Part VI:The Violet Cataclysm
Vaelthrone — Darkmoor Citadel
A week before Nex's arrival in Lumen
Dust swirled like snowflakes in the shafts of golden morning light that streamed through the high, narrow windows of the Darkmoor Citadel.
Inside the prince's old chambers—untouched since the day he vanished—Lucy moved with quiet purpose.
The room had remained locked to everyone. Everyone but her.
As she moved through the prince's room with light steps and a soft, absent hum, Lucy's hands worked with practiced rhythm—clearing dust from the shelves, smoothing the corners of the velvet sheets, gently arranging scattered keepsakes like she had done a thousand times before.
Her long hair hung loose, swaying as she moved. Once dyed brown to disguise her bloodline, the color had faded, revealing a heavy mix of brown and blonde strands—a dark blonde shade that caught the light in rich, earthy tones.
It was her true color.
The color of nobility from the far North.
The color of the lost Primal line—known for cold winters and colder wars.
And the Loras family—a name whispered quietly, a subtle clue to her hidden heritage.
She didn't seem to notice.
Just as she didn't seem to notice the shift in her eyes. They were still green… mostly. But behind that hue, something ancient stirred. A faint glow of red—thin, soft, but unmistakable—was beginning to bleed through the edges, like fire cracking through moss. It wasn't just a trick of the light.
It was reclaiming her.
Piece by piece.
Lucy didn't feel it—not the shift in her eyes, nor the return of her natural hair. She simply kept humming, kept smiling softly at the memories no one else could share. The Lucy that cleaned this room—the one Sarah called the Innocent—remembered nothing of politics or betrayals. Only that a boy once lived here. A boy she loved as if he were her own.
And that he was gone.
She didn't question it. Didn't rage or mourn the way others did.
To her, Nex hadn't been taken.
He had simply... vanished. As things sometimes did in this palace.
Sarah stood silently behind Lucy, arms crossed, her sharp honey-colored eyes—foxlike and perceptive—fixed on the girl before her. Her long white hair, loose and cascading like angel's wings, shimmered faintly in the palace light, a striking symbol of her Imperial bond. She said nothing, unable to bring herself to question Lucy's behavior. Not yet.
Her thoughts drifted, unbidden, back to the day Prince Nex vanished—along with dozens in the Grand Bazaar.
She had been in a meeting with the Emperor when it happened—pleading, once again, about the twins.
"They're tormenting animals now," Sarah said, her voice low but urgent. "Exactly as Damon used to when he was younger. You punished him. You had Lucy correct him. But even then—he didn't change until it was nearly too late."
Aurelian said nothing, standing before an aged portrait of his father, the late Emperor Bewolf, his expression unreadable.
"You're sending them away to another kingdom again," Sarah pressed. "That's not correction. That's abandonment. We need to reach them, not exile them."
The Emperor's gaze didn't leave the painting. "Let Lucy handle Abigail and Alexander," he said finally.
Sarah stiffened. "Lucy is already caring for your youngest. If you take her from him now—I fear what he'll become. He's... fragile, Aurelian. But not weak. There's a difference."
The Emperor scoffed. "And what could a child like him—one who's never seen a battlefield—possibly grow into? What future does he have, Sarah? He's a shadow in this palace."
"He's more than that," she said, stepping forward, her golden-amber eyes burning with conviction. "His talents are more promising than mine were at his age. More than Damon's. More than any of them. You don't see it, but I do."
She took a breath, steadied herself. "Let me train him. Help me shape him into something worthy—something useful to both you and the Empire."
The silence between them was long and frigid. The portrait stared down at both of them like a ghost from a stricter time.
"Aurelian, if you don't—"
Before Sarah could finish, a sudden flare of light burst through the high windows of the Throne Room, flooding the marble floor with an eerie violet glow.
They both turned.
Outside—rising above the clouds like a divine judgment—a wall of purple fire erupted across the skyline. It surged from the heart of the capital, making a circle around the Grand Bazaar, spiraling high enough to kiss the sky, coiling like a living serpent of flame.
The fire didn't behave like fire should. It shook—with emotion. It writhed with rage.
Sarah's breath caught. "What… what is that?"
Aurelian said nothing. His eyes narrowed as he stepped closer to the window, mesmerized. The flames pulsed, as if awaiting orders. Sentient. Vengeful. Holy in their fury.
And then came the screams.
A wave of terror rose from the city—shouts turning into wails, cries swallowed by chaos. Sarah's heart seized.
"Lucy…" she whispered. "Lucy and Nex—they went to the Bazaar today. They—"
The words died in her throat.
The ground split.
From the heart of the Grand Bazaar, the earth cracked open with a deafening roar, swallowing tents, stalls, people—everything—into a chasm of fire and shadow. The screams vanished into silence.
Sarah's legs gave out. She dropped to her knees, eyes wide, shaking violently, her mind struggling to comprehend the scale of the devastation.
But Aurelian…
He stood tall.
Unmoving.
Watching.
And in his silence, there was no grief.
Only calculation.
Power. He saw it. Tasted it.
A force that could bend the nobles of the empire to his will.
A flame not of nature, but of legacy—his or another's. A weapon, waiting to be claimed.
While Sarah mourned for what may have been lost, Aurelian envisioned an empire reforged in violet fire.
Sarah calmed herself with sheer will.
She clung to thoughts of hope—Nex returning home, Lucy laughing beside him. No, she told herself. Not until I see their bodies. Not until I'm sure.
Her voice rang out across the hall:
"Guards! Prepare my horse. Fetch five Imperial Knights—now."
She strode from the throne room, firelight reflecting off her armor. The screams had grown louder. Panic filled the air like smoke. Bells tolled in staggered rhythm across Vaelthrone.
But then—just before she reached the courtyard gates—she froze.
Her horse snorted and pulled back as the temperature spiked.
The air was warping. The flames... were moving.
Not burning outward—but twisting, arching, closing in.
Violet fire, tall as towers, flowed like liquid light, forming walls that curled inward around the Grand Bazaar. Not a blaze—a cage. A ritual.
Sarah's heart pounded.
They weren't just trapped.
They were being claimed.
The fire wasn't natural. It didn't roar—it shivered, like something breathing. Alive. Listening. Waiting for a command.
"Lucy…" she whispered.
Her knuckles went white around the reins.
"We ride now!" she snapped at the guards behind her.
As Sarah and the guards advanced into the lower districts of Vaelthrone, the chaos became unbearable.
She had seen war. She had seen cities burn.
But she had never seen a crowd flee like this.
It wasn't panic. It was dread.
Thousands surged away from the heart of the Grand Bazaar, pushing through streets, trampling stalls, shattering windows just to escape. Some screamed of fire, others of demons, others simply ran—faces twisted in terror.
And above it all—looming like a curtain drawn from the heavens—the violet flames.
They didn't spread outward like wildfire.
They collapsed inward, folding toward the center of the Bazaar like massive walls tightening in slow, merciless motion.
It was not natural fire. It moved as if it were alive—pulsing with anger, trembling with a strange rhythm. The sky itself trembled.
Sarah's horse reared in panic. The crush of bodies made it impossible to ride forward without trampling innocents. She leapt down, sword drawn—not to strike, but to clear a path.
"Out of the way! Imperial Guard!"
It did no good. No one could hear her through the roar. No one wanted to. Fear had deafened the entire city.
Then came the sinking realization:
Today was the Grand Bazaar.
A day of peace. Of trade. Of diplomacy.
And both the Lavat Kingdom's only prince and the nephew of the Wu King had been inside.
Sarah's blood turned to ice.
"Royal heirs. Future kings. Envoys of peace, sent by their noble families to honor the Empire—now trapped within a storm of violet fire swallowed by earth itself, a catastrophe that bloomed in the Empire's own capital."
If they died…
It wouldn't matter what caused it. It wouldn't matter who cast the flames.
The Lavat Kingdom would see it as a declaration of war.
So would the Wu.
This wasn't just a tragedy. It was a spark.
One that would ignite a continental war unlike anything since the Days of Iron.
Sarah shoved past a man clutching his bleeding child, nearly stumbled over a merchant still screaming for his missing wife. Her eyes locked onto the flames—closer now, flickering like a great beast inhaling.
Lucy… Nex… gods, please—
If they were still alive, she would reach them
She reached the outskirts of the Grand Bazaar. The streets were flooded—not with fire, but with overturned buckets, broken carts, and abandoned goods, water pooling uselessly where brave hands had tried and failed to fight the blaze. It was clear now: the flames had not been hindered. They had fully encircled the heart of the Bazaar.
The realization hit her with the weight of a falling star.
Everyone in the center was dead. There was no room left for doubt.
Sarah grabbed the nearest guard by the arm. "Have you seen a woman wearing the imperial sigil? She would have had two hidden imperial guards with her. A small boy too—blue eyes, golden-brown hair. He wears a black butterfly necklace. That boy is Prince Nex. Tell me you've seen them."
The guard's face was pale, soot-streaked. "I haven't seen the boy. But the guards… they're over there." He pointed to the edge of the massive crater now carved into the earth like a monstrous eye—wide, black, and endless.
"And the woman?" she asked, voice trembling, fingers digging into his shoulders.
He flinched but answered. "She collapsed. We found her just outside the blast zone. We carried her to the infirmary—up the road, toward the outer ring. Follow the crowd until you reach the guard post. Ask for her there. They'll take you to her, Your Majesty."
Sarah steadied herself. "If you find the boy—Prince Nex—save him at all costs. He wears a black butterfly necklace. And if you find the envoys from Wu and Lavat, escort them to the palace. Protect them, even if it costs your life."
"Understood, Your Majesty."
She turned and began running uphill with the tide of fleeing people, her breath sharp, her body aching with dread. She had to reach Lucy. Had to confirm—
Then she heard it.
A low sound behind her—like the wind inhaling all at once.
She turned, eyes wide.
The flames surged—exploding inward, toward the origin point, with speed no natural fire should possess. A violet shockwave tore through the ruins in an instant.
But it didn't consume buildings, or carts, or cloth.
It only burned flesh.
Everyone who remained within reach of the Bazaar—shopkeepers, nobles, beggars, children—died before they could scream. Their bodies turned to ash in the span of a heartbeat only held together by their clothes, their outlines etched like shadows into the walls. Charcoal remnants collapsed into dust. The smell of scorched flesh blanketed the air like a funeral shroud.
Sarah froze.
Her breath caught in her throat.
This… this wasn't war.
This was something else.
Something ancient.
Something alive.
For the first time in many, many years, the veteran Swordmaster—the youngest ever in the empire's history, daughter of Emperor Bewolf, descendant of Braveheart the Lawbringer himself—shook uncontrollably. She knelt on the scorched ground, trembling, utterly undone.
This fear was unlike any she had ever known.
She had faced death, bloodshed, betrayal—countless horrors in a lifetime forged by war.
But this… this was different.
A cold, unknowable dread settled deep in Sarah's bones—one that no blade could cut through.
The Lioness. The fearless warrior. Shaking.
She could not comprehend what had just happened.
Nor the dark force behind it.
Moments later, after carving a path through the chaos, Sarah reached the infirmary.
Lucy lay unconscious on a narrow cot, guarded by three patrolmen and tended by two doctors—even though there seemed to be nothing visibly wrong with her.
Sarah moved like a ghost.
The fire.
The ground splitting open.
The violet explosion.
The ash-shaped corpses that crumbled without a sound.
It played again and again in her mind.
Without a word, she knelt beside Lucy's bed and rested her head on the edge of the cot. Her fingers gripped the sheets, needing to feel something solid—something real.
The guards exchanged nervous glances. One of the doctors stepped forward, whispering urgently.
"Your majesty… you're pale. You should be examined."
But Sarah didn't respond. She couldn't. Not yet.
She waited in silence—for Lucy to wake.
"Your Majesty."
The voice was distant, like wind through a half-remembered dream.
Sarah didn't answer. Her gaze was fixed on the cracks in the polished marble floor, though her eyes weren't truly seeing them. They were watching fire swallow a city. Listening to screams fade under violet thunder. Smelling smoke that never left her skin.
"Your Majesty," the voice said again, firmer now.
She blinked.
The memory shattered.
Sarah turned slightly, shoulders tensing as she came back to herself — to the present, to the cool stillness of the imperial corridor outside Nex's chambers.
The guard stood at attention, his helmet tucked under one arm, eyes carefully downcast. "Forgive me, Your Majesty. The Empress has requested your presence. She's in the eastern solar."
For a heartbeat, Sarah said nothing. Her mouth was dry. Her hands, tucked behind her back, curled into fists before slowly relaxing.
"Of course," she said, voice low, composed. "I'll go to her now."
With a final glance toward the room behind her—where Lucy still moved in soft silence—Sarah turned and began to walk.
Her steps echoed softly against the stone. The past still clung to her like ash.
But the Empress was waiting.
"Her Grace, Sarah Augustus the Lioness," the attendant announced.
As Sarah stepped through the tall doors into the Empress's private chambers, she found Empress Alica in a rare state—pacing, frantic, her regal composure fraying at the edges.
"Leave us. All of you," Alica snapped, her tone brooking no argument. The servants paused only briefly before bowing and scattering out of the room.
Then her gaze cut to the guards. "Make sure no one is listening. If anyone is caught eavesdropping—off with their head."
One of the imperial guards hesitated. "What about His Majesty's guards and attendants, Your Majesty?"
"I don't care if it's Aurelian himself. He will not hear a word of what's said in my chambers. Do you understand, guard?"
"…Understood, Your Majesty."
With a sharp nod, the guard saluted and stepped back. The heavy doors closed behind Sarah with a final, echoing thud. Silence settled—tense and expectant.
Alica didn't wait.
"How is she, Sarah?" the Empress asked, voice trembling as she turned to face her.
Sarah took a breath before answering. "I don't know. I've seen many injuries in my life. Wounds to the body leave marks—things I can fight, treat, understand. But this…" Her eyes lowered. "Whatever happened to Lucy… it's in her mind. And I have no expertise in that."
"Does she remember anything? The incident? The poor child?" Alica's voice faltered on the last words, lips tightening as she realized—too late—the harshness she had shown Nex. The regret was visible.
"She remembers both," Sarah said carefully. "When she first woke up, just past midnight in the infirmary… she was lucid. She told me what happened in detail. The fire. The panic. The moment she and Nex were separated. Though…"
She hesitated.
"She never said what exactly caught her attention—just that she lost sight of him."
Alica's brow furrowed. "And since then?"
Sarah paused again, weighing whether to share what she'd kept to herself.
"She went back to sleep. But not peacefully. She had a nightmare. She kept crying out—for her family. For Nex. The pain in her voice…" She trailed off briefly, regaining control. "But then morning came, and when she woke again… it was as if none of it ever happened."
Alica's eyes widened slightly.
"I asked her again. About the fire. The separation. But this time she simply said she followed a stray cat to feed it, got separated from Nex, and then blacked out. Nothing else."
Silence stretched between them.
"Something has changed in her," Sarah finished. "And I don't know what."
Worry began to bloom in Alica's chest like a poison vine. Her fingers twitched, then slowly began cracking—an unconscious habit passed down from her late father, Duke Arnold Garisson. Sarah watched her closely, noting the gesture.
"Do you wish to send Lucy away as well, Your Majesty?" she asked quietly. "Just like Aurelian wanted to?"
Alica stopped mid-step. Her eyes flashed. "Not over my dead body," she snapped. "She's the last piece of my home I still carry with me from Lumen. My childhood friend—she served me before I wore a crown, crossed the sea with me, and raised my child like her own. I will not abandon her the moment she shows weakness."
Sarah nodded solemnly. "I agree with you, Empress. Lucy's done more than serve the crown—she's helped me personally, more than once. She softened my views on training the royal children. What used to feel like a chore… it became something I enjoyed. Because of her small talks, her way of seeing them not just as heirs, but as children."
Alica let out a slow breath, though her fingers still twitched.
"What do you suggest we do, Sarah?"
"We protect her. Whatever's left of her mind, her strength—we shield it until we find someone who understands this kind of affliction better than we do."
"And the servants?" Alica asked darkly. "The whispers. The rumors. They're already buzzing louder than I'd like."
"We could drown the noise. Misdirection. Feed them rumors more suited to their appetites—about the war fronts, movements of nobles—"
"No," Alica interrupted sharply. "Servants, especially the maids, don't care for war. Not unless it marches through the palace. What they care about is gossip—marriages, scandals, secret affairs. We'll give them that."
Sarah raised an eyebrow. "You want to spread rumors ourselves?"
Alica's voice was low and cold now. "Yes. We'll each say something different to a different person. All believable. All scandalous. And then we wait. The first rumor that leaks tells us who's been whispering."
"And when we find them?"
Alica's eyes narrowed. "We cut out their tongues."
Sarah nodded and stood, ready to make her orders. Lucy would be protected for as long as it took, no matter the cost. Even if war raged outside and political fires burned within, she would not forsake one of the few true friends she had left.
She bowed slightly to the Empress, then turned to leave—until Alica's voice stopped her.
"Oh… and Sarah," Alica said, more softly now, "thank you. For standing up to Aurelian… Back then, I hesitated. I wanted to protect Lucy—I tried—but I couldn't speak. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. The shock of losing Nex—it took its toll. It left me unable to move, to think. I froze."
"No thanks are needed, Your Majesty," Sarah replied without looking back. "I only did what a loyal servant—and a loyal friend—would do. Besides… my brother's fury might have been justified in any other case. If it had been any other servant, attendant, or even noble, I would have drawn my own blade and executed them. But not Lucy. Never Lucy."
She turned, locking eyes with Alica.
"She would never harm that child. Not even through carelessness. She loved Nex more deeply than she will ever love anyone else."
As those final words settled like ash between them, Sarah caught a flicker in Alica's expression. Her brow softened, her shoulders dropped—not with grief, but something else. Was that… relief?
"I will miss that young man," Alica murmured, turning away just enough to hide her face. "He was quick-witted for his age."
Sarah stared at the back of her head, her voice bitter.
"He was more than that. He was the finest swordsman and archer I've seen at eleven years old. Given one more year, he would've surpassed the twins—and your son. I can guarantee it. His natural talent was on par with a High Knight's. It's a tragedy. The last living piece of Aurora and Aurelian's love—gone. And your brother? He mourns the loss of a pawn. Nothing more."
She paused. "Truly unfortunate… isn't it, my Empress?"
Alica didn't respond.
Instead, she said quietly, "I should go. Damon is waiting. He needs help with a medical text from the Eastern Kingdoms. I must speak with Duke Flamee to acquire it."
"Of course," Sarah said coldly.
"Goodbye, Sarah."
As the doors closed behind her, Sarah's steps echoed down the corridor. Her hand clenched at her side until her nails pierced her palm. Blood dripped to the marble floor, but she barely noticed.
She didn't look back.
"When Lucy's healed… I'm leaving this place," she muttered under her breath. "Damn this Empire and its games. I've given enough."