The capital of Aeloria should have been untouchable, a bastion of marble walls and moonlit towers. Yet when Kael and Isolde returned from the southern borders, they found unease festering like rot in the heart of the city.
The markets bustled, but with tension. Merchants whispered of withered crops and animals born wrong. Children spoke of nightmares so vivid they woke screaming, some refusing to sleep at all. And everywhere Kael looked, he saw eyes turn toward Isolde—not with gratitude, but with suspicion.
By the time they entered the throne hall, the atmosphere was sharp enough to cut. Nobles lined the chamber, their robes rich but their faces pale with fear. King Aldric sat heavy on the Moonstone Seat, his crown gleaming but his gaze shadowed by doubt. Beside him, as always, stood Varrow.
The adviser's voice carried first, calm and measured, yet dripping with influence. "Your Majesty, the reports spread faster than soldiers can march. The curse blackens our fields, our livestock, and soon, perhaps, even our people. Fear rises, and with it unrest. The lords demand answers."
Murmurs surged through the chamber. Some noble voices cried for war against unseen foes, others for stricter laws against magic. One woman rose, her jeweled hand trembling. "We cannot allow this… flame"—her eyes darted to Isolde—"to walk freely among us. What if she is the cause, not the cure?"
Kael's hand went to his sword, though he held his ground. "Without her, the border village would already be lost. Her light saved lives, and if you condemn her, you condemn the kingdom's only chance against what comes."
Varrow's expression was faintly amused, his words smooth as silk. "Or perhaps, my prince, you have been blinded by her flame. Did the Hollow not mark her? And is it not true that those marked by shadow may carry it with them, spreading it like a disease?"
The chamber erupted in shouts, some supporting Kael, others echoing Varrow's poison. King Aldric raised a weary hand, but the clamor hardly ceased.
Isolde stood tall despite the weight of every eye upon her. "Yes, I am marked by the Hollow. But that mark does not bind me to shadow—it binds me to its undoing. You can doubt me, hate me, fear me. It will not change the truth: if the Shadow King rises, your crowns and titles will burn first."
Silence followed, sharp as a blade.
Kael moved to her side, voice ringing with steel. "You all argue as if time is our ally. It is not. The Shadow King's chains are breaking even now. If you bicker while Varrow whispers, you'll wake to find his shadow on your very doorstep."
A few lords lowered their heads in shame, but others hardened their stares. The division was clear, and Varrow smiled as if he had won a game only he knew the rules of.
King Aldric finally rose, his voice weary yet commanding. "Enough. The council is dismissed. My decision will come soon."
The nobles filed out, their whispers louder than their bows.
As the hall emptied, Varrow lingered, his eyes gleaming as he regarded Kael and Isolde. "So bold, flame. So defiant. But boldness without control is a spark in a storm—gone in an instant. Remember this: fire can warm… or it can consume. And when the kingdom burns, none will thank the hand that lit it."
He bowed with mocking grace and vanished into the shadows of the hall.
Kael's jaw tightened. "He's winning them. Every word he speaks turns the court against us."
Isolde exhaled, her hands trembling faintly with the Hollow's lingering pulse. "Then we must find proof. Something undeniable. If not, Varrow won't just poison their ears—he'll poison the crown itself."
Together, they stood beneath the high arches of the throne hall, the weight of a kingdom pressing down on their shoulders. Outside, the city stirred with whispers. And deep beneath the earth, the Shadow King's chains groaned.