Only a few days had passed since the final battle of the Royal Selection.The coliseum now lay silent. The stands that once roared with magic and thunderous cheers sat empty. The battle had ended, but its consequences were only beginning to unfold.
Dren rested inside an arcane stabilization chamber—an enchanted room lined with ancient runes and tended to by elite healers. His body, still scarred from the fight, remained connected to a complex system of tubes and glyphs injecting purified Bloodsteel directly into his veins, sustaining him while he recovered, little by little.
When he finally opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was the face of Narel… snoring shamelessly, fast asleep on top of his abdomen.
—"What the hell are you doing here?!" —Dren growled, grabbing him by the hair and yanking his head upright.
Narel blinked lazily at him, drowsy, and gave him a sleepy grin, drool still glistening at the corner of his mouth.
—"Sorry… I must've dozed off," —he muttered casually.
—"What are you even doing here?" —Dren pressed, clearly irritated.
Narel sat up slowly in the chair, stretching his arms like he'd just woken from a nap in his royal bedroom—not an elite medical ward.
—"I came to apologize."
Dren frowned.
—"Apologize for what, exactly? Did you win the tournament?"
—"Oh, no," —Narel replied—. "It was a draw. Technically. Tragically. Stupidly."
—"Then I don't get it. If it's because you left me in pieces, that's normal in a fight."
—"No. I'm talking about entering your mind."
Dren's gaze darkened. He said nothing.
—"The Morpheus Dust," —Narel continued—, "is a highly restricted substance in my kingdom. It links minds and lets people share memories. Its use requires approval from all three of the Celestial Council... but under the circumstances, I had no choice."
—"You mean... you saw my memories?"
—"Yes," —he admitted without hesitation—. "Even the time you accidentally killed your horse while practicing sword swings, and blamed it on an ambush by illusionist mages."
Dren turned bright red—equal parts rage and embarrassment.
—"So you're apologizing for snooping through my head without permission?"
Narel shook his head gently.
—"Not exactly. I'm apologizing for something worse. For letting a world exist in which you had to live through that."
Dren looked confused.
—"What are you talking about?"
—"My kingdom is… a paradise. Arrogant. A dream-world that believes it has achieved perfection. Meanwhile, out there—beyond our floating serenity—places exist where children like you were turned into weapons. Where horrors happen daily, and no one lifts a finger… because we're too busy pretending our peace is everyone's reality. But not anymore. Not since I saw what they did to you. Not since I understood it."
Narel stood and extended his hand, face solemn.
—"My kingdom will no longer turn a blind eye. What you endured should never happen again. So let's do something. You and I. Not just for our kingdoms… for all of them. Let's change this."
Dren stared at the offered hand, his expression unreadable.
—"That's not your responsibility," —he murmured.
—"Noblesse oblige," —Narel answered, unwavering—. "And if that means allying with the most short-tempered, stubborn, and powerful guy I've met… I'll do it."
Dren said nothing at first. He looked up at the ceiling, thinking.
—"I still have a lot to process. The demon's no longer whispering in my head, but that doesn't suddenly make me a peace-loving idealist like you. My thirst for vengeance hasn't gone away."
—"That's fine," —Narel said calmly—. "Your reasons may differ… but our enemy is the same. Whoever's behind those experiments has to fall."
Silence.
Then, Dren clasped his hand.
A firm, sincere handshake.
The alliance was made.
—"By the way," —Narel added, already turning to leave, sleepiness creeping back in—, "when did they give you such an awful bed? My neck's destroyed."
—"You fell asleep on me, idiot!" —Dren snapped.
—"Ah. Right. My bad."
And just like that, Narel walked away down the corridor like nothing had happened.
Dren watched him go. And for the first time in ages… he smiled.Not because things were fine.But because maybe… just maybe… not everything was broken.
The day had come.
Elizabeth had to decide which kingdom would be the first destination in the upcoming pilgrimage. The draw in the tournament had left that decision unresolved, and now that both finalists were finally recovered—physically, at least—she had to act.
She walked through the halls of the Celestial Palace with purposeful steps, though her mind wandered.
She thought about them.
Dren and Narel.
Two opposite forces. Two ends of the same storm. How had they gone from nearly killing each other days ago… to now holding friendly conversations?
She opened the door to the private meeting room and paused in the doorway.
There they were.
Dren lounging in a chair like it was his own living room. Narel with one leg crossed over the other, lazily swirling a teacup like a seasoned diplomat. And both of them… smiling. Talking. Even laughing.
Was she in the right room?
—"Your Highness," —they said in unison, standing with suspicious coordination.
—"Princes Dren and Narel," —she greeted, maintaining her composure despite her shock—. "Apologies for keeping you waiting."
—"No trouble at all," —Narel said with a placid tone—. "Dren was just telling me his top excuse for covering up the accidental death of a horse."
—"What the hell are you talking about, you silver-haired old bastard?!" —Dren exploded, flushing crimson.
—"I'm joking, I'm joking," —Narel raised his hands innocently—. "Though I still think 'a surprise attack by illusionist mages' is a top-tier story."
Dren growled, but it sounded more like resignation than anger.
Elizabeth watched them for a few more seconds, unsure when the shift had occurred.When had these rivals become allies? Friends, even?
The world changes fast, she thought.
—"Princes," —she said, returning to business—, "I've come to hear your opinions. As you know, I must decide which of your kingdoms we'll visit first. I prefer not to make that choice without hearing you both out."
—"No need," —Dren interrupted, unexpectedly calm—. "She should begin with his kingdom."
Elizabeth blinked.
—"You're… willing to give up the first visit?"
Was this really the same Dren she had seen in the arena? Proud. Stubborn. Intense?
—"Yes," —he said with a slight nod—. "I want to see with my own eyes whether his so-called utopia is real. And then I'll drag him to mine, so he can help me fix the hell I live in."
—"Could we take a floating bed instead of dragging me? Much more efficient," —Narel muttered with a yawn.
—"I'll drag you by the ankles if I have to."
—"Then it's settled," —Elizabeth said, fighting back a smile—. "We depart for Vhalmir tomorrow."
—"So soon?" —Dren asked.
—"Time is pressing. My preparations are complete. Prince Mayron will accompany us. As for Zerek and Azrael… they've chosen not to join the start of the pilgrimage."
Dren didn't respond right away. He nodded slowly, like someone still weighing the weight of a new alliance… and a new path.Narel, on the other hand, sank back into his chair with a long sigh.
—"Well then, I suppose we should start preparing for a long and... allegedly pleasant journey," —he yawned without a hint of shame.
—"Pleasant?" —Dren scoffed—. "Which part of the journey filled with political corruption, hidden betrayals, and potential civil wars sounds 'pleasant' to you?"
—"The parts where we sleep in inns with warm blankets and peach tarts," —Narel replied, closing his eyes as if savoring the memory of something that hadn't happened yet.
—"Gods…" —Elizabeth muttered, rubbing her temples—. "These two are really the ones I have to begin the pilgrimage with?"
Vincent, who had been waiting at the door, stepped in just in time to hear her.
He gave a slight bow and smiled.
—"We'll take it as a good omen, Your Highness. Two rivals who nearly destroyed each other… now setting off as allies."
—"Or as a walking time bomb with a random countdown," —Elizabeth murmured, glancing sideways at the two princes.
No one said it aloud.
But everyone knew it.
The tournament was over.The true test was only beginning.And at dawn, when they would finally depart…the secrets of the six kingdoms would begin to unravel—one by one.
That night, the palace slept.
The enchanted torches were extinguished. The air stood still. No whispers from the sentries, no creaking of the ancient halls. Only the soft hiss of the wind, as if the world itself were whispering something in a language no longer spoken.
Elizabeth glided through the corridors like a silent shadow.
No guards.
No crown.
Only a white linen dress, and a stirring in her chest she couldn't name.
She crossed the gardens without knowing why. Her bare feet touched the damp stone like they were following an ancient ritual, one forgotten even by the sages. Something within her—a memory that wasn't hers—guided her steps.
And then… she arrived.
The heart of the palace.
A circular room, roofless, open to the heavens like an altar.
At its center: a stone slab etched with the sigils of her bloodline. A sacred circle no one had stepped in for generations.
The moon hovered directly above. Full. White. Silent.
And in that instant… it blinked.
Elizabeth shivered.
A voice-without-a-voice spoke into her ear—but it wasn't a whisper.It was a memory.
"When the sky opens with a single eye, the Herald shall walk barefoot upon the stone threshold. There shall be no witnesses. No words. Only destiny carved into living flesh."
Her knees buckled. She collapsed onto the circle.
The stone burned—not with fire, but with something older.More intimate.As if the world itself recognized her soul.
And then… she saw it.
For a moment—perhaps a second, perhaps a thousand years—the sky split open.
And through the tear in the stars… something looked back.
An eye of flame.A mirror of eternity.A nameless consciousness.
It didn't speak.It didn't threaten.It simply watched.
Elizabeth didn't scream.She didn't cry.She understood.
The pilgrimage was not a journey.It was a sentence.A trial.A memory yet to awaken.
And she… was the key.
When the eye vanished, the moon returned to being a moon.The wind stirred again.The stars resumed their shimmer.
Elizabeth rose in silence.
Her feet bled from the stone. She hadn't noticed.
It didn't matter.
Pain, too, was part of awakening.
—"Tomorrow," —she whispered—. "It begins."
And she left.
Behind her, on the ancient altar stone, remained a single bloody footprint.
A signature of the inevitable.