And yet," Lady Ilyra murmured, her silver gaze narrowing, "delay is all you offer, Vard."
The weight of her words struck the chamber like a blow. Even Kaelis's light dimmed, her head bowing faintly.
Areane's hands curled into fists. He thought of Christina's eyes, burning with blame. He thought of Blue's laughter echoing through the palace halls, silenced now by distance. He thought of Siren—of the son who still stood beside him, silent but burdened.
And he wondered if the choice he made long ago—to bind himself to duty above all—would one day leave him with nothing but shadows.
---
That night, the palace did not sleep. The gods' voices echoed through its walls long after the council ended, servants whispered in corners, and Christina sat by the east window, her face pale in the starlight.
She did not turn when Areane entered.
"Another meeting," she said flatly, her gaze fixed on the silver gardens. "Another speech. Tell me, husband—how many speeches will bring my son home?"
Areane stood in the doorway, weary from the weight of divine voices. "Christina—"
She rose, her chair scraping the marble floor. When she turned, her eyes were bright with fury. "Do not Christina me. You speak of realms, of veins, of cracks in the sky, and all the while our son is gone. And you—" Her voice broke, trembling against her will. "—you stand in council chambers while I bury him in my heart."
The silence between them was worse than shouting.
Areane reached for her, but she stepped back, shaking her head.
Siren, hidden once more in the corridor, pressed his back against the cold stone and closed his eyes. His mother's grief, his father's silence, the gods' fear—it all pressed against him like a tide threatening to drown.
He thought of Blue, alive but trapped. He thought of the shard Veyran had given Gerald, pulsing faintly with its own light. He thought of the path that would open at moonrise.
And he swore, silently, fiercely, that no matter the cost, he would bring his brother back.
Even if it meant carrying the weight of every secret until it crushed him.