"Grahhhh!"
The scream of agony ripped through the stone walls, vibrating like a thunderous echo that refused to die down.
Even though he stood outside the chamber, the man clad in blackened armor felt his body stiffen.
A shiver crawled down his spine despite the heavy armor shielding him. The great Kaelith Veyre, feared as the red-eyed devil of the kingdom, the second young master of the Veyre vampire dukedom was trembling not from battle, but from imagining what kind of agony could force that man to scream.
His boots struck the marble floor restlessly as he paced back and forth, each step echoing beneath the ceiling of the vast hallway. The chandeliers above, crafted from diamonds that caught every flicker of torchlight, sparkled mockingly against his storm of unease.
He dragged a hand through his hair, crimson eyes narrowing as though glaring at the golden decor would still the dread that gnawed at him.
He had sent an entourage to fetch her the one person who might be able to explain or soothe whatever unnatural torment his king endured. Witch Ysoria Starfell, the appointed minister of witches in the royal court, was their last hope.
Another scream tore through the silence, harsher than the first, raw enough to claw at Kaelith's nerves. His patience about to be frayed.
But at last, hurried footsteps rang down the corridor. Ysoria Starfell swept into sight, her long strides uncharacteristically clumsy, betraying her panic. Her pale features were twisted in shock, her normally steady eyes wide with disbelief. She looked as though she could not reconcile the sound she had heard with the man she knew it came from.
The man who could walk with a sword lodged in his chest, unflinching, lips curved in disdainful silence, that man was screaming now.
"Elder Ysoria! What took you so long!?" Kaelith's voice lashed out the moment he saw her, sharp and strained.
Her head snapped toward him, silver hair swaying. "Let's not waste breath on blame. His Majesty first." She didn't slow, her robe billowing as she brushed past him and pushed the heavy doors open.
Kaelith followed instantly, his long cloak swirling around him, but the guards accompanying Ysoria remained rooted outside. None dared step beyond the threshold without permission.
Inside, the chamber's grandeur faded beneath the chilling sight that awaited them. Ysoria's breath caught, her eyes widening as though she had stepped into a nightmare.
There, beside his grand bed, knelt Zevryn Aldebane.
The king. The unshakable monarch whose very name silenced enemies and bent armies to their knees.
His upper garments lay discarded carelessly on the floor, pooling like sinful temptation in the soft glow of candlelight.
His broad, scarred chest heaved with ragged breaths, every line of muscle slicked with sweat. Even stripped of his regal attire, he radiated a presence so fierce, so devastatingly magnetic, that it threatened to shatter the very notion of what beauty or strength meant.
Ysoria's throat tightened. It was said that once one looked upon him, the very definition of handsomeness collapsed into something entirely new—an allure that devoured all else.
But what shattered belief itself was not the sight of the king stripped bare looking like a tempting sin—but the sound that slipped from him. Whimpers. Low, broken whimpers that seemed almost unholy spilling from his lips.
Zevryn Aldebane, conqueror, sovereign, the indomitable monarch… was clawing at the crook of his neck with such violence that she half-expected to see him rip flesh from bone.
His fingers dug so deep into his own skin that dark crescents of blood welled beneath his nails. Each movement was wild, hysterical, like a man whose limb had been hacked off yet still felt the phantom agony.
"Elder Ysoria," Kaelith'svoice cracked with urgency, panic gnawing at the edges of his usual sharp tone, "why is this happening? He was whole until midnight calm, steady and then…" His jaw clenched as another guttural cry tore from Zevryn's throat. "Then he began clawing at himself, screaming as though fire had been poured into his very veins. I have stood beside him through wars. I have watched him bleed, fight, win against blades and curses no other would survive. If this has brought him to his knees—then it is not something ordinary."
The fear he rarely allowed to surface slipped into his tone, raw and bare.
Ysoria herself had gone pale, her normally keen eyes wide with disbelieving horror. Even for her, who had studied the darkest tomes of witchcraft and borne witness to plagues and madness, the sight of her king unraveling like this was a thing almost beyond comprehension.
Kaelith's breath came harder, faster, as an awful thought struck him. The sharp scent of killing intent rolled off him in waves as he turned toward her, voice like steel dipped in blood.
"Do not tell me… this is her doing."
Before his words could gather more weight, Ysoria lifted her hand sharply, her head shaking. "No." Her voice trembled with urgency, firm yet strained. "It cannot be her. She has not woken since the stroke she suffered for her audacity."
The killing intent in Kaelith's gaze dimmed, but only slightly. His brows drew together, confusion and fury still battling in his eyes as he rasped, "Then what is causing this?"
Ysoria moved with deliberate calm, crouching by Zevryn's side. Her long fingers brushed against his trembling hand, her skin shivering as she tested for toxins, curses, anything mortal or arcane lingering within his veins, that could be causing the pain since it couldn't kill him.
But what she found made her blood run cold, a fine sheen of sweat gleaming across her brow. "This is… different," she whispered, almost reverently."This pain is clawing at his soul."
Kaelith's breath faltered, the words striking him like a physical blow."How…?" His voice was raw now, his cool vener slipping as grief cracked through. "How can that be? My sister… my sister is gone. How can he still feel pain from his soul?" His throat tightened as the smile of his younger sister, bright, gentle, flashed before his eyes, and for a heartbeat his monstrous gaze softened.
Ysoria swallowed, her lips pressed into a hard line. "I know," she said softly, regret anchoring her tone. "I know, Kaelith. And that is what confounds me most. If it were her, I would understand. But this…" She closed her eyes briefly, as if steadying herself against the weight of her next words.
"For now, I can ease some of it. Spells may dull the edge of his torment, perhaps bring him back to his senses." Her hand curled tight around the staff at her side, the wood groaning faintly as if bearing her tension. "But this cannot be solved here. Ultimately, he will have to go to River Elandor."
Her voice dropped lower, heavy as stone, and both of them knew the weight of what she had said.
The name itself carried the chill of omen.
A king only sought the River Elandor when the kingdom trembled at the brink of calamity. If word of this spread, if the people even whispered of it could cause chaos.
"Make sure nobody gets to know about this, Minister Kaelith," Yasoria said firmly. Her sharp gaze flickered toward Kaelith, catching the faint lines of worry etched into his expression.
Kaelith gave a single solemn nod in understanding, though his eyes lingered on Zevryn, whose face was twisted in such unbearable pain that Kaelith wished he could take it upon himself instead.
"I will make sure nobody gets to know about this, Elder Yasoria," Kaelith replied, his tone measured though his jaw was tight. His mind was already racing, weaving through possible routes, disguises, every detail of a plan forming in the shadows of his thoughts. "We will leave as soon as possible. For now, please… proceed with your spell to ease his pain."
Yasoria inclined her head, acknowledging him with silent approval. Without wasting another moment, she turned back to Zevryn. Stepping closer, her robes brushed against the stone floor in a faint whisper.
His hands were trembling where they clutched at his neck as though trying to strangle the pain out of himself.
Slowly, Yasoria placed her hand atop his, the warmth of her palm pressing against the cold, rigid strength of his grip.
Her lips parted, and she began chanting in an ancient cadence. Zevryn's hold on himself quivered, then gradually began to loosen, as if some unseen chain was being unlocked.
Bit by bit, Yasoria could feel his agony being coaxed into submission. His chest no longer heaved in violent spasms, though beads of sweat still rolled down his temple.
His eyes, once blazing with a sharp emerald hue, dimmed and slowly returned to their usual crimson. The sight made her exhale in relief, his pain was not gone, not yet, but at least it had ebbed enough to let him breathe without choking on it.
Even so, she knew this was only a temporary balm. Whatever plagued him would only be cleansed at River Elandor.
Her lips curved faintly, about to offer Kaelith a reassuring glance. But before the smile could fully form, the world jolted. A sudden force, unseen but violent, slammed against her. The impact hurled her backward, stealing the air from her lungs. Her hand felt like it's very flesh was being torn apart.