Night had fully claimed Lunareth by the time they stepped outside.
The village streets lay quiet beneath the pale glow of distant stars, lanterns long extinguished, doors firmly shut. The wind moved softly between the houses, carrying the scent of earth and old stone. Adriana's footsteps faltered as soon as she crossed the threshold of her home, the darkness beyond feeling deeper than before—as if the night itself was watching her choice.
She followed him because she had no other option.
Every instinct within her screamed to turn back, to lock the door behind her, to pretend none of this was real. But the presence beside her—steady, commanding, undeniable—left no space for denial. He walked ahead with purpose, as though the road had already revealed itself to him.
"My lord," Adriana said softly, her voice trembling despite her effort to sound calm. "There is no palace here anymore."
He did not slow his pace.
"This land once bowed," he replied, his voice carrying effortlessly through the quiet night. "Stone does not forget its shape simply because time buries it."
She hurried to keep up, her breath shallow. "The war destroyed everything," she insisted. "What you remember… it doesn't exist now. Only houses, fields, and broken paths remain."
He stopped suddenly.
Adriana nearly collided with him.
He turned to face her, eyes dark and unreadable in the moonlight. "You speak as though absence is proof of loss," he said. "But absence is merely neglect."
A chill crept through her spine.
They left the village behind, moving toward the outer fields where tall grass whispered secrets with every step. The path grew uneven, half-swallowed by earth and roots. Adriana's feet stumbled more than once, exhaustion tugging at her limbs. Each step away from home felt heavier, as if the land itself resisted her departure.
"You don't understand," she said again, quieter now. "People live there now. Children play where walls once stood. Even if your palace existed—it would not welcome you."
"Palaces do not welcome," he answered calmly. "They endure."
She swallowed hard.
As they walked farther, something strange began to happen. The air thickened, growing colder with each step. Adriana pressed a hand to her chest, feeling that same unsettling heaviness return. It was as if the night pulled at her, binding her movements to his without asking her consent.
She slowed.
He did not.
"My lord," she whispered, fear slipping clearly into her voice now. "Please… if you continue, I don't know what will happen to me."
He stopped again—this time more slowly.
For a moment, he seemed to listen—not to her words, but to something within himself. His hand rose briefly to his chest, fingers curling slightly, as though responding to an unfamiliar ache.
He looked back at her.
"You are bound to this path as I am," he said quietly. "Until the gate is settled, neither of us may choose freely."
Her heart sank.
"So there truly is no escape?" she asked.
He did not answer.
Ahead of them, the land shifted. The fields thinned, the ground rising subtly beneath their feet. Stones emerged from the soil, old and worn, forming shapes that felt intentional—lines where roads once ran, foundations where walls had stood.
Adriana's breath caught.
She had walked these fields all her life.
Yet tonight, they felt unfamiliar.
The King moved forward without hesitation, his steps certain now, guided by memory older than her fear. Adriana followed, her mind racing, her body heavy, her heart caught between doubt and dread.
Whatever awaited them at the end of this road—
palace or ruin—
she knew one thing with terrifying certainty:
The past had not finished claiming its place in the present.
And neither had he.
The sky began to change long before Adriana noticed the sun.
At first, it was only a thinning of darkness—a faint paling at the edge of the horizon, where night loosened its grip reluctantly. The stars dimmed one by one, retreating as if summoned away. The wind slowed, then fell into an uneasy stillness.
Adriana felt it before she understood it.
A sudden tightness gripped her chest, sharp enough to steal her breath. She staggered, clutching at her shawl, her knees weakening beneath her.
"My lord," she whispered, panic flooding her voice. "Something is wrong."
The King stopped.
For the first time since their journey began, his certainty faltered.
He lifted his gaze toward the east, where a thin line of pale gold had begun to tear through the darkness. Dawn was approaching—quiet, unstoppable.
His expression changed.
Not fear.
Not surprise.
Recognition.
"So," he murmured, "the night ends."
Adriana's heart pounded violently. Her grandmother's teachings rushed back to her, sharp and unforgiving.
Souls may walk freely only in darkness.
Daylight unravels what night sustains.
"What happens at sunrise?" she asked, her voice trembling. "What happens to you?"
He did not answer at once. His form, once solid and commanding, seemed subtly altered—edges less defined, the air around him faintly distorted, as though the world itself struggled to hold him.
"If I remain outside when the sun rises," he said finally, "I will fade."
Her breath caught. "Fade… as in—"
"Disappear," he finished calmly. "Unmade by light."
The first rays of sunlight slipped over the hills.
The effect was immediate.
The King's posture stiffened. A sharp tension crossed his face, and he pressed a hand against his chest as if struck by an unseen force. His breath—if it could be called that—hitched.
Adriana cried out. "You're— you're vanishing!"
The light touched his shoulder.
For a brief, terrifying moment, his form thinned, becoming translucent, as though he were made of memory rather than flesh. The authority that had surrounded him wavered.
Instinct overtook thought.
Adriana reached for him.
The moment her fingers brushed his arm, agony exploded through her body. The world spun violently. Her vision blurred as she cried out, collapsing to her knees.
The light vanished from her sight.
Darkness rushed inward—not from the world, but from within.
She felt him then.
Not before her.
Not beside her.
Inside.
A burning weight settled in her chest, deep and undeniable, as though another heart had begun beating alongside her own. Her breath came in sharp gasps, her body trembling violently as sensations not her own flooded her senses—height, strength, restraint, command.
She screamed.
The sound echoed across the fields as the sun fully rose.
When Adriana opened her eyes, she was lying on the ground alone.
The ruins were silent. The path empty. The morning light bathed the fields in deceptive calm, birds beginning their calls as though nothing unnatural had occurred.
She pushed herself upright slowly, her limbs heavy, her head spinning.
"My lord…?" she whispered.
No answer came from the air.
Instead, a voice rose within her—deep, steady, unmistakably present.
Do not fear.
She froze.
Her breath stopped.
"You're…" Her lips trembled. "You're inside me."
It was the only way, the voice replied calmly. The night released me. You did not.
Tears streamed down her face as understanding struck her with crushing force.
The soul had not disappeared.
It had survived.
Through her.
She wrapped her arms around herself, shaking, feeling the unnatural warmth in her chest—strong, constant, alive.
The sun climbed higher.
And Adriana realized, with dawning horror and helpless clarity, that she was no longer alone within her own body.
The King had crossed the night—
And claimed the day through her.