Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Ripples Across the Realms

Aethyria | Outside Aundil

The grand marble corridors of Aundil were utterly silent, and to Vai, every shadow mocked his failure. He stood in the middle of the royal chambers, looking at the wreckage of Elden's fury (crystal and porcelain all over the mosaic floor where the usurper had been so angry). Vai knew what was at stake. Elden had made it clear that a second failure would not be tolerated.

Working outward from the capital, Vai personally led his elite shadow trackers through the inner rings and past the grand gates of Aundil. They scoured every alleyway, interrogated anyone wandering at that late hour, and pushed deep into the surrounding tree lines and border trails. But the woods gave no answers.

Alden’s careful sealing magic had worked flawlessly. The trail was dead, every step swallowed as if no one had ever passed. But Vai didn’t need a trace to know who was behind the sabotage.

Jeonran and Alden were the master minds behind the escape; they were the ones who had spirited Princess Linrel away from under the Vanguard’s nose.

Vai clenched his jaw, eyes sweeping across the thick, frost-laden treeline where the trail disappeared.

“My lord, there is no doubt they are out of the capital,” one of the shadow trackers reported, his voice tight with lingering apprehension as he stepped closer.

Vai pursed his lips, a cold knot tightening in his stomach. He knew all too well how Elden would react to this news; the usurper’s fury would be absolute and unforgiving.

“Search every realm if you must,” Vai commanded, his voice sinking to a harsh, lethal whisper as he stared out into the vast, unforgiving wilderness. “This princess shall die no matter the cost.”

The tracker dropped his head quickly and turned back to marshal the rest of the search units as they moved into the dark forest. Vai stood there for a moment longer, the wind cutting through his cloak. He could already see the cold, dead look in Elden's eyes and hear what failure would cost.

Far beneath the mountains, where no moonlight ever reached, the tremors of Aundil’s collapse were being weighed in iron.

***

Aethyria | The Dwarven Halls

Deep beneath the granite peaks, within vast cavernous chambers lit by rivers of molten metal and glowing runes, the dwarven lords stood gathered around a massive basalt war-table. Heavy iron hammers rested against stone pillars as the assembly listened in grim silence to the dispatches brought by surface scouts. High King Auberon Vaelorian was dead, and a false hand had seized the first crown in Valoris, the western heartland of the elven realms.

"A king does not simply vanish into the void without a reckoning," said Tharok, one of the elder dwarves with a beard of braided mithril rings. "Our own king called Auberon a friend. For generations our forges have supplied the elves with gems of power on the authority of the First Crown. If the House of Vaelorian falls from within, then the ancient pacts which bind our mountains to the High Throne are broken, and a usurper has not earned our gems."

The assembled chieftains murmured their agreement in near unison. For generations the dwarves had stayed in their underground strongholds, content to go about their business of forging and trading under the shadow of the first crown's peace. With House Sylvarin in power in Aundil and surface scouts reporting that the northern vampire outposts were stirring, every chieftain in the great hall knew the truth. The war for Aethyria was no longer a threat on the horizon. It was coming to their gates.

Yet, despite the iron grip Elden sought to maintain over the capital, the phantom of his treason haunted him even in sleep.

***

Aethyria | Elden’s Chambers

In the plush stillness of his chambers, he jolted awake, gasping. Cold sweat covered his brow and ran down his back, his hair sticking to his neck. His chest heaved as his mind scrambled to catch up. In the dream, Auberon's icy fury had filled his silver eyes, his long blade raised in that cold, unyielding judgment. The memory of his oldest friend, the man who'd once been so gentle, so kind, now so utterly furious, was still ringing in his ears. " Elden Sylvarin, for your crimes against the first crown and your attempt at regicide, I shall be the one who delivers justice.” The phantom weight of that blade falling on him had plunged him straight into the blackness. He saw nothing at all before he tore himself out of the dream.

“What is wrong?” came the soft, smooth voice of Myriani, his lover.

Elden’s eyes darted through the dim shadows toward Myriani, lying beside him on the silk sheets. His eyelids closed briefly as he fought to bury the sudden spike of panic beneath a mask of absolute control.

He sighed, smoothing his features. “Nothing is wrong, Myriani,” he replied smoothly, his voice regaining its practiced, steady cadence.

She shifted against the pillows, her gaze narrowing with quiet suspicion in the pale moonlight. “You have been sleeping poorly these past few days,” she shot back, unconvinced.

Elden let out a slow, deliberate breath, the heavy silk sheets shifting as he turned his head to look down at her. The ambient glow of the terrace moonlight cut across the contours of his face, hardening the sharp angles of his jaw.

“The passing of a crown is a very heavy thing for any monarch,” Elden replied, his voice dropping to a smooth, soothing cadence clearly meant to allay her concerns. "The state of Aethyria requires constant vigilance, and it's entirely natural that my mind is at work even when I'm asleep."

She propped herself up on one elbow and looked at him with that sharp intensity that always made a cold prickle of irritation rise in the back of his throat. She was smart enough to know what a king was doing when he gave political reasons, and she was close enough to see the tension in his posture.

“Vigilance is one thing, Elden,” she murmured, her fingers tracing a slow, skeptical path across the edge of the velvet blanket. “Ghost-chasing is another.”

Elden’s jaw tightened, though he kept his expression perfectly neutral. He forced a faint, dismissive smile and gently brushed a lock of hair from her shoulder.

"You worry too much," he murmured, with that quiet finality that cut the conversation short. "Rest. The dawn is coming quickly, and there's an empire to get in order."

She didn’t press further, though the lingering doubt remained heavy in the silent room. Elden pulled his hand back, staring into the dark shadows of the vaulted ceiling. His heart still hammered a frantic rhythm against his ribs. A dream, he reminded himself, trying to purge the chilling vision of Auberon’s silver eyes from his mind —just a dream.

He had felt the dagger go in. Then the portal had torn open, and no body had ever been found. That was the splinter beneath the nail.

Yet, as he lay back down upon the pillows, the phantom weight of the executioner’s blade seemed to linger just inches above his neck.