"Still you spit venom, Oracle. Still you pretend to cling to power."
From the far archway came Caspian, son of the Moon Oracle. He emerged with the moon at his back, a silhouette carved in flame and ruin. His gaze was not on Rhiannon, not yet—but on the Oracle herself, as though the two had known each other since the dawn.
Her chin lifted, her veil stirring though there was no wind.
"You again. The prodigal shade. You never learned obedience."
Caspian's lip curled in something between scorn and amusement.
"Obedience? You call it obedience when you hurl your champions into slaughter?"
And the temple groaned, not with the present moment—but with memory.
The walls bled with light, pulling Rhiannon into a vision not her own.
But a battlefield unfurled across the stone, armies of flame descending from the skies, invaders cloaked in burning wings.
The First Age came to an end under their onslaught.
And there — at the heart of that nightmare — Valerius fought.
He had not been a monster then, but a warrior. His blade burned black with moon fire, his body bloodied, his voice a roar above the clash of gods and mortals.
Around him, mortals broke and fell, yet he held the line, crimson-eyed, tireless. Bloodied, starved, he still rose his blade and slaughtered all that rose against him. He was mortal, he had forsaken life, but still he hungered for more than just a victory over the invaders.
Rhiannon gasped as the vision shifted. She saw Valerius kneeling before the temple, drenched in blood not his own. But the Oracle and her council did not praise him. They bound him in chains of shadows and blood.
"You went too far," the Oracle's voice echoed from memory. "You drew upon forbidden veins, drank from the abyss itself. You became what you were sworn to destroy."
Valerius's younger face contorted with fury.
"I became what you needed. I bled for your silence. I killed for your gods while they cowered. And this is my reward?"
The chains dragged him toward the Veil, a rift of black mist at the edge of the battlefield. He fought them, snarling, his voice tearing through the vision like a vow.
"Then I will not be forgotten. The day will come when I return, and I will claim what was mine before exile. My fate is not yours to script."
The vision shattered.
The temple's statues were still again, but the air was heavy with the echo of what had been shown.
Valerius stood in the present, no longer the bloodied warrior of memory but the exile reborn, his power vast, his fury honed.
"I was banished to the Veil," he said now, voice reverberating against the stone. "Condemned to fight invaders beyond your sight. And I endured. I triumphed. While you sat in your temple, I carved a kingdom from blood and fire. And now—"
his eyes found Rhiannon.
Every drop of the blood moonlight bent toward her in that instant, as though the prophecy itself bowed.
"Now I claim what I was denied." His hand extended, inexorable, toward her. "From the moment I was cast out, she was already mine."
The Oracle's composure cracked, grief and fury colliding in her ageless eyes. "Valerius, you damn us all."
The statues groaned, as if the temple itself resisted his vow. Above, the Blood Moon flared, spilling its crimson tide.
And Rhiannon stood trembling, caught between fear and an ancient hunger that was not wholly her own.
The Oracle's shadowed gaze lingered on Valerius, but Caspian stepped forward anyway, arms looping around Rhiannon as if possession were a right.
"uhm, sorry for intruding on your montage." he said, his voice smooth and mocking, "but I don't think you still have that right."
He tightened his grip, pulling Rhiannon closer, lips curling into a cold, mirthless smile. "To tell you the truth, I didn't come here just for the reunion. I also came to pick what is mine."
Valerius's presence shifted. The air thickened, and even the torches seemed to shiver.
Caspian's eyes, still locked on Rhiannon, flickered toward Valerius but did not waver in defiance.
"I did not crawl from the Veil for your riddles," Valerius spat, his voice now edged with venom. "I have come to claim what was mine the day I was cast into exile."
For a heartbeat, the world froze.
Then Valerius's eyes met his. A single glare, ancient and unyielding, so full of latent power that it pressed into Caspian's chest like iron. Every nerve screamed in warning. Caspian's confident smirk faltered. His hand loosened, releasing Rhiannon instantly, and his knees threatened to buckle beneath him.
"You dare?" Caspian whispered, more to himself than to anyone else.
Valerius did not answer. His silence was a sentence.
Rhiannon, trembling, took a cautious step toward him, aware that the confrontation had ended without a word — but the warning had been delivered.