At Cecil's palace, Vincent sat alone in his chamber, restless and fuming. How could he face the Crown Duke Prince if Cecil still hadn't been found?
"Where could that brat have gone?" he muttered, pacing back and forth. His fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white. "If I find him… I won't spare him at all. I'll beat him… I'll beat the hell out of him until he learns his lesson!"
His voice echoed off the stone walls, full of anger, frustration, and a hint of desperation. Every thought of Cecil fueled the fire burning inside him.
Vincent slammed his fist against the table, making the crystal goblets rattle. "Send the guards," he ordered, his voice sharp and dangerous. "Every road, every gate, every forest… search everywhere. I don't care how long it takes. That brat will be found."
The captain of the guard bowed quickly.
"Yes, Your Highness. We will leave immediately."
Vincent's eyes darkened as he continued pacing, muttering under his breath. "If I catch him… if I even get close… he'll regret ever running from me. I'll make sure he never forgets who he belongs to."
Every corner of the palace felt charged with his anger, and even the servants dared not move too quickly, fearing the storm of his wrath.
POV – At the Priests' Temple.
The priests moved silently through the temple, each step deliberate, each gesture precise. They prepared the foundations, drawing sacred circles on the cold stone floor.
Symbols and runes were etched carefully, forming a complex pattern that pulsed faintly with magical energy. Every line, every curve, every mark had a purpose — the cycle had to be perfect.
Candles were lit around the edges, their flames flickering as if responding to the hum of power in the air. The smell of incense filled the temple, sharp and heavy, weaving with the growing tension.
The priests exchanged wary glances. "The cycle must be flawless," one whispered, his voice tense. "Even the smallest mistake… could destroy everything."
Another nodded silently, his mind focused entirely on the task. The air thrummed with anticipation, the magic around them thick and almost alive.
Then, in unison, the priests began chanting mysterious, ancient words, their voices low and resonant. The syllables were foreign and old, carrying a power that made the air around them thrum and vibrate.
The runes on the floor glowed faintly at first, then brighter, the light pulsing in rhythm with their chant. Symbols carved into the walls seemed to shift subtly, responding to the energy in the temple.
The priests' eyes were closed, their focus absolute. Each word carried intention, weaving the magic together into a single, powerful current aimed at locating Prince Cecil.
A cold wind stirred through the temple, carrying with it the sense of something ancient and unstoppable. Even the candles flickered violently as if sensing the surge of power.
As the priests continued chanting, their voices growing louder and more forceful, the magic around them intensified.
The air became heavy, almost suffocating. Sweat poured down their faces, and the strain was clear on every priest. Some stumbled and collapsed to the ground, unable to handle the overwhelming energy. Others clutched their faces as blood began to trickle from their noses.
Yet they pressed on, pushing themselves beyond their limits.
Finally, the magic surged sharply, and the runes glowed brighter than ever. A faint, distant pulse resonated through the temple — Cecil. They had located him.
Panting and trembling, one priest whispered, "We… we found him."
The others could only nod weakly, fear and exhaustion etched across their faces. The price of their magic had been high, but at least the target had been found.
The priests struggled to their feet, their bodies trembling from the immense strain of the ritual. Blood still trickled from noses and mouths, sweat soaking their robes, but there was no time to recover.
"We… we must report immediately," one of them gasped, his voice weak but urgent.
"Agreed," another whispered, gripping the edge of the altar for support. "If the Crown Duke Prince or the Crown Prince hears this… it must be now."
They hurried from the temple, moving quickly through the silent corridors, their exhaustion barely holding them upright.
Every step was heavy, every breath a struggle, but the knowledge that Cecil had been located drove them forward.
Outside, the wind carried a faint echo of the ritual's power, a reminder of the cost they had paid. Yet there was no time to dwell on that — the moment demanded action, and the priests knew that any delay could be disastrous.
The priests arrived at the palace in a hurried, staggering line, their robes disheveled, faces pale and bloodied. Every guard they passed gave them a wide berth, sensing the raw exhaustion and the remnants of the ritual's power surrounding them.
The Crown Duke Prince was pacing in the main hall, his eyes dark and wild with obsession. Vincent stood nearby, fists clenched, trying to keep his own temper in check.
One of the priests bowed deeply, struggling to steady his voice. "Your Highness… Prince Cecil has been located."
The Crown Duke Prince froze, his chest rising and falling rapidly. His lips parted, then he whispered, almost to himself, "Found him… finally…"
Vincent's eyes narrowed. "Where is he?" he demanded, his voice sharp, hiding the edge of panic beneath it.
The priests exchanged nervous glances before another spoke. "He… he is alive, but he is in the care of… the Grand Duke of Ravenmere."
The words struck both princes like a lightning bolt. The Crown Duke Prince's hands clenched tighter, and his eyes burned with furious obsession. "The Grand Duke…?" he hissed. "No… no one… no one touches him except me!"
Vincent's jaw tightened. "Then we'll have to get him back… by any means necessary," he said coldly, his voice cutting through the tension.
The priests bowed lower, fearful of the storm about to erupt between the two princes.
Outside, the wind seemed to echo the unrest in the palace — Cecil's fate had sparked a fire that would consume everyone.
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To be continued...