Chapter 13: The Serpent in the Palace
The palace of the Solar Empire did not glitter with beauty—it commanded it. Massive, sky-piercing towers of white-gold marble, veined with Essence stone, loomed above the capital like the bones of a dead god. Walls hummed faintly with sealed enchantments. Beneath every flagstone, blood had been spilled. Some for honor, most for power.
Within those halls, power whispered between the columns like smoke. The Third Prince of the Solar Empire stood alone, framed by towering stained glass that depicted ancient gods long forgotten by time. His name was Raelis Kaine Solareth, born not of a favored empress but of a concubine—an origin the Empire never let him forget.
Yet he was no mere shadow.
He was the storm that brewed behind the silk curtains of politics, watching. Waiting.
Raelis's silver tunic glistened in the soft light, his fingers adorned with rings, each holding a minor enchantment—charms, protections, and tokens of blood-bought deals. His gaze fell upon a kneeling shadow before him.
"The relic is gone," the assassin whispered. "The couriers are dead."
Silence followed. Raelis didn't react. He merely turned, his hands clasped behind his back as he stared at a grand mural of the Imperial Line.
"Cause?" he asked quietly.
"Unknown. A pulse of power was detected in the Hollow Streets. Someone awakened it."
Raelis's fingers tightened behind his back. That relic wasn't meant for filth born in the dirt. It had cost him favors and secrets to steal it from House Theron's vaults. It had been the cornerstone of his gamble against his brother—the Crown Prince. The chosen heir. The boy with the Divine Bloodline.
Raelis hated him.
The Crown Prince shined too brightly for the court to see anyone else. His laughter rang in marble halls, his words etched into the ears of every noble.
But Raelis... Raelis had claws where his brother had charm.
And he had waited long enough.
"Send the Hallowed Blades," Raelis said. "Quietly. No insignia. No witnesses. I want every alley of that slum turned over. If the relic is found—bring it to me. If not..."
Raelis paused. A crushing pressure filled the room, forcing the assassin to his knees.
The assassin unable to bear pressure, bowed and melted into the shadows.
Sensing the assassin departure, Raelis turned back to the mural. His brother's face smiled down at him from painted glass.
He whispered, "You shine so brightly, brother... but even stars fall."
---
Across the empire, far from the slums and secrets of princes, a different kind of storm was brewing.
The mansion's training court gleamed under the morning sun, polished marble tiles reflecting the pale blue sky above. Seraphine Vaelor stood at its center, her expression calm, composed, and completely void of mercy.
A servant screamed.
The man was on his knees, blood trickling from a shallow cut along his arm. He held a wooden blade, trembling, clearly no match for the girl standing in front of him.
She didn't speak. She didn't gloat. She just moved.
A flash—too fast to track—and the man was on the ground, his breath wheezing from a boot pressed hard against his chest.
Seraphine's pale silver hair swayed as she leaned in.
"You dropped your guard," she whispered, her voice silk over steel. "In war, that's how you die."
The servant nodded frantically, unable to speak.
She stepped off him, turning toward the edge of the court where her instructor stood, arms folded, face unreadable.
"Not bad," he said, but there was no praise in his tone. "But remember your bloodline is not your strength. It's your leash."
Seraphine's eyes narrowed slightly, but she didn't reply. The man was wrong.
Power was everything.
And hers was growing.
---
She was no fool.
In the Solar Empire, strength wasn't inherited. It was carved out—earned by ambition, cruelty, and sheer force of will.
She would rise. No matter the cost.
Seraphine Vaelor Theron moved through the training court like a dancer of war. Her crimson braid swung like a banner behind her, her violet eyes never blinking.
Another duel.
Another disappointment.
The noble boy before her—a proud son of House Durn—lay crumpled and bloodied on the polished stone floor.
"That was it?" Seraphine said, voice flat. "I expected more."
Behind her, the tutors stammered apologies. The other students stood still, unsure whether to run or bow.
"You told me he was gifted."
"He was, my lady," the instructor said, his voice calm, his thought unknown as he looked at the bloodied body of the pride son of house durn.
This was Seraphine Vealor the known prodigy of the house of Vealor, known to have awakened a mysterious bloodline not even known to the royal family.
She was a mystery and a monstrous genius who awakened her bloodline at the age of twelve surpassing the emperor and the crown prince who is known to have a divine bloodline, the most powerful bloodline known to ever exist, this just spoke volume to how much of a monster she is and how lucky the duke of Vealor is for birthing such a monster.
"Then find me someone better. Or the next would be those assistants of yours."
Seraphine's world was made of blood and pressure. Born into one of the five great houses beneath the Emperor, her future had always been carved in steel.
But she was tired.
Of weakness. Of empty praise.
Of waiting.
Back in the palace…
Raelis stood before an ancient vault.
The doors were engraved with celestial runes—symbols that predated even the founding of the Solar Empire.
Only those of royal blood could open them.
He pressed his palm to the center.
The stone shimmered, then melted away like wax touched by flame.
Within, floating on a pedestal of obsidian and glass, hovered a sphere of swirling red-black mist.
The relic's twin.
A failsafe.
Raelis extended a hand toward it, but the sphere pulsed violently. Rejecting him.
He pulled back.
It wasn't time.
Not yet.
His face twisted in a slow smile. "Soon."
He turned to the shadows behind him.
"And tell Seraphine… she'll have her war."
Later that night, as she sat alone in her chamber, sipping blackroot tea from a porcelain cup, a letter arrived.
Sealed in violet wax—the sign of the Third Prince.
Her lips curved into a small smile.
Perhaps the world was about to grow interesting again