The bells of Elarion rang before dawn, their tones spilling over the marble terraces like liquid gold. From her balcony, Queen Seraphina Vale watched the first light gather on the city's domes and towers — every one of them a monument to her reign. Wind lifted the crimson banners bearing her crest: a silver flame encircled by laurel. Below, the capital stirred awake, merchants unlocking their stalls, guards changing watch, the sea beyond the walls breathing its slow rhythm against the cliffs.
This was the hour she loved most — when the world was still half-asleep and power felt like solitude.
A page approached quietly. "Your Majesty, the council awaits."
Seraphina nodded, gathering the long folds of her indigo gown. The crown felt heavier today, though it weighed no more than usual. There had been whispers in the court for weeks — dreams of shadowed figures, ink spreading through glass, a voice speaking from the dark beneath the palace.
The voice, they said, was the Sage of the Underworld.
Every ruler of Elarion made the same pact, though few spoke of it aloud. A monarch's wisdom came at a price. Once in every generation, the Sage would appear to renew the covenant. He offered insight beyond mortal reach — but each secret taken left a mark on the soul.
Seraphina's father had warned her before he died: Never look the Sage in the eyes. Once you do, he will know your truth.
She'd been seventeen then, too proud to believe in legends. Now she was twenty-eight, queen for nearly a decade, and the line between legend and law was thinner than silk.
---
The council chamber glittered with morning light. Ministers argued softly over maps and ledgers. Seraphina listened, calm and unreadable, her dark hair braided with silver threads, her signet glinting on her right hand.
"Your Majesty," said Lord Rennic, her strategist. "The border provinces report unrest again. The miners refuse the new tax."
"Refuse," she repeated, resting her chin on her fingers. "Or revolt?"
"Refuse for now."
"Then remind them that patience is cheaper than rebellion," she said. "Offer clemency for this season only. Next year, the tithe stands."
Her ministers bowed, half in awe, half in fear. They admired her fairness, but her certainty unnerved them. Few understood how she saw what others missed — the pattern in a pause, the meaning behind a smile.
If they knew the truth — that she sometimes heard answers before she spoke them, as if whispered from beneath the earth — they would not call her wise. They would call her cursed.
---
That night, the moon rose red over Elarion. Seraphina dismissed her guards and walked the palace halls alone. The stones beneath her feet hummed faintly, like strings drawn too tight.
She paused before the sealed stairway — a gate of iron set into the floor, etched with runes so old their meaning was nearly lost. Her father had ordered it locked, but the lock had turned of its own accord three nights ago. Since then, the whisper had returned.
Seraphina…
Her name drifted through the silence like a breath against her ear.
She drew her cloak tighter. "Show yourself," she said softly.
For a moment, nothing stirred. Then the torches dimmed, and the air thickened with the scent of myrrh and ash. From the shadows at the foot of the stair, a figure emerged — tall, robed in black, the folds of his cloak absorbing every trace of light.
His face was partially hidden, but she saw the curve of a mouth that looked carved from marble and eyes that gleamed like storm glass.
"I am here," he said.
Her pulse faltered. "You should not be."
"And yet," he murmured, stepping closer, "you called."
"I did no such thing."
"Your soul did."
The way he said it made her heart lurch — not with fear, but with recognition.
---
The chamber trembled slightly as he approached, though his boots made no sound on the stone.
"You are the Underworld Sage," she said.
"I am Kael," he replied. "The name I bore before mortals gave me titles."
She forced her voice steady. "What do you want from me?"
He studied her as though reading the answer written on her skin. "To remind you that wisdom has a cost."
"I have paid it."
"Not yet."
Silence stretched between them. The air seemed to hum with heat. She became acutely aware of the space between them — a hand's width, no more — and the impossible pull that filled it.
Kael's gaze dropped briefly to the pulse at her throat. "Your reign has been long without counsel. The whispers you hear are fragments. Incomplete truths. If you continue to draw from them, the tether will snap, and the power you claim will consume you."
"Then teach me to control it."
His smile was faint, almost sorrowful. "That is not what you want."
"Presume to tell me what I want again," she said, stepping closer, "and you may find the crown sharper than you imagine."
Kael inclined his head, unshaken. "A queen's fury hides fear."
Her breath caught. "And a Sage's calm hides loneliness."
That made him look away — the smallest crack in his composure, enough to make her wonder just how human he still was.
---
Lightning flared outside, flooding the hall with white light. For an instant, the world held its breath.
When the thunder faded, Kael reached into his cloak and drew out a slender shard of crystal. Within it, a faint glow spiraled like captured smoke.
"This," he said, "is a memory from your bloodline — your mother's final vision before she died. Do you wish to see it?"
Seraphina hesitated. Her mother had died giving birth to her; no vision had ever been recorded. Yet something deep in her chest ached with the need to know.
"Yes," she whispered.
He pressed the shard into her palm. The touch burned — not painfully, but intimately, like warmth rushing through frozen veins. Images flooded her mind: a woman's face crowned with light, a cradle, a warning whispered into darkness — "Do not give the Sage your heart."
Seraphina gasped and dropped the shard. It shattered soundlessly, its light sinking into the floor.
Kael's hand lingered near hers, not touching but close enough for her skin to remember the heat.
"What was that?" she demanded.
"Truth," he said quietly. "But truth is rarely gentle."
---
She met his gaze again, her breath uneven. "You could have kept it from me."
"I could have."
"Then why show me?"
"Because you are not your mother. And perhaps," he said, eyes darkening, "I am not the same Sage she feared."
The meaning in his voice coiled through her — dangerous, forbidden. She felt the world tilt slightly, the way it does before a storm.
"You should leave," she said at last.
He stepped back, shadows gathering around him like mist. "You will see me again, Seraphina Vale."
When he was gone, the torches brightened, but the air remained heavy with his scent — smoke, salt, and something ancient.
Seraphina stood alone, her pulse still racing, the echo of his voice threading through her thoughts. For the first time in years, the queen who feared nothing felt uncertain — and alive.
---
To be continued…
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