The thunder didn't fade. It deepened, threading through the citadel's stone like a second heartbeat. For a long while, no one moved. Then the great doors opened, spilling lamplight from the hall.
Selene Valeria stood there, cloak damp with mist, silver hair undone by the wind. Two guards tried to bar her path, but Azura lifted a hand. "Let her through."
Selene bowed once—half formality, half defiance—and crossed the marble floor until she could see Balerion's face. "Forgive the intrusion, Your Majesties. The court whispers are growing louder. I thought you should hear what they're saying."
Velkan's shadow rippled toward her, cold as starlight. "Say it."
"They call him a curse," she said evenly. "A divine punishment for arrogance. They say the gods have marked him for erasure."
Her gaze shifted to Balerion. "And yet the people outside are singing his name."
Azura's eyes softened. "Mortals always sing before they kneel or burn."
Selene didn't flinch. "Then teach them to sing the right song."
Velkan's mouth curved in the faintest smile. "You have courage, child."
"I have curiosity," she corrected. "And a vested interest. My blood answered his. I'd like to know why."
Balerion rose before his parents could respond. The scaled arm hung at his side, still faintly luminous. "You felt it too?"
Selene nodded. "It tried to command me, but not as prey. As… part of something larger."
Velkan's shadow stiffened. "Enough. The less that's spoken aloud, the safer we remain."
"Safe?" Selene's voice sharpened. "Nothing about him will ever be safe again."
Azura turned away, hiding the tremor in her hands. "Escort Lady Valeria to her quarters. We will summon you both when—"
"Wait." Balerion's tone stopped them all. "If the gods are watching, hiding won't help. We need allies who can see what they can't."
Selene tilted her head. "Meaning?"
"Meaning you," he said quietly. "Your clan keeps records older than both thrones. Find out if there's ever been a fusion like this—dragon and vampire, flame and night. If the answer doesn't exist, start writing it."
Azura's voice was low. "You presume too much authority."
He met her eyes. "Then tell me to stop."
For a long, silent breath, mother and son stared at each other. Then she looked away.
"Go," she said. "Both of you. But know this—what follows you now isn't just curiosity. It's hunger. Even gods fear to be devoured."
The corridors beyond the throne room felt smaller than before. Shadows clung to the walls like listening ears. Outside, the wind had turned cold; flakes of white ash drifted down like snow from unseen fires higher in the mountains.
Selene walked beside him in silence until they reached the outer terraces. Below them, Obsidia Sanctum glowed with the remnants of festival torches. Farther out, the plains shimmered under twin moons.
When she finally spoke, her voice was softer. "When you stood in that arena, I saw something inside you look back at the world and decide it was small. That wasn't arrogance. That was… ownership."
He exhaled. "It didn't feel like ownership. It felt like drowning until I stopped struggling."
She studied him for a long moment. "And now?"
"Now I feel… aware. As if everything I see is trying to tell me what it wants to be."
Selene smiled faintly. "That sounds like divinity to me."
"I'm not a god."
"Not yet," she murmured, almost too quietly.
A gust of wind lifted her hair. It carried a faint chime—so delicate it could have been imagination. Then another. Above them, invisible to mortal eyes, strands of silver light rippled through the night, the same residue that had seeped into the throne room. They wove around the terrace, whispering like distant voices caught in water.
Selene's pupils narrowed. "Do you hear that?"
Balerion closed his eyes.
The whispers weren't words, but meanings—echoes of the Astral Zenith seeping into dreams, overlapping thought. He caught fragments:
… anomaly … devouring crown … balance must break …
When he opened his eyes again, the world looked sharper. The ash falling through the air slowed, every flake hanging for an instant too long before settling. His own heartbeat sounded like thunder in a vast distance.
Selene stepped closer, voice barely audible. "Balerion?"
He blinked. The stillness snapped. The ash fell normally again.
"They're trying to read me," he said.
"Can they?" she asked.
"I don't know." He looked up at the twin moons. "But I think I just read them."
Her hand brushed his, quick and hesitant. "If they come for you—"
"They will," he said. "Soon."
"Then you won't face it alone."
He turned to her, surprised by the certainty in her voice. The wind tugged at her cloak; moonlight painted her features in silver and shadow.
"You don't even know what I'm becoming," he said.
"Neither do they," she answered. "That's why they're afraid."
For a long moment they stood like that, side by side, watching the night. Somewhere beyond the horizon, lightning flickered without thunder. The air smelled of coming storms.
Far above, unseen, the Balance Goddess lowered her gaze once more. "They have chosen each other," she murmured. "And choice is the one force even gods cannot predict."
The Seer of Threads wove a new line into her tapestry. The strand shimmered black and red, refusing to blend with the others. "Then the loom will change shape."
And in the shadows behind them, the War Father growled, low and thoughtful. "Let the boy climb. When he reaches our gate, I will see which blood kneels first."
Back on the terrace, Balerion's scaled arm dimmed at last, returning to pale skin.
He looked at the city lights below, then at Selene. "Tomorrow," he said. "We start digging through the Valeria archives."
She smiled. "Tomorrow, then."
When she left, the quiet returned. He remained a while longer, staring at the twin moons until a thin cloud crossed them. The faint third light—the one only he could see—flickered once and vanished. He whispered to the emptiness, not knowing if he spoke to gods or himself. "I am coming." The wind carried the promise upward.