Chapter 396
Not a spectacular kind of beauty, but beauty born from simplicity, from the absence of demand.
There were no intricate patterns, no cracks resembling faces or maps of destiny, only a stretch of white or cream-colored surface extending flawlessly.
At eleven o'clock in the silent night, that ceiling became an empty canvas, a quiet mirror faithfully reflecting the tranquility he so desperately longed for yet could not create within himself.
'Whatever he is feeling… it is strong enough to pierce through my calm.'
Yet that fragile calm shattered like glass struck by a stone.
A sudden wave of foreign emotion flooded his consciousness, emerging not from himself, but seeping through a deeper layer of the soul.
It was a profound restlessness, a biting anxiety, and a worry so intense it felt like a physical tremor.
The sensation was excessive, overwhelming, and utterly out of sync with Ilux's attempt at composure.
He recognized the "taste" of that emotion.
It was a resonance from Xavier.
The soul of the King, who usually strove to appear calm, controlled, even cold, was now radiating unrestrained panic.
The vibration came not as words or images, but as pure emotion transmitting deep despair and fear.
It was as though a thread connected Xavier to the threat looming over Erietta, and that thread was now being pulled to the brink of snapping, creating a resonance of panic within them both.
The earlier elemental chaos had been a directed anger, a form of punishment.
But the restlessness Ilux felt now was something more primitive, more helpless.
A pure fear of losing something most precious for the second time.
The jolt nearly left Ilux breathless.
He felt his chest tighten, not because of elemental disruption, but from bearing the weight of another soul's panic.
He tried to detach himself, to insist that this was not his feeling, but it was difficult.
Xavier's emotion spread like ink in water, staining the calm he had just attained.
The ceiling that once seemed beautiful and soothing now appeared to tremble, distorted by anxiety that was not his own.
This was a different kind of violation, more intimate and more tormenting than mere shouting or power disturbances.
It was another's suffering forced into his bones and veins, an undeniable reminder that they were bound, entangled, and that the peace of one was utterly impossible while the other stood amid a storm.
'He wants to move, but does not know where to go. He wants to act, but does not know what to do.'
Without guessing or interpreting, Ilux felt it clearly within his own mind.
Another stream of consciousness, usually structured and authoritative, was now scattered into fragments of chaotic words and impulses.
He did not hear them; he absorbed them directly, word by word, spilling from Xavier's soul.
The words were filled with agitation, restrained panic, and a confusion so deep it resembled someone lost within a labyrinth of their own thoughts.
The mental messages were no longer complete sentences, but brief explosions.
"Must…," "Cannot…," "Where…," "How…," colliding without forming any coherent plan.
Xavier, the architect of strategy who had once won a war against the Almighty, now seemed utterly directionless.
His usually analytical and far-reaching mind appeared shattered before a single threat.
The danger stalking Erietta.
The fear of losing Myra for the second time had paralyzed his logic, transforming him into an entity reacting purely on instinct and panic.
Within their connected subconscious, Ilux could sense Xavier's mental movements—a restless circling without end, like a caged beast clawing at the walls of its prison.
There was no situational evaluation, no calculated step, only a primitive urge to move, to do something, yet without knowing what that something was.
Thus, Ilux's earlier harsh judgment now found its proof in this chaos.
He concluded, with certainty tinged by disgust and a faint bitter satisfaction, that Xavier's movements in the subconscious truly resembled madness.
This was no longer about wisdom or authority.
It was madness born of love and fear.
The Hero King had been reduced to a shadow screaming in terror within his own mind, a stark contrast to the grand image Xavier had always tried to maintain.
'Word by word flows beneath my consciousness.'
Dozens of minutes passed, yet Ilux remained lying in the same place.
He had turned off the lights in his room, allowing the darkness, interrupted only by the faint moonlight from the window, to illuminate the ceiling now tinted bluish-gray.
In that dark silence, he found a new kind of calm, a solitude he savored.
He gazed at the ceiling intently, as though the slow-moving interplay of shadow and light upon it were a theatrical performance far more captivating than the drama unfolding within his own mind.
He tried to immerse himself in the simplicity of form and the dance of light, using it as a shield against internal chaos.
Meanwhile, in a deeper layer of consciousness, an entirely different activity continued, one he deliberately ignored.
Xavier was not calm.
Ilux did not know exactly what was happening to that ancient soul, but he could feel its relentless tremors.
Xavier continued murmuring, an unbroken mental monologue.
Word after word flowed, no longer panicked bursts, but a continuous stream, like a prayer or a curse repeated endlessly.
Its content revolved around the same subject.
The Gods.
Names, titles, epithets, and attributes of those entities called the Gods were spoken in various ancient tongues and dead idioms, seeping into Ilux's awareness like a radio tuned to the wrong frequency.
Xavier spoke of their convoluted promises, their unpredictable wrath, their cruel rituals, and their intricate hierarchy of power.
Mixed within were strange words that held no immediate meaning for Ilux—perhaps sacred places, ritual mantras, or technical terms for certain forms of sacrifice.
All of it echoed within the chamber of their shared mind, becoming a disturbing soundtrack to the fragile peace Ilux had painstakingly built.
"Let him murmur, let him speak with his own shadows. I am too tired to care, let alone to stop him."
Hssssh!
'If this is his way of venting his unrest, then so be it. As long as he does not drag me back into that vortex.'
"There is one matter. A topic we need to discuss, Ilux Rediona."
Ilux truly had no intention of interfering.
Let Xavier murmur alone about gods and ancient rituals in the dark corner of his consciousness.
He even felt a cold satisfaction in allowing that once-arrogant soul to drown in its own unrest without offering the slightest acknowledgment or response.
It was a small, silent revenge for all the pressure and complexity Xavier had brought into his life.
He chose to remain fixed upon the ceiling, upon the shadows, upon the absence of thought.
Yet a few seconds later, something shifted.
The chaotic, obsessive murmuring abruptly ceased.
It was replaced by a sharper awareness, a will that deliberately reached for attention.
To be continued…