Chapter 18: The Flame and the Flower
The air still hung heavy with the tension from the earlier brawl.
Rigorus stood alone in the square, shoulders taut beneath his traveling cloak, the fused sword on his back faintly pulsing with twin auras — white and black, serenity and fury.
From behind the stunned crowd, Prince Draxis Varkhain stepped forward with slow, deliberate confidence.
"You fight like a storm that's only just found its shape," he said, studying Rigorus. "But your form — it lacks refinement. A wild flame, without a furnace."
Rigorus turned to face him, unbothered. "You speak like a man who's read about storms. I've survived them."
Draxis's mouth twitched at the corners.
He gestured toward the open square.
"Then let's see how your storm fares against the sun."
The crowd murmured in disbelief. A duel? Now?
Rigorus tilted his head. "You're serious?"
The prince unsheathed his blade — a weapon of radiant gold, humming with Imperial aura. "A light bout. No lethal blows."
Rigorus unslung his fused blade from his back. The dark-and-light aura shimmered around him like smoke.
"No powers," Rigorus said.
Draxis raised a brow but nodded. "Agreed."
The duel began.
It was swift. Brutal. Calculated.
Draxis fought with pristine elegance — every strike honed by palace training and legacy. Rigorus fought like a beast finally learning how to channel his instincts — raw yet surgical.
Steel met steel. Sparks sang into the air.
Around them, silence fell — no one dared speak.
The duel dragged into minutes, each fighter bleeding from shallow cuts. But it was Rigorus who fought under restraint. The Mourning Halo shimmered softly behind him, flickering like a memory — not rage, but focus.
He was adapting to the single blade. Testing its rhythm. Finding balance.
And still… he held his ground.
Eventually, both combatants stood locked, blades pressed, eyes meeting.
Rigorus whispered, "You're sweating, Your Highness."
Draxis smiled. "So are you, shepherd."
They broke apart… and stepped back.
Both nodded.
A draw.
The crowd erupted in whispers.
But from the crowd, Princess Sylvara watched intently. Her gaze never wavered from Rigorus.
And besides her stood Naelira, having just returned from the market, baskets in hand, her expression unreadable.
"He's... incredible," Sylvara murmured, not turning her head.
Naelira's knuckles whitened around the basket handles. "He was always a fast learner."
Sylvara finally looked at her. "You know him personally, don't you?"
A pause. Then a quiet nod. "More than most."
Sylvara hesitated. Then, eyes still tracking Rigorus as he stepped away from the duel ring, she said, "He doesn't act like the rest of your people. There's something... something i can't just put into words.
Naelira smiled faintly. "Yes.
Sylvara leaned closer, lowering her voice. "Does he belong to anyone?"
Naelira turned, locking eyes with her.
Her lips curled into a polite smile. "Not officially."
And with that, she walked away — leaving the princess with questions and a strange stirring in her chest.
The clash between Prince Draxis and Rigorus was done, yet its echoes lingered in the Draeven air like stormclouds refusing to scatter.
The royals, ever regal, invited the Draevens to a grand feast in celebration of the match—a dinner that was as political as it was ceremonial.
As tables were filled with roasted meats, fire-warmed wine, and rare fruits from the northern empire, Prince Draxis leaned across to Rigorus and spoke with a calm voice beneath the revelry.
"You're strong, Rigorus. Too strong for us to be on opposite sides. I'd rather have you as a brother in arms than an enemy on the battlefield. Perhaps... we should talk about an alliance."
Rigorus blinked. The offer was bold. Unexpected.
Before he could respond, one of the Draeven elders interjected gently, "Perhaps a formal meeting tomorrow would be best. Alliances are like marriages. Best not decided on a full stomach."
Laughter followed. Cups raised.
And then—the air shifted.
Princess Sylvara, radiant under soft candlelight, rose from her seat. Her steps made no sound as she walked around the banquet hall. Her eyes never left Rigorus.
She leaned toward him.
Her perfume, floral with a hint of something wild, wrapped around him. Her voice was silk, barely audible, but it sliced through the noise like a dagger.
"Come to my chambers tonight," she whispered. "Before sleep."
She turned and left without waiting for a reply.
The room hadn't heard her words, but they saw the act. Eyes darted. Whispers stirred like wind through dry leaves.
Prince Draxis chuckled under his breath. "You're the first man to ever catch her eye. She doesn't lie, Rigorus. And she doesn't wait for long."
Rigorus said nothing. His thoughts tangled. Sylvara was beautiful, powerful, and the sister of the crown prince.
Yet... Naelira.
Where was she now? He hadn't seen her since the duel.
She was at her small market stall, selling herbs and handmade salves. Oblivious to what had justtranspired.
That night, Rigorus entered his chambers, mind clouded.
But he found Naelira there.
Tears in her eyes. Her shoulders trembling, though her voice tried to stay calm.
"Rigorus," she said. "Do you like the princess?"
His heart stopped.
He stepped forward, then paused.
"I'm a man," he said. "Of course I like her. She's royalty. She's beautiful. Anyone would. But liking someone doesn't mean I want them. I have boundaries I don't cross."
He reached for a flower by the window. "I like this bloom. But I love the flowers in my mother's garden more. And I love you, Naelira. I'll never have another woman while I have you."
Tears fell down her cheeks.
She touched his face, fingers trembling.
"I love you too. But... I have nothing to offer you. She's a princess. I'm... I'm no one. She told me during the duel she liked you. She didn't know who I was. But I saw in her eyes, she meant it."
She took his hand, placed it over her belly.
"I'm pregnant, Rigorus. I didn't mean for it. I was just in love. I forgot who I was. You saw how perfect they are, the royals. Meanwhile... my father gave me nothing. Not his name. Not his face. Nothing. I don't even know if I deserved to be born."
She broke.
Sobs racked her body.
Rigorus held her tight, stunned, silent. Her pain cracked something open in him.
Not everything is about me, he realized. Pain is everywhere. Love is not guaranteed. I need to be better. For her. For the child.
He held her until she fell asleep in his arms.
Morning.
She stirred. Tried to slip away.
He woke, reached for her hand.
"Don't you ever think you're nothing," he said. "You're everything. I'd choose you a thousand times. Even if the heavens demanded otherwise, I'd burn in hell before I leave you."
In her chambers, Princess Sylvara sat on her bed.
Her face hidden in her hands.
Me? Rejected? I waited all night. I invited him. I never invite anyone...
Tears streaked down her cheeks.
Her brother, Draxis, entered without knocking.
He sat beside her.
"Only a man with a heart like yours would deny you," he said. "I think he already has someone."
"Who?" she asked.
He stayed silent.
Later that morning, Rigorus visited his mother.
He told her everything: the duel, the royals, the princess, the child.
Celestia beamed.
"A new Draeven?" she laughed. "The spirits will dance tonight. Follow your heart, Rigorus. Let the clan follow you. Not the other way around."
Departure.
The royals stood at the edge of the Draeven stronghold.
Rigorus approached Princess Sylvara.
He bowed.
"I'm sorry I couldn't visit last night. I already have someone in my heart."
Naelira stepped from behind him.
Sylvara froze.
Her? The girl from thecrowd?
Sylvara smiled, strained and thin. "What a beautiful flower you chose. I hope you tend to her well."
Draxis stepped forward.
"And the alliance?"
Rigorus nodded. "The elders and I agree. We'll stand with you. And hope you'll stand with us."
Peace returned to Draeven lands.
For now.
But far away, in Kaelvron's dark fortress, something stirred.
A boy.
The weakest of his sons. The silent one. The pale one. The one whose eyes were darker than night.
He slit his brother Morda's throat in the middle of the night.
Held the head in his hands.
Laughed. His first laugh. His first sound.
Kaelvron came.
"So... the runt has fangs?"
He approached, amused.
But the boy vanished—and appeared behind Kaelvron, clawed hand aimed at his father's neck.
Kaelvron backhanded him through several walls.
But the boy rose, laughing.
He attacked again. Madly. Recklessly.
Kaelvron caught his wrist mid-air.
"You think killing your weak brother makes you worthy of me? I am Kaelvron."
The world held its breath again.