He couldn't see her tears…
but the silence between her breaths told him more than eyes ever could.
There was something fragile in the way the air trembled—
a quiet collapse she did not speak of.
He didn't understand.
Not the feeling.
Not her.
And in the stillness of his mind, a question bloomed, hesitant and hollow:
"Why does she always cry… the moment she feels safe?"
He sent the thought inward—into the deep, echoing silence where the Blue Sovereign now dwelled.
A pause.
Then the Sovereign replied, voice calm and boundless:
"Tears may rise from pity.
Or from pain.
Or even surrender.
But sometimes… they come from sanctuary.
From the moment the soul is no longer forced to fight.
Crying does not make them weak.
Only their will defines strength… or the lack of it."
The King said nothing.
But within him…
a weight he could not define—
one that didn't belong,
yet refused to leave.
Some time had passed…
Inside his private chamber, Caldrias—the longest blade of Noxfaire—rocked slowly in his ornate chair, sipping wine with the indifference of a man untouched by consequence.
Beyond the window, stars glittered faintly, their cold light brushing across his gaze—eyes darkened not by exhaustion, but by blood.
Then—measured footsteps broke the silence.
A refined woman stepped in.
Beautiful, composed, dressed in an elegant black gown.
A crimson crescent—the symbol of House Noxfaire—gleamed on the ring she wore.
She moved forward and placed her hands firmly on the table before him.
There was tension in her posture.
But before she could speak, his voice cut through the air—soft, sharp, and unmistakably threatening:
"Mind your tongue…
if you'd like to leave this room in one piece,
my dear wife… Fornica."
She swallowed.
Her confidence faltered for a moment—anger bleeding into caution.
"Another child has been born.
A threat to our son's future.
Doesn't that trouble you… even a little?"
Caldrias didn't turn.
He didn't even glance her way.
He simply set his glass down,
refilled it calmly,
and spoke with the same cold rhythm:
"If he truly threatens your child…
then blame fate for birthing a boy too fragile to endure."
Fornica gave no answer.
She only smiled—briefly.
Then, with measured grace, she turned and left the room.
But as she walked away, a single thought echoed in her mind:
"We'll see… my love."
Alone once more, Caldrias muttered under his breath:
"Fool.
Such a small mind.
You think I'd let you live
if you could actually harm my sister?
What a bothersome little worm."
Caldrias raised the glass once more.
The wine touched his lips.
And far beyond the marble halls of the Blood Palace,
beneath a sky that bore no moon—
the night collapsed.
The night didn't fall.
It collapsed—heavy, suffocating.
Cray jolted awake.
There was something wrong in the silence.
No breeze.
No insects.
Just stillness… and the faint scent of iron in the air.
Blood.
Her hand moved before her thoughts—reaching for the sword beside her.
Eyes wide. Muscles tight.
Then the tent flap burst open.
Karmz stumbled in—gasping, pale, eyes wide with panic.
"My Lady—!
We're under attack. They're overwhelming us—
the soldiers… they're already down!
You must flee!"
Cray turned toward her sleeping child.
Her hand trembled.
Duty screamed at her.
But her heart…
"My Lady!"
Karmz's voice cracked.
"Choose—now!"
She spun toward him.
Her sword… untouched.
And then—she froze.
He was smiling.
At first, just a twitch.
Then… laughter.
Low. Mocking. Venomous.
"Ah… pathetic.
Lady Fornica was right.
The fear on your face—it's priceless.
Forgive me, my Lady,
but you've always been a useless insect,
hiding in your brother's shadow.
I was beside you this whole time—
watching. Waiting.
And you?
You gave birth to something you should have never even dreamed of."
Cray didn't move.
Her body shut down.
Betrayal carved through her chest.
She had always considered him… a friend.
Something cracked inside her.
She bit her lip—hard.
Blood ran down her chin.
She turned back to her son,
and pulled him close.
As if he was all she had left.
Then…
The child raised his tiny hand—
no words. No expression.
And gently placed it against her chest.
His face was blank.
Unaware.
No thought.
Only instinct—
pure, raw… unstoppable.
The world changed.
The air shattered.
The tent shook.
A pulse exploded outward—silent, then deafening.
And outside… screams.
Not of pain.
But of erasure.
Within seconds… it was over.
The attackers were gone.
Reduced to ash, fragments,
limbs no one could name.
Somewhere behind the veil of dust,
a shadow stirred.
Karmz stood frozen.
Mouth open.
Legs trembling.
He staggered back one step—
"Please…
spare me…"
he whispered. Barely.
Then—he saw him.
Solarin.
No wind.
No warning.
Just… presence.
Karmz blinked—
and the earth lunged toward him.
No time to scream.
No time to run.
Just—
Impact.
His skull slammed into the dirt.
But death didn't take him.
Not yet.
Just long enough
for him to see—
his body.
Still upright.
Still swaying.
Like a puppet
whose strings had just been cut.
A single tear slipped free.
Not from pain.
But from pure, unfiltered fear.
"Why is death… so terrifying?
Still…
thank you.
For not letting me feel the pain."
Solarin didn't move.
Didn't speak.
Didn't breathe.
He didn't need to.
Then he turned.
Stepped forward.
And wrapped Cray in his arms—
not to comfort her,
but to keep her standing.
Cray stood without a word.
Without a single motion.
She only held her child tighter,
as if the world might try
to take him away again.
"You are not alone."
Days passed—
not measured by hours,
but by the weight of silence.
Cray didn't cry.
She didn't scream.
She called for no one.
She drifted through the northern palace of Noxfaire like a ghost with no roots,
as if her presence there meant nothing.
The silence of that place suited her—
cold, ancient, unfeeling.
No one dared approach her—
not even Lara.
The quiet that followed her wasn't peace,
but absence.
Heavy.
Empty.
Dangerous.
She would sometimes look at her child…
Long, quiet glances without warmth.
And yet—without hatred either.
There was something else in her gaze—
a frozen focus,
as if she saw something in him she couldn't explain…
or saw herself reflected, and couldn't bear to admit it.
Then, one moonless night…
she moved.
She stood alone in one of the palace's empty courtyards,
beneath a sky with no stars.
She drew her sword.
No armor.
No audience.
No sound.
Only bare feet, a sleeveless tunic—
and silence.
Then she began.
One strike.
Then another.
She fell.
She rose.
And struck again.
This was not training.
It was punishment.
The marble beneath her feet grew slick with blood.
The air grew heavy.
The palace said nothing.
It simply watched—like a grave too old to mourn.
Her hands tore open.
Bruises bloomed like poison across her skin.
But she did not stop.
Every motion was a prayer unsaid.
Every fall… a scream swallowed whole.
And every slash—
a desperate attempt to kill something nameless.
She wasn't trying to become stronger.
She was trying to erase one moment.
The moment she hesitated.
The moment she feared.
The moment she looked in the mirror and saw someone she didn't respect.
Somewhere, between each breath and bruise…
his face returned to her.
Not as salvation.
But as a reason to keep breaking.
She was trying to reclaim something—
or bury it with herself forever.
Far from the clash of steel,
and the sound of bodies hitting the ground,
the King lay quietly in Lara's arms,
watching from a distance—
though his eyes remained closed.
He could not see…
but he was listening.
Night after night,
he listened to the rhythm of her struggle—
the sharp breaths,
the falls,
and the silence between each strike…
a silence that felt like the breath before collapse.
He felt her.
He wasn't witnessing training.
He was sensing a soul
fighting to stay alive
in a world that offered no mercy.
And deep within him,
a thought began to take root.
Or perhaps… a seed.
Yes…
this is the answer.
Seek strength.
Tear weakness apart.
This is what she needs.
Or perhaps…
what I need.
But the thought did not finish.
It was interrupted by the voice of the Blue Sovereign—
calm, but not without weight.
**"But, my King…
she is not like you.
Her strength is not meant to destroy,
but to protect.
She doesn't seek power to rule,
but to shelter those she loves.
So tell me…
When you gain strength…
what will you do with it?"**
Silence followed.
Isaac didn't respond.
Not because he didn't want to—
but because, for the first time…
he didn't know the answer.
And within him…
there was nothing left to hold on to.
Three years passed.
Not as days measured on a calendar,
but as silent carvings etched into the bones of the Northern Palace—
a place where everything changed,
except the silence that lingered around the King.
A child—barely past the age of three—
yet he shattered every law of expectation.
He spoke like one who had lived twice,
and learned not through sight,
but by listening—
to the voices of scholars,
the breath of masters,
and the silence between every word.
What others needed eyes to grasp…
he devoured with thought alone.
A mind too sharp for his age,
too vast for human bounds.
This world was not a prison to him.
It was an unwritten map—
a chance to redraw, redefine,
and surpass all who came before.
And in those years,
Cray never ceased to flood him with love—
not the kind offered to children,
but to something revered.
Something untouchable.
She held him with awe,
feared even the wind might harm him,
and wrapped him in a love so fierce,
it felt closer to worship than comfort.
But to him?
It was all misplaced.
He couldn't receive it.
Couldn't understand it.
All he sensed…
was weakness.
A flaw in the armor.
A crack in the wall.
His mind, forged in the fires of endurance,
could not grasp affection
that felt like a warm embrace on a battlefield.
He tried to retreat.
To pull away.
But she surrounded him—
with warmth he didn't ask for,
with gentleness he didn't trust,
and with touches that left him feeling… exposed.
One night,
her hand brushed gently over his hair.
He didn't flinch.
But something in him recoiled.
And then he withdrew—
slowly, silently.
And something within him began to take shape.
Something strange.
Uninvited.
He began to wonder,
not in words, but in the quiet corners of thought:
Why?
Why does she do this?
Why try to offer me what I never asked for?
Is she trying to weaken me?
…Or save me?
Questions without answers.
Not echoes—
but eyes within him,
always open.
Always watching.