CHAPTER TWO — LOYALTY OF KIN
The palace shook.
Not from magic.
Not from monsters.
But from the thunder of boots as the king's elite guards sprinted through the halls.
Steel scraped. Orders barked. Panicked servants scattered like birds fleeing a coming storm.
Arcturus stood in the ruined ritual chamber, shadows swirling faintly around him like living smoke. He wasn't tense. He wasn't braced. He simply existed in the center of the devastation — calm, composed, as if murder and resurrection were everyday occurrences.
To Rowan and Calia, however… it felt like standing beside a sleeping dragon.
Rowan forced himself to breathe normally.
Calia clung to herself, trembling uncontrollably.
Alistair hadn't let go of Arcturus's arm yet.
He needed the contact.
To reassure himself this was real.
"Brother…" Alistair whispered, eyes red. "I watched them stab you. I saw the light leave your eyes. I—by all gods—how are you here?"
Arcturus met his gaze.
No evasion.
No lies.
Just a quiet truth layered under a thousand years of ancient weight.
"I wasn't alone," he said.
Alistair swallowed, throat tight.
"That voice…" he murmured. "I felt something when I touched you. Something vast. Cold. And old."
"Not cold," Arcturus corrected gently. "Not to me."
Before Alistair could form another question, King Aldric stepped forward.
A king feared by nations.
A warrior undefeated in a hundred battles.
A man known for breaking skulls with his bare hands.
But right now?
He simply looked like a father terrified of losing his child.
He cupped Arcturus's face, his calloused thumb brushing the faint golden residue at the corner of his son's mouth.
"Who hurt you," the king whispered, voice shaking, "tell me all their names."
Arcturus glanced to Rowan.
The captain stiffened, then fell to one knee.
"Your Majesty… the traitors—they… they planned this for months. I swear on my life, I tried to stop them. But I was—"
Aldric raised a hand.
Rowan fell silent.
"Captain Halden," the king said, voice low but steady, "did you betray my son?"
"No, Your Majesty!"
"Did you join these rats?"
"Never!"
"Did you attempt to protect him?"
Rowan's eyes welled. "With everything I had."
The king nodded once.
"Then stand."
Rowan obeyed, still trembling.
Arcturus looked at him with a calm, steady gaze.
"You tried," Arcturus said. "Even when death was certain. I remember that."
Rowan's breath hitched.
He bowed deeper than a soldier ever should before a prince.
"Thank you, my lord…"
Calia flinched when Arcturus turned his attention toward her.
She expected accusation.
Punishment.
Disdain.
Instead, Arcturus lowered himself to one knee in front of her.
A prince kneeling before a maid.
She gasped.
"You tried to save me," he said quietly. "You ran. You screamed. You fought back even when no one would listen."
Her lip quivered.
Tears streamed silently.
"I—I failed—"
Arcturus shook his head slowly.
"Calia. You were loyal."
She broke down completely.
Aldric watched silently, something unreadable in his expression.
When Arcturus stood, the shadows behind him flickered.
Every noble still breathing in the room suddenly felt it — a pressure, like the air thickening around their throats. A reminder of what they had tried to kill.
A reminder of what had awakened instead.
Aldric finally turned to face the surviving nobles.
"Lift your heads," he commanded.
They did — reluctantly, fearfully.
What they saw made them soil their robes.
The king's jaw was clenched.
His eyes were bloodshot with wrath.
But more terrifying was the quiet calm beside him — the prince with glowing eyes and shadow drifting under his feet like mist.
"What," Aldric asked softly, "did you plan to gain by murdering my son?"
One noble stammered, "Y-Your Majesty, we—we only followed orders—t-the Church—"
"The Church ordered you to kill my child?"
"T-They said he was dangerous—cursed—chosen by darkness—"
Aldric's entire body trembled.
"And how," he growled, "dare you follow foreign orders over your king?"
No answer came.
Not a whimper.
Not a breath.
Aldric looked at Arcturus again.
"This never happens again," he said simply.
Arcturus nodded.
"It won't."
Aldric turned to Alistair.
"Summon the commanders," he said. "Tonight, we end this."
Then he looked back at Arcturus.
"My son. Are you well enough to stand with me?"
Arcturus raised a brow slightly.
"I just rose from death, Father."
Aldric stared.
Arcturus's lips curved faintly.
"I can stand."
There was a beat of silence.
Then Aldric threw his head back and laughed — a raw, broken, relieved sound.
"Good!" he barked, wiping his eyes. "Good! Let them tremble!"
He embraced Arcturus again, less fiercely this time.
"I thought I lost you."
Arcturus rested a hand on his father's shoulder, steady and reassuring.
"You never will."
Aldric pulled away, composed once more, and motioned toward the door.
"Come, my sons. Tonight, the vipers die."
But as Arcturus walked past the shattered marble and twisted corpses, he paused.
Alistair noticed.
"Brother? What is it?"
Arcturus looked back at the golden dagger that had killed him.
The divine light was gone.
The metal now dull and lifeless.
But a memory flickered.
A million years ago.
A Primordial of Radiance.
Kneeling.
Begging.
"Please teach me—please—I cannot grasp the laws of blood—please—"
Arcturus felt a faint smirk curl his lips.
"Nothing," he said softly. "Just remembering an ant that once believed it was a god."
Alistair blinked. "What?"
"Nothing important."
He walked past, shadows trailing behind him like a royal mantle.
As father and sons left the chamber together, Rowan and Calia followed — not as servants, but as loyal witnesses to a rebirth that would reshape the continent.
Behind them, alone in the flickering torchlight…
The corpses of priests and nobles began to crumble into ash.
And the shadow left behind whispered a quiet truth into the stone:
The Primordial had returned.