The fire sconces along the long castle hallways burned steadily, their trembling flames casting restless shadows upon the ancient stone walls.
The air was cool.
Outside, the wind moaned against the narrow windows, its hollow wail threading through the silence.
At the far end of the hall, a lone figure moved, slowly and deliberately, his cloak whispering across the floor.
The dim light caught the silver clasp at his shoulder, glinting briefly before fading again into shadow.
He paused beneath a tall archway, his eyes tracing the carved symbols etched into the stone, worn smooth by time, and continued walking again.
The long shadow of a small boy stretched across the hallway, swaying gently with each step he took.
His footsteps were soft, yet in the vast silence of the castle, they echoed like faint whispers against the stone.
It was Amilek.
There was a strange stillness about him—a cold aura that clung to his presence. His hands were clasped neatly behind his back, his head held slightly high, as though he carried the weight of a purpose far beyond his years.
The flickering flames from the sconces brushed over his face, revealing fleeting glimpses of calm composure that seemed almost unnatural for a child.
He walked on in silence, his pace measured and unhurried, until he reached one of the castle lobbies. The air there was cooler, and the light dimmer, as though the place itself held its breath, waiting.
He took a swift turn and stepped into the inner court, its vast space illuminated by the soft glow of chandelier candles. The warm light shimmered across the marble floor, dancing over the tall statues that lined the chamber—figures of kings, warriors, and saints, all frozen in eternal watch.
This was the main courtroom, solemn and grand, where silence seemed to bear its own authority.
Amilek halted.
at the center of the hall. His gaze wandered slowly across the room, sharp and searching, as though he were expecting someone to emerge from the shadows.
For a moment, the only sound was the faint crackle of candle flames and the distant sigh of the wind seeping through the high windows.
He looked around, his small head turning slowly, until his eyes landed on a knight clad in polished armor that shimmered under the candlelight. The man stood motionless beside one of the great pillars, a silent sentinel on night duty, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.
A faint, almost eerie smile curved Amilek's lips. It was not the innocent smile of a child, but something colder—calculated.
He began to walk toward the knight, his steps quiet yet deliberate, the echoes of his small boots tapping softly against the marble floor.
The knight straightened at his approach, his gaze following the boy with mild curiosity, unaware of what lay behind that unsettling smile.
"Sir Lamech," he called softly, his voice light and innocent.
The knight, who had been leaning lazily against his post, jolted upright, startled from the haze of sleep. He straightened up, scanning the dimly lit court until his eyes fell upon the small figure before him.
"Prince Amilek?" he said, his brows drawing together in confusion. "What are you doing here at this hour? You should be asleep."
Sir Lamech's gaze swept the hall, expecting to see a servant or guard nearby—but there was no one.
The prince stood alone, the glow of the chandeliers casting long shadows behind him.
"Sleep has long eluded me, Sir Lamech," Amilek said, his voice calm yet carrying a strange weight.
"Not since the day Queen Micah disappeared. But no more will that happen."
The words hung in the air, quiet but sharp enough to stir the knight's curiosity. Sir Lamech frowned, uncertain whether to take the prince's words as the ramblings of a restless child—or something far more deliberate.
"What do you mean?" he asked carefully.
Amilek's expression didn't change. He merely looked up, his eyes reflecting the candlelight like twin shards of glass.
"I know where she is," he said at last, his tone almost whisper-soft, yet steady.
The knight froze, his hand tightening around the hilt of his sword.
"I have heard whispers from the other guards."
Amilek said, his gaze steady and unreadable.
The knight gazed at him as if contemplating whether to believe him or not.
"How are you so certain their words hold meaning, or even the truth?"
The knight questioned.
"They sounded very sure."
He said, curtly, lying with a straight face.
"Why do you tell me this?
Sir Lamech questioned after a brief pause.
"I only tell you this, Sir Lamech, so that you might find favor in the eyes of the king… if you were to speak of her whereabouts."
His words were measured, almost rehearsed, carrying the calm assurance of someone who already knew more than he should.
The knight stared at him, his jaw tightening beneath his helmet. The prince's tone unsettled him—it was not boastful neither was it playful.
"Speak to me in plain words," he said, finally ready to take his words into consideration.
Amilek took a slow step closer, his small frame swallowed by the knight's shadow.
"Queen Micah is not lost, Sir Lamech,
Only hidden. And those who find her first… may find the king's favor."
The knight's eyes narrowed, suspicion flickering behind his composure. He could not tell whether the prince spoke the truth or was testing him.
"Again I ask, why have you chosen to tell me this?"
Sir Caven's voice was low, his face now expressionless, though a shadow of unease flickered behind his eyes.
Amilek regarded him calmly, his hands still clasped behind his back.
"Because I have seen that you are a good man," he said. "Unlike the others, you do not chase glory. You pursue loyalty."
The knight said nothing. His armor caught the candlelight, reflecting a cold shimmer across the marble floor.
"In time," he continued, his tone growing quieter, "the king will remember that loyalty. But loyalty must be proven. It was your duty to protect the queen, Micah, Sir Lamech. You were her personal knight."
A pause, sharp and heavy.
"But you failed."
The words struck like a blade. The knight's shoulders tensed, his breath catching in his throat.
"Reclaim your honor," Amilek said, his eyes unblinking.
"Do this, and you may yet walk proudly through the court once more."
Silence.
A brief one.
"Where did you say she resides?"
The knight finally spoke after a long pause, his voice heavy with restraint.
Amilek's lips curved into a knowing, almost cunning smile.
"Beyond the horizons of the western forest," he said slowly.
There lies a small village—a quiet community, hidden from the king's eyes, if I must say.
She resides in a thatched house, the house of her father, the man who saved the king from the clutches of a wild beast."
Sir Lamech listened intently, his hand unconsciously tightening around the hilt of his sword.
"If you do not find her there," he went on, his tone dropping to a whisper, "then she must be making haste to escape by the sea… through the Black Waters."
He stepped back, his gaze locking with the knight's.
"You must hurry, Sir Lamech; there is no time left."
Without another word, the knight brushed past the prince in haste, his armor clinking.
But before the knight could leave the court entirely, he paused halfway down the corridor. The echo of his boots faded into silence as doubt crept into his thoughts.
"What if all you've said is a lie?" he muttered, half to himself, half to the empty air.
His hand hovered over the sword at his side. "Perhaps this is nothing but a cruel jest… or a desperate attempt to punish me for failing in my duty to Queen Micah."
His voice trembled with restrained bitterness.
Amilek said nothing at first—he only listened, the candlelight etching hollows into his cheeks. Then, as if deciding a matter of little consequence, he spoke, his voice low and steady.
"Then you will hold me accountable for being an enemy of the realms. But verily I say to you, Sir Lamech, if you lose your life while on this conquest, at least you will die as a man with honor."
Sir Lamech's hand trembled around the hilt. For a slow, suspended breath, the two of them remained in silence.
The knight's mouth hardened into a line; pride and guilt warred in his eyes. Finally, with a curt nod that was almost a prayer, he turned and ran, making his way through the door.
His cloak snapped behind him as he vanished into the night, his footsteps swallowed by the corridor.
The chamber door closed with a soft, final click.
Amilek remained motionless.
A faint, satisfied curl touched his lips… no triumph, only the cold steadiness of someone who had set events in motion.
But then, from the corner of his eye, he caught a movement.
Perched upon one of the open windows was a black owl, its feathers glistening faintly in the candlelight, its eyes twin pools of shadow.
Amilek didn't turn. He simply spoke, his voice low and commanding.
"Go after him."
With a slow, deliberate motion, the black owl lifted from its perch, the air stirring beneath its powerful wings. It glided into the open sky, diving gracefully into the cold night breeze.
Its dark feathers shimmered faintly under the moonlight.
The creature moved like a shadow given life—silent, watchful, and purposeful.
Its round eyes glowed faintly, two burning embers against the endless dark, as it soared beyond the castle walls and over the sleeping kingdom.
Amilek turned away from the open court and quietly retraced his steps down the dim corridor. His footsteps made no sound this time, his expression unreadable.
He reached his chamber and slipped inside, closing the heavy door behind him with a soft thud. The room was dark; only the faint glow from a dying candle flickered against the walls.
Without a word, he crossed to a tall-backed chair and sat, his small frame sinking into its depth. He rested his hands on the armrests, his breathing steady and controlled.
Then his eyes began to change. Those green emerald eyes drained away, replaced by an eerie, pale white that glowed faintly in the darkness.
His body remained still, frozen like a statue, as his consciousness slipped, his spirit slowly travelling; he was about to use his seer ability.
Far above, in the cold expanse of night, the black owl's eyes also turned white. The bond between them pulsed to life—two souls sharing one sight.
Through the owl's vision, Amilek could see the vast stretch of land below: the rippling treetops, the distant river gleaming beneath the moon, and the shadow of the knight gliding through the western path mounted on a horse.
Back in his chamber, Amilek was seated motionless, his spirit adrift, his body nothing more than an empty vessel in the candle's wavering glow.
He was bent on making sure the knight fulfils the purpose that was set upon him, and to make sure that happens, he was going to keep a close eye on him.