Chapter 13
The Green Mansion rose before them like a cathedral of glass and steel. Light shifted under its skin, veins of heat running through the ribs.
Mirel stopped beside him, breath catching, eyes wide. He had seen this place before, in nightmares where beauty cut like a blade. The symmetry was too exact, the shine too clean. It was what the empire wanted its people to believe in. Power made flesh, fear polished into art.
“Steady,” Kylix said, his voice low. His fingers brushed Mirel’s wrist once, a signal more than comfort. “He’s waiting.”
The air outside the mansion hummed, steady and mechanical.
Warmth rose from the vents along the stairs, carrying the dry scent of metal and resin.
As they climbed, Mirel caught his reflection on every pane of glass.
It flashed beside Kylix, doubling them in endless motion.
Guards straightened as they passed. The stone beneath his boots was so polished it almost held his face.
Sound carried clean, no echo wasted. Even their breath felt measured, held by the air itself.
He kept moving because Kylix didn’t stop.
Imperial Milanov Zephyra stood at the top of the marble steps, white cloak trailing across the polished stone.
Two Luminary guards flanked him, their armor burning faintly gold beneath the filtered sun.
His hair gleamed pale as ash, and his amethyst gaze fixed immediately on Mirel.
The resemblance to Moargan and Helianth was uncanny, the same sculpted calm, the same quiet threat that came from being born obeyed.
Mirel froze under that gaze. His throat locked; the air tasted of iron. Kylix tightened his grip and guided him forward.
"Uncle," Kylix greeted.
Milanov’s lips curved, amusement flickering like heat across his face as he clasped his nephew’s arm. "Kylix. My favorite nephew returns with frost on his heels." His eyes slid to Mirel. "And this must be your ghost."
Mirel managed a stiff bow. "Imperial," he rasped. "S-sir."
Milanov’s laughter was low, edged with amusement. "No need for that. I prefer equals who can stand."
Mirel straightened, unsteady. Kylix’s voice dropped, a warning purr. "You only kneel for me, little ghost."
The Imperial’s grin deepened but he said nothing. He turned toward the massive doors. "Come in. You’ll find Helion’s heart still beating."
They entered a corridor built of polished stone and black glass.
Heat shifted along the walls, the air vibrating with quiet pressure.
Every surface caught their movement, scattering it in uneven flashes.
The Green Mansion pulsed with faint energy, as if the building itself was waiting.
Servants moved like shadows, offering crystal cups of clear liquor and thin gold cigarettes scented with spice and opium.
The air softened as the puffers released their vapor, sweet and numbing.
Mirel swayed slightly, his fear melting into disoriented awe.
Kylix steadied him with a hand at his spine, feeling the tremor beneath his touch.
Inside the audience chamber, the scene was unexpectedly casual.
Moargan and Cyprian lounged on low couches, half-finished glasses of amber liquor glinting beside them.
Helianth stood by the fire, deep in conversation with an older man who laughed at something only he could hear.
The sound of music drifted faintly from another room, soft enough to blur the edges of their voices.
They all looked up when Milanov entered with Kylix and Mirel at his side.
A few smirks, a lifted glass, the scrape of a chair pushed back, the effortless acknowledgment of power arriving.
Mirel felt their eyes on him. He shuddered, feeling frost war with sweat in his palms while his gaze frantically searched for his brother.
Cyprian smiled at him, and Mirel could breathe again.
He returned a shaky grin of his own, praying this wouldn’t be the last time he saw Cyprian alive.
No one seemed alarmed, so it appeared he was safe. But appearances were lies.
"My, my, look at you." The older man broke away from his place by the fire and joined Milanov, a glass in hand. "Let me take a look at you."
Mirel panicked when the man tilted his head and looked him right in the eye.
"You’re scaring him," Kylix barked, and a heavy hand landed on Mirel’s hip.
"You are magnificent. Yellow eyes." The old man ignored Kylix and kept peering into Mirel’s face. "Let me guess. They turn blue when you create ice?"
Mirel flushed, shame creeping up his throat. He didn’t even know why he felt embarrassed, but it filled his chest, constricting it, making his stance rigid.
"He’s not practiced well yet." Kylix’s fingers had found a way under Mirel’s waistband, and hot fingers traced lazy circles on his skin. Mirel blinked, confused and aroused, grinding his jaw when the older man tilted his head left and right, humming in approval.
"This is Zimeon, Mirel," Milanov explained. "He will soon tell you more about why you’re here." Then he clapped his hands. "Now. Let’s welcome our new member in style."
Around him, everyone sat down on couches. Vandor and two other guards stayed posted by the door.
"Let me get this straight. You found this boy, who was named Mirel, and decided to keep him for yourself," Milanov said to Kylix. The room quieted. "And why was that?"
"When I found my brother, he was chained to Kylix," Cyprian bristled. "He’d kept him to himself. He—"
Milanov raised his hand. Cyprian’s mouth fell shut.
Mirel felt Kylix straightening next to him. "He has the fire element," he said. "We chased him down because he’d stolen a loaf of bread, and when I tried to arrest him, he used his ice on me."
"You chased him down because he’d stolen a loaf of bread?" Milanov’s eyes twinkled. Next to him, Zimeon chuckled. "No, my dear nephew. That was not the reason."
The silence that followed felt heavy. Air filled with secrets. Mirel moved restless, wishing this meeting would end already.
"Have you ever heard of fated mates, Mirel?" Milanov asked.
Mirel shook his head. It wasn’t entirely true. He’d heard of it, like everyone else had. Fated mates were a myth.
"It appears very rarely that two people are made for one another. It starts with the meeting. Then, after that, your stomach tightens every time you see that other person. Your heart pounds, you feel restless, in your case, frost might appear, unwanted. Recognize that?"
Mirel hesitated. Didn’t dare look up at Kylix. Did he recognize that? He wasn’t sure. Perhaps. He shrugged.
Milanov smiled. "You are a very special young man, Mirel. You are what we call a Dariux. We all are." He spread his arms. "So you have returned back to your roots."
Cyprian’s hand tightened on his glass. His jaw clenched hard, the muscle twitching.
The liquor inside the glass rippled once, catching the light from the fire.
Moargan saw it but said nothing. Cyprian’s eyes flicked briefly toward Kylix, then toward his brother.
He looked proud and horrified at the same time.
For a second the room felt split between what was said aloud and what all of them understood.
Mirel saw it too, the shock behind the calm, the restraint it cost to keep his mouth closed.
The heat from the fire made the air thick.
He looked down again, grateful Kylix’s hand was steady at his back.
His roots. Mirel didn’t know what to think. His leg started bouncing, only quieting when Kylix placed a heavy hand on it. "Dariux?" he finally managed.
"Zimeon, please explain our new member how special he is."
The doctor cleared his throat. "Helions consider their rulers to be immortal, favorites of our nature.
They believe they are wise in spirit and generous in life.
Perhaps you have heard of the tales. Of how Imperials can fly, shoot fire from their eyes, create visions in their mind, create ice with the tips of their fingers, and so on.
After our life, we get to rest under the trees we were gifted by birth.
That way, we can dedicate our afterlife to breathing through those trees. "
"D-do I have one?" Mirel clamped his mouth shut, surprised the words had come out in one flow.
Zimeon smiled. "You do. You were gifted with one when your biological parents sold you to us."
Ludo and Celia Fandi. Cyprian had mentioned some of this. How their father had preferred money over a son. But he still didn’t understand what had happened to those babies.
"We used those babies for our clinical experiments. To give Helions what they truly desired." Zimeon looked around him. Mirel followed his gaze, took in every single person present.
"W-what was that?" he managed.
"Heroes, Mirel. The people want heroes. They want to believe there’s a reason for everything that happens in their life.
Call it religion. So we wanted to give that to them.
We bought babies and placed them in our lab.
Inserted them with artificial injections we believed would give them superior gifts.
It would also make them return to Helion when the time was right.
Then we shipped them off planet to live with their respectable foster families. "
Mirel didn’t answer at first. The words injected, sold, gifted blurred into one long hum that drowned the room.
He felt every gaze settle, curiosity pressing against his skin.
His palms were cold. Not the clean cold of frost, this one came from inside, a slow crawl that started behind his ribs and spread outward.
So this was what they had put in him. A relic. A lie pretending to be light.
He remembered nights in the graveyard when his breath came out white though the air was warm. When the ground froze under his hands and the children whispered that he was cursed. He had thought it was punishment. Now it had a name. Dariux.