Chapter 62 – Fracture of Destiny
Dragon Palace, Dragonil
The palace had fallen silent once more… a thick, suffocating silence, as if the very walls were holding their breath.
Seth, Damian, and Alma stood unmoving before the great door of the chamber where Flora had been taken. None of them spoke. The marble beneath their feet reflected the golden glow of the torches, yet not a single spark managed to warm the air.
Everything still trembled from what had just happened. That look — Flora's look — when her eyes met Seth's.
It hadn't been a simple faint. It was something else. Fear? Joy? Everything was a blur in Seth's mind, an incomprehensible void.
Damian finally broke the silence, his voice low and hoarse:
— Hey, do you think she's dead? And Seth, what did you even do — I bet it's Alma's fault, she's so ugly the Queen got scared.
But Seth didn't answer. His hands were clenched so tightly his knuckles had turned white. He could still see Flora's face — frozen in an expression impossible to decipher: fear, horror, recognition… then emptiness.
The door opened.
A cold breath of air escaped.
A man stepped forward, wrapped in a long silver cape. Ancient symbols of Eleseria glowed on his collar. His pale blue eyes observed the three youths without judgment, but with palpable gravity — a royal physician.
— She's not in danger, he declared calmly. She merely fainted. She should wake up later, I think.
Alma exhaled, relieved for an instant.
But the man added in a graver tone:
— However, I believe her illness is worsening. It would be best to avoid putting her under any further strain.
Seth lifted his head.
— What do you mean, under strain?
The physician fell silent… as if searching for the right words.
— Something struck her… her heart is very fragile. It could fail if she's subjected to too strong an emotion — and she could die.
Silence fell again. This time, no one moved. That was when footsteps echoed at the end of the corridor.
Alexander.
Majestic. Impenetrable. But in his eyes… a sharp, almost anxious glint.
— I understand…
The physician bowed and stepped away.
Alexander approached, his voice soft yet cutting, resonating like a blade gliding across marble.
— Alma, stay and watch over Flora while she sleeps. If she wakes, call me.
Damian muttered:
— And what about me?
Alexander turned to Seth.
— Hmm…
Seth felt his chest tighten.
— Is there a problem?
— No. Nothing.
Alexander's gaze became unreadable.
— Tonight, come see me in my chambers. We need to talk.
Seth lowered his eyes, breath short.
A weight had fallen onto his shoulders.
Alexander turned away, already leaving.
— If it's truly what I suspect… she alone can confirm it.
Then he disappeared.
Meanwhile
The rain fell as if the sky itself were bleeding.
Britania, the golden capital, was no more than a fortress drowned beneath celestial waters. Royal banners snapped under icy gusts. The streets were deserted. Even the merchants had closed their stalls, leaving the great city echoing with a single sound — the crash of the storm.
At the palace gates, two royal guards, capes soaked through, rested their hands on their halberds.
— Halt! shouted one of them.
A small silhouette approached in the rain. Soaked to the bone. A basket of apples clutched to her chest like a fragile treasure.
Iris.
She lifted her eyes timidly, a strand of wet hair stuck to her face.
— I… I need to see Prince Arthur. He always buys… my apples… on Thursdays. He… he didn't come… I want to see him.
— Go back to your village, the guard replied coldly. The prince has no time for children's nonsense.
— I walked three hours in the rain… let me through, she whispered, her voice breaking.
The guard frowned, ready to force her back.
But suddenly—
A surge of mana echoed through the hall.
The wind froze. The torches flickered.
A figure appeared behind the guards, as if summoned by the storm itself.
Merlin.
His hair perfectly arranged — not a single drop of rain touched him, as though the weather itself dared not approach. Only a green mantle draped over him. His calm gaze pierced the soldiers.
— This is no way to treat a young lady, now…
The guards recoiled instinctively, chilled.
Iris lowered her head, trembling. Merlin approached her with unexpected gentleness.
— You shouldn't have come all this way… you could have been hurt… he murmured.
— I… I wanted to see His Majesty… I thought something happened… I was worried…
Merlin laid a hand on the basket of apples.
— I worry a great deal about Arthur too… perhaps too much… I still struggle to accept that he's growing up… I'll give these to him when he wakes. Is that alright?
— Mm… she nodded.
For a moment, she thought she saw immense sorrow buried in his eyes — as if Merlin, too, had lost something he refused to name.
Under the marble gallery
Sheltered, two figures watched.
Glann, arms crossed, jaw tense.
Gosh, calm, silent.
— Iris came… even in the storm… Glann murmured.
— Well, she's a vendor. She has to find customers somehow.
Glann turned away, unable to watch any longer.
He had long loved that simple girl from the market.
But she… she had eyes only for a king.
Arthur Britania.
— Gosh, do you know where Arthur is? I haven't seen him in a while. Only Merlin's in the throne room.
Gosh closed his eyes.
— He's probably training.
Inside the light Cube
The light cube was not a place.
It was an entity.
Its translucent crystal walls pulsed with strange life, beating like a living heart. Every surface reflected light, but distorted — twisted — as if time itself bent inside it. The air was dense, electric, tinged with a metallic scent that burned the lungs. Nothing in the real world could compare to this atmosphere.
Arthur stood there, bare-chested, muscles aching from recent training. Sweat beaded across his skin, but he felt neither cold nor fatigue — the Cube absorbed every unnecessary sensation. His gaze scanned the infinite space, where the floor floated in golden void, the ceiling shifting like silent waves.
At the center, Merlin awaited. No royal robe — only a drenched black mantle, clinging to his slender yet powerful frame. His eyes blazed like contained lightning, yet his face remained motionless, cold, unreadable. A dense, oppressive aura radiated from him. Even the air curved around his presence.
— My clone just spoke with Iris. She was at the palace. She even brought you a basket of apples, said Merlin.
— Iris? Ah… right… damn, I completely forgot to visit her today.
Merlin stepped forward. The floor vibrated at his movement, reacting to the magic he exuded. Arthur's muscles tensed. Every fiber of his body was alert. He knew this battle would not only be physical, but mental, psychological. The Cube distorted every sensation, amplifying pain, fatigue, adrenaline — and Merlin had multiplied the gravity five hundredfold compared to the real world.
— Are you ready to continue?
Arthur nodded.
— Yes… I'm ready.
In a barely perceptible gesture, Merlin moved his hand — ten precise motions in less than half a second. The wind within the Cube roared to life, like a storm, hurling Arthur backward. The young man rolled, cushioned his fall, and rose instantly. His eyes burned with fierce determination.
— You must be more vigilant.
Arthur lunged. His fists struck the mana-charged air. The Cube responded. Winds spiraled, forming vortices that sought to crush him. Merlin moved like a laser, dodging effortlessly — fluid, precise, inhuman.
Arthur released an impulse — a blade of light burst from his palms, a beam almost liquid, and the Cube trembled. Merlin simply raised an arm. The blade exploded against an invisible shield. Arthur staggered back, breathless.
— You're far too slow, Arthur, said Merlin.
Arthur gritted his teeth and unleashed a flurry of spinning kicks charged with light — White Angel Squadron, each strike vibrating with shockwaves. Merlin parried effortlessly, though every clash bent the space around them. The floor cracked beneath the force.
Every movement Arthur made was measured, calculated — but the Cube amplified speed and pressure. Time itself seemed to slow; each second stretched into eternity.
They closed in. Fists flew, rapid, precise, nearly invisible. Each impact emitted a deep rumble that echoed through the Cube.
Arthur felt Merlin's power — not just his magic, but his absolute mastery of body and spirit. Each dodge was a lesson; each block, a challenge. Arthur struck with his knee. Merlin stepped back, the faintest smile at his lips, eyes blazing with silent fire.
— Not bad.
Arthur nodded, understanding, and launched a fiercer assault. Sweat and blood mingled on his skin. Each breath was fire. The Cube responded to his rage, his emotions, amplifying every sensation, every agony.
The battle raged — minutes that felt like hours. Arthur was already at his limit, but refused to fall. Every muscle burned. Every movement hurt. Merlin showed no fatigue, parrying and countering as if facing Arthur were child's play.
Arthur summoned all his rage, all his energy. Light blazed, scorching the very air. Lightning streaked across his arms, legs, shoulders. The Cube trembled. Its walls flickered, reflecting wars long gone, buried memories.
Merlin finally smiled.
— You must be able to fight without Excalibur… or you'll forever be bound to it.
Power surged within Arthur — raw, almost uncontrollable. His fists ignited. His eyes burned like twin suns. He was on the verge of collapse, but he refused. Not now. Not before Merlin.
He leapt, unleashing a pure shockwave. In tandem, he tore open hundreds of magic portals, spewing billions of blades of light. The golden and black walls of the Cube shuddered. Merlin dodged without retreating. He simply raised his hand — and absorbed part of the energy, redirecting it back at Arthur.
The impact was cataclysmic. Arthur was thrown, forced to conjure a wall of light to brace himself. He slid back several meters, but rose at once, breath ragged, eyes blazing with defiance.
No more words.
He hurled himself at Merlin, attacking from every angle.
They clashed face to face. Each blow now amplified by the Cube. Their bodies seemed to merge with space itself — every movement birthing waves that fractured the endless glass floor, shards of light and mana dancing around them.
Attacks crossed at impossible speed, birthing waves of destruction, pure radiance. Arthur felt it — the Cube was watching them, testing, judging. Each strike tore a scream from his soul, but he fought on, driven by will, rage, the hunger to transcend himself.
Merlin, impassive, absorbed and returned each strike — not to win, but to teach, to forge him.
— …I have the feeling that…
Arthur roared, launching his final assault. His fists wrapped in blazing light, his legs hammering the ground with inhuman force. The Cube trembled. The walls shook. And for an instant — time stood still.
Merlin blocked the final blow — but the impact forced him back several steps. He landed effortlessly, mantle floating… impassive — yet a faint smile curved his lips.
— You progress faster than I expected, he said. At this rate… you'll surpass Richard.
Arthur gazed at him, muscles shattered, body aflame — but pride lighting his smile. He had reached the edge of what he believed possible… and he knew this was only the beginning.
— Thank you… he whispered, almost to himself.
The Cube, silent, seemed to approve. The golden and black walls quieted. The tremors ceased. Stillness returned. Arthur, bare-chested, burning with fatigue and fire, knew he had crossed a threshold.
He had neither won nor lost. But he had survived the most brutal training of his life.
Merlin stepped forward, placing a hand upon his shoulder — heavy with judgment, yet weighted with silent pride.
— Rest. For now. We'll continue later.
Arthur nodded, eyes still fierce, body aflame, already ready to rise again.
To be continued…