The silence that followed Lyssandra's question was heavier than the marble slabs of the grand hall. Keltherion, who moments ago had felt like the absolute master of his own domain, was now under the cold, analytical gaze of his wife.
With a forced delicacy, he placed the silverware he had been holding down onto the table. The soft clink of metal against porcelain echoed like thunder in the oppressive stillness of the moment. He then slowly dabbed his lips with a linen napkin — a deliberate gesture as he organized the storm of thoughts in his mind. Lyssandra's gaze, however, did not waver; it was the gaze of a patient predator.
— Things over there… — Keltherion began, with a low, almost intimate voice, like someone sharing a dark secret.
— …Are exactly as they should be. That wretch is learning, in the most visceral way possible, what his true place in this universe is.
A satisfied smile, almost a spasm of pleasure, twitched at his lips. He, then, leaned back in his chair, with his fingers interlaced atop the table.
— The way he bled… the pain in his eyes. You should've seen it — Keltherion continued, with a disturbingly delighted expression.
— That dark, repulsive blood… so different from ours, pure and luminous. Just the memory of it makes my stomach churn. But feeling that filthy blood splash on me with every blow, savoring every second of the pain and despair in that creature's eyes… hahaha… Even if I got dirtied by something so vile, every moment was worth it.
He took a sip from his goblet, then resumed:
— Still, even in that state, he's incredibly arrogant. Broken as he was, the arrogance of that abomination endured. He's a plague that needs to be eradicated at the root.
Lyssandra remained silent, her chin elegantly resting on her hand, never breaking eye contact. Her neutrality was more unsettling than any spoken condemnation.
— But his insolence went even further — Keltherion went on, now with a tone of cruel amusement.
— I just wanted to vent a little of the fury that vermin stirred in me, then kill him. After all, the longer we keep him here, the greater the risk of Aurëalis finding something out. But when I was about to finish him, he had the audacity to laugh. A weak laugh, choked with blood — but still, a laugh. And he tried to provoke me.
Keltherion gripped the chalice so tightly it nearly broke, as the red liquid within swirled with his rage.
— He called me weak, a fool. Said I was stupid for not taking the 'golden opportunity' I had right in my hands.
Lyssandra's eyes narrowed slightly, and for the first time, a spark of genuine interest flickered across her cold expression.
— A golden opportunity? What did he mean by that?
Keltherion let out a derisive laugh.
— It was the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. He suggested we use him as a public example. Put him in a match at the grand arena. His exact words: 'You could pit me against one of your own, show your people just how superior you are to my kind. Make me an example.'
He shook his head, incredulous.
— Pathetic, isn't it? A last desperate bluff to save his wretched hide. He really thought I'd fall for something so obvious. My plan was always to destroy that creature fast, far from prying eyes, after venting a little of my rage. No witnesses, no complications. — He concluded.
Keltherion looked at Lyssandra, as if awaiting approval — perhaps a smile of agreement. But she said nothing for a long, uncomfortable moment. Then, with grace, she set her goblet down, with the crystal clinking gently against the table.
— Keltherion — she said in a perfectly measured tone,
— For the first time since you began speaking… that creature of the Void said something intelligent.
The king froze mid-sip, choking.
— Cough.. Cough... W-What? Lyssandra, you can't be serious. It's an obvious trap! — he said, stunned by his wife's unexpected response.
— All politics are traps, Keltherion. The question is who sets them… and who falls into them — she replied, with a calculating glint lighting her crimson eyes.
— You're so focused on your personal pleasure and petty revenge that you're blind to the real opportunity here. You see a worm to crush — I see a stage… and a crown that needs polishing.
Frustration began to bubble in Keltherion.
— What are you talking about? My crown shines brighter than any other in the universe!
— A crown can shine, Keltherion… but it can still be stained by whispers — she replied coldly.
— Or have you forgotten? House Valerius growing rich off shady contracts. The disappearances in the textile districts your royal guard conveniently can't solve. The rumors of embezzlement in the reconstruction of the Dawn Temple. You think the people don't talk? That they don't sense the rot beneath Lumina's golden veneer?
Each word was a precise blow, delivered with the cold precision of an assassin. Keltherion clenched his fist under the table, unwilling to admit she was right.
— The people are restless, Keltherion. They need a target for their unrest. They need an enemy. And your prisoner just offered himself up on a silver platter — Lyssandra continued, her voice now with a predatory energy.
— This isn't about giving him a chance. It's about using his pathetic existence to our advantage. Or do you really believe he could do anything we don't allow?
She stood then, beginning to pace slowly around the table.
— Picture the scene: a royal decree to the entire realm. You, the King, have captured the threat that endangered our princess. But in your infinite justice, you won't execute him outright. You'll grant him a chance to fight for his life — a trial by combat. It will be the greatest event in Lumina since the end of the wars over ten thousand years ago.
Her voice turned persuasive — hypnotic.
— All eyes in Lumina will be on the arena. No one will remember taxes, corruption, or disappearances. They'll only crave the spectacle. They'll scream for blood. For his blood.
She stopped behind his chair, resting her hands gently on his shoulders.
— We will choose his opponent. A fitting name would be Caelus Moonfang, the prince of the Moon Wolves. With his victory, not only will we eliminate that despicable void boy, but we will also shift the people's attention away from the kingdom's problems and convince the noble families of Lumina who still resist our choice that Caelus is the perfect candidate for Aurëalis. We'll kill three birds with one stone. — She continued.
— The fight will be a controlled display of power. Each blow from the prince will be a declaration of the strength of the alliance between the Light Dragons and the Moon Wolves. The humiliating defeat of the Void Dragon will be the definitive proof of our superiority and unity. You won't just be eliminating an enemy; you'll be crushing any lingering doubts among the people. You'll be forging unity through shared hatred.
Keltherion felt her cold, relentless logic sink deep into his mind. His earlier rage now felt simplistic, almost childish in comparison to the proposal at hand. What Lyssandra suggested was power in its most refined and manipulative form. It was cruel, grand, and absolutely perfect.
— You will turn him into a symbol — she whispered near his ear.
— A symbol of the Void Dragons' weakness and of the absolute strength of your reign. And when it's all over, and that wretch's body lies lifeless on the arena sands, no one will dare question your authority for another millennium. Aertharion will be forced to accept his humiliation, and Aurëalis will see with her own eyes just how insignificant the object of her affection really was. — Lyssandra concluded.
Keltherion, after hearing all of that, slowly turned to face her. The hatred in his eyes had been replaced with deep admiration and a growing excitement. Now he saw the full picture clearly. It wasn't just about revenge; it was about legacy.
— You are brilliant, my queen. Absolutely brilliant — he said, with a hoarse and filled with sincere admiration voice.
Lyssandra smiled, a discreet and triumphant smile.
— I'm practical, my love. Emotion blinds; strategy builds empires.
Keltherion stood up, reinvigorated. His exhaustion had vanished completely, replaced by a new and terrible purpose. He walked to the edge of the hall, admiring the vastness of his palace.
— A trial by combat… — he repeated, savoring each word.
— Yes. That is exactly what we shall do.
Turning sharply, he called out:
— Alistair!
The second butler emerged silently from the corridor shadows.
— Yes, my lord?
— Cancel my appointments for tomorrow. There is a prisoner in the dungeons who must be kept alive and well-fed. I want him strong enough to provide a proper spectacle. Send a message to Captain Valerius. Tell him I've found a new toy for him. And summon the council immediately. Tomorrow at dawn, we shall announce to the people of Lumina that they'll receive the entertainment they deserve.
— As you wish, my lord — said Alistair, bowing before disappearing into the shadows with ghostly efficiency.
Keltherion turned once more to Lyssandra, with a glint of madness and power sparkling in his eyes.
— The boy wanted to become an example? Very well, he will get exactly what he asked for. He will become an example so memorable that his miserable existence will finally serve a purpose.
He raised his glass, no longer toasting his wife, but the dark and glorious future he had just conceived.
— Tomorrow, a new chapter in Lumina's history begins. To us and to the definitive ruin of the Void Dragons. — Keltherion said, excited, as he lifted his glass and celebrated the decision.
While the conversation between Lyssandra and Keltherion unfolded in the dining hall, Aurëalis was walking toward her chambers, closely followed by Edgar.
From the moment the heavy doors of the hall closed behind them, muffling the tense echoes of her parents' discussion and plunging the corridor into a thick, almost suffocating silence, Aurëalis felt her unease growing. Every step she took was firm, elegant — the impeccable posture of a princess who knew every curve and shadow of that palace. But inside, a storm raged.
The path to her room, which once symbolized refuge and privacy, now felt more like the silent march of a prisoner in her own home.
Behind her, Edgar walked as always: one step behind, a silent and constant presence. To Aurëalis, he was more than a loyal guard — he was an uncomfortable reminder. A reflection of her father's concern, yes… but also, of his distrust.
She knew well the true reason for Edgar's presence. It wasn't simply protection, but surveillance disguised as care. He wasn't there just to keep her safe, but to ensure she strictly followed her father's orders — heading directly to her chambers, no detours, no questions, no searching for hidden truths within the palace walls. It was a clear message: there were things she was not allowed to know, truths meant to remain hidden.
Aurëalis let out a deep sigh, feeling frustration burn like poison beneath her skin.
— If only Edgar weren't here… — she thought bitterly.
— I could have found a way to hear what my parents are saying and won't dare say in front of me.
The conversation between her parents, now happening behind closed doors, was a vault full of secrets she desperately needed to unlock. Keltherion's words about the Void Dragons, laced with deep and disturbingly personal hatred, were not just empty rhetoric. They were a sentence, and Aurëalis feared that Kyrion's name was carved into it.
But at that moment, lamenting would change nothing, since the opportunity had already slipped through her fingers. Now, her only hope, her only line of communication with the outside world, was the small, cold crystal hidden in her room — the Echoheart.
Even before dinner, Aurëalis had tried, several times, to contact Lyrielle. Sitting in her armchair, she had poured her energy into the crystal, sending silent waves of thought to Lyrielle's own. Yet the other half remained dark and silent, unresponsive to her attempts.
A cold fear overtook her for a moment as she considered that something might have happened to her friend, a thought that tangled itself with the anguish of her current situation. However, after pondering that thought for a few seconds, Aurëalis shook her head vigorously, pushing the fear away.
— No, it's impossible that something happened to her — she thought firmly.
— First of all, I didn't reveal anything to Lyrielle that could put her in danger. Second, that day I took every precaution to ensure that no one, not even the maids, could overhear our conversation. Besides, Lyrielle is strong and capable; she would surely know how to protect herself. So, there must be another reason for her silence.
— Yes… maybe Lyrielle is just busy or far from her crystal, and hasn't been able to respond yet… Y-Yes, that must be it. That's definitely it. She'll reach out to me soon, I'm sure of it — Aurëalis concluded, trying to convince herself as she walked.
After some time walking, at last, the long procession through the castle corridors came to an end, and the imposing doors of Aurëalis' room appeared before her.
— Well, we've arrived, princess. I wish you a good night. — said Edgar, with impeccable formality as he bowed respectfully.
— Thank you, Edgar. A good night to you too. — Aurëalis replied, maintaining her royal and distant posture.
She then entered her room and pushed the doors shut, locking them behind her.
The heavy doors closed with a dull thud, with their echo reverberating through the chamber, sealing her in solitude.
Outside, Aurëalis could still hear Edgar giving instructions to the guards stationed at her door before finally leaving the place:
— Very well. The princess wishes to rest. No one is to enter or leave this room until further notice. Stay alert. — he ordered, before retreating down the corridor.
The moment she was certain she was truly alone, Aurëalis' royal composure crumbled.Exhausted and overwhelmed with worry, she let herself slide down the edge of her bed, slowly sinking to the floor as she buried her face in trembling hands. Her breathing, once restrained, now came in short, uneven gasps.
— Kyrion... could you really… have been captured? — she whispered, with a laced with pain voice.
Just then, before her thoughts could spiral further, a deep, inexplicable pain coursed through her. It was overwhelming — like nothing she had ever felt before. As though blades of ice were slowly piercing her skin, reaching her very soul and freezing it from within. The pain was intense, suffocating — but strangely, it didn't feel like her own. In truth, it felt like someone else's agony… a suffering that didn't originate in her body but reverberated through it, a dark and echoing grief.
Then, in a flash of terrifying clarity, Aurëalis understood: That crushing pain — and even that strange feeling she'd been carrying since returning to the castle — could only have one source.The soulbond she shared with me.
It was the only possible explanation. The only connection strong enough to span distance and reach her so deeply. And in that moment, everything clicked into place. She knew — as I knew — that the bond wasn't just an eternal vow of union. It was a deep, mystical link capable of transmitting emotions, sensations — even the rawest, most intimate pain.
But there was more. What few knew — or even imagined — was that the soulbond went far beyond feelings or the very souls. Despite its name, it also bound the fates of both lives. What meant that If one died, the other would follow soon after. Some believed it was due to the unbearable grief of continuing without one's other half — that in an act of mercy, the heart would simply stop, sparing the survivor from a hollow life. Others claimed it was the soulbond's magic itself that sealed such a destiny.
Yet all of that remained wrapped in mystery, as, until then, no one knew of another couple who had undergone this ritual — only me and Aurëalis. So it all remained theory, legend — uncertain, yet terrifyingly possible.
— No… No, it can't be… NO! — Aurëalis cried out in desperation as the truth hit her.
She shot to her feet and rushed to the drawer where she kept her Echoheart.
The pain in her chest — in her soul — had become a constant, a cruel reminder of our connection.Desperate, she yanked open the drawer and snatched the crystal hidden beneath a silk handkerchief.
Sitting on the edge of her bed, with the cold crystal clutched tightly in her trembling hands, Aurëalis tried once again to contact Lyrielle, pouring her energy into it in a desperate plea.
— Lyrielle, please answer! Are you alright? I need any sign… Please!
But the Echoheart remained silent and cold, indifferent to her call.
Although Aurëalis didn't receive any response, she didn't give up and kept trying, over and over again — in vain.
Outside, the night dragged on with the cruel slowness of a bad dream. The moon traced its silver arc across the sky, and with each failed attempt, Aurëalis despair swelled, as a suffocating tide threatening to drown her.
Eventually, exhaustion began to erode her strength. Her thoughts grew heavy with fear and weariness, and, at some point, in the deepest hours of the night, her body finally gave in.
Her hand loosened around the crystal, and her head dropped gently against the mattress.
At last, Aurëalis succumbed to sleep, waking only with the first light of morning as it filtered through the heavy curtains, bathing the room in golden-gray hues. A soft groan escaped her lips as her eyes fluttered open, still heavy and clouded. For a moment, she didn't recognize her surroundings — feeling like someone surfacing from the depths of a silent ocean.
When she finally came to her senses, she found herself still fully dressed from the night before, lying on her bed. The Echoheart lay beside her on the sheets, cold and unmoving — as inert as any common stone.
Reality hit her with full force at that time. She had fallen asleep. She had failed her vigil. But worse was yet to come.
The pain she felt was no longer just physical — it was something deeper, darker.It was the echo of my suffering, reaching her across the distance through the soulbond.
That sacred connection now drained her vitality — slowly, inexorably. And with every moment that passed, Aurëalis felt herself grow weaker, more desperate — as though parts of her were dying alongside me.
She sat up with difficulty, her body heavy as lead. Every muscle ached, demanding rest. But her heart was a cold, relentless anchor.
Outside, Lumina awoke under the sunlight. But inside her, the darkness had never felt so deep.