Chapter 11
Reverie
The air in the lower hallways clung to me like a damp shroud—cold, heavy, and faintly humming with the old energies of the Ancestors buried in these stones.
My fingers brushed the wall as I moved forward, torchlight flickering unevenly ahead.
I wasn’t supposed to be here. If Selene found out, I didn’t want to imagine the punishment I’d face.
But the thought of tomorrow’s match had wrapped around my ribs like a vise, and curiosity—reckless and persistent—had won over sleep.
I knew where the creatures were being held until our battles started tomorrow, and I had to find out what I was up against. I needed to see if I stood even the slightest chance of winning without using the abilities I had to keep hidden.
I passed through several cells filled with all kinds of nightmare creatures.
Some I knew about; others I’d never heard of before.
The Varruk’s cell was at the end of the long corridor, barred with iron so old it had fused with the stone.
Strange runes were carved deeply into the walls, emitting a faint blue glow. This was no ordinary holding cell.
It was a cage for something dangerous.
Something ancient.
He crouched inside like a great beast carved from black stone.
Broad shoulders hunched, powerful limbs coiled, thick hide glimmering with the faint oily sheen they were known for.
His elongated muzzle rested on his folded arms; horns curved back from his head like a crown forged from darkness.
Those ember-bright eyes burned steadily in the shadows.
Chains as thick as my arm wrapped his torso, etched with runes that dug deep. But he wasn’t thrashing or snarling.
He was waiting patiently.
My heartbeat quickened as I approached. I’d come here to study him, to gain the upper hand before tomorrow’s fight in the coliseum. But the moment his head lifted—slowly, deliberately—that illusion shattered.
His ember eyes found mine through the bars.
I froze.
It wasn’t the gaze of a beast spotting prey; it was sharp.
Knowledgeable.
Measured.
He inhaled slowly, chains creaking, and tilted his head. The gesture was subtle but oddly intentional—like a thought made physical. Then, in a fluid motion, he stood up to his full, imposing height.
The runes flared in protest as the chains strained, but he didn’t fight them. Instead, he crossed his massive forearms over his chest, dipped his head, and dragged one claw slowly down the center of his sternum—a clean, deliberate stroke that made the hairs on the back of my neck rise.
I didn’t know what it meant. But it meant something.
The sound that followed was deep and resonant, echoing from his chest like distant thunder. It wasn’t a growl or anything resembling speech, but something that caused the torches to flicker.
I swallowed hard, fingers tightening on the cold iron. “What does that mean?” The question slipped out, shaky and small.
He didn’t reply—of course, he didn’t—but his eyes gleamed more intensely, and in that moment, something changed. It wasn’t hostility or surrender. It was... recognition.
Of me.
Of something in me.
But I didn’t understand why.
I instinctively took a step back, confusion tightening in my chest. Tomorrow, I was supposed to fight him in the coliseum for my survival. But here, in the dim corridors, I felt like I’d stepped into someone else’s story—someone who this creature already knew.
And the way he watched me… it wasn’t like he’d just recognized an opponent.
It was like he’d recognized a queen.
I stumbled back from the bars, heart slamming against my ribs so hard it hurt. His eyes followed me the whole time—steady, unblinking, as if he’d expected my reaction. As if this had happened before.
The sound of that deep, resonant growl still vibrated through my bones when I turned and ran.
The corridor stretched out ahead in a blur of torchlight and shadow. My boots slapped against the damp stone as I sprinted, my breath sharp in my chest. The air felt too thick, too close, pressing in on me like the walls themselves knew something I didn’t.
That gesture. The way he had risen, crossed his arms, and dragged his claw down his chest— it wasn't random. It felt... ceremonial. And the way he looked at me— not like prey, not like I was his enemy.
Like a warrior standing before someone they owed allegiance to.
“That’s ridiculous,” I muttered under my breath, rounding the last corner toward my room. My voice sounded shaky, too loud in the empty halls. “He doesn’t know me. He can’t.”
But the image wouldn’t leave my mind—the ember-bright eyes, the flare of the runes, the almost reverent tilt of his head. No creature acts like that toward their opponent before a coliseum match.
They snarl.
They posture.
They try to frighten you.
He hadn’t tried to frighten me. He’d acknowledged me.
The word lodged in my chest like a thorn. I shoved through the door to my quarters, slammed it shut behind me, and leaned against it, breath ragged. My palms were damp. My pulse still hadn’t slowed.
“I’m imagining things,” I whispered. But the part of me that had gone still when he looked at me—the part that had recognized the recognition—knew I wasn’t.
Why had he done that? What did that gesture mean? And why had it felt like something deep inside me understood, even if my mind didn’t?
I crossed the room after sealing my door and splashed cold water on my face, trying to clear the fog of adrenaline. The reflection that stared back at me in the mirror looked the same—wild amber eyes, flushed pale skin, midnight tangled hair—but something in my expression had shifted.
He’d looked at me like I was someone else.
Someone he recognized on instinct.
I pressed my palms flat against the sink to steady myself. Tomorrow, the coliseum would roar for blood. The fight would be real. And yet, for the first time, I wasn’t just thinking about survival.
I was thinking about those ember eyes… and the way my name—my title—had seemed to echo in them.
Sleep finally dragged me under like a slow, relentless tide. But it wasn’t the restless kind I’d expected.
The darkness cracked open. Warm, golden light spilled through towering windows, draping the throne room in brilliance. The air smelled of steel and smoke, cut with something sweet—like crushed flowers. I stood at the center of it all, at once disoriented and entirely home.
Banners of deep crimson trimmed in gold hung from vaulted beams, their embroidered sigils pulsing faintly, infused with my power. My fingertips grazed the arm of a throne I didn’t remember but somehow knew. —
And seated upon it—no, I was seated upon it—my body settled with the practiced ease of someone who’d ruled for years. My spine straightened, my chin lifted, and my hands rested lightly on the armrests. A crown’s weight—unseen but unmistakable—rested against my temples like a whisper of authority.
To my right, a Fellat stood sentinel.
Graceful and formidable, its panther-like form glinted under the golden light.
Two tentacles extended from its shoulders, swaying slowly and smoothly as they sampled the air for danger.
Its head was raised confidently, with golden eyes sweeping the throne room.
Authority emanated from it—controlled and purposeful.
The loyalty it had for me was unmistakable.
I didn’t need to look at it to know it was mine.
The heavy doors at the far end of the hall opened with a resonant boom.
They entered.
Six men strode down the long aisle, armor scarred from battle, cloaks stained with dirt and blood. The sight of them hit me in the chest—familiar in a way that hurt.
Ambrose led them, helm tucked under his arm, his presence slicing through the room like a blade. Merritt walked beside him, sharp eyes softening when they landed on me.
Bren followed with that irrepressible glimmer in his eyes, tempered but not extinguished. Zenon’s icy precision softened into quiet devotion when our gazes met.
Larkin’s movements maintained the cadence of the battlefield—steadfast and rooted—while Kratos moved like a formidable storm—fierce, protective, and unstoppable.
My lovers.
My Faction.
My six.
When they reached the base of the dais, they dropped to one knee in perfect unison. The sound of armor striking marble echoed through the hall like a shared heartbeat.
I opened my mouth to speak or ask a question, but the words that came out weren’t mine, even though the voice was.
“You’ve returned.”
The Fellat beside me lowered its head slightly, tentacles curling inward in what felt like a gesture of approval, as if recognizing their return as much as I did.
Emerging from the shadows behind them, the Varruk appeared—unshackled.
Majestic.
Whole.
His ember-bright eyes locked onto mine, and an ancient, unspoken connection seemed to unfold between us, reminiscent of the bond I share with my Fellat. He folded his arms across his chest, traced a claw down his sternum, and then knelt beside the six men.
The sight of everyone kneeling—my Faction, my lovers, this ancient creature, and the Fellat standing tall beside me—made something inside me ache.
I rose from the throne, moving with a grace that wasn’t learned but remembered. Ambrose lifted his head first, his sharp gaze softening completely under mine. One by one, the others followed—devotion, love, and the bond shining in each of their faces.
The Fellat beside me gave a low, approving rumble that vibrated through the floor.
A voice echoed through the hall, not from any one mouth, but from the air itself.
“All hail our beloved Queen Lilibet.”
The words hit me deeply, resonating within places I hadn't realized existed.
The golden light fractured, then the hall dissolved as if someone had thrown a stone through a reflection. I gasped awake, sitting bolt upright in the darkness of my room, breath ragged.
Their faces.
The Varruk’s gesture. The Fellat by my side.
It hadn’t felt like a dream.
It had felt like remembering.
The first pale light of dawn slipped through the narrow window, painting faint lines across the floorboards. I hadn’t really slept after the dream—if it even was a dream. My eyes were gritty, my body restless, my mind replaying every second of that golden hall on a loop.
When I finally pushed myself upright, something felt… different.
Not wrong, but not exactly right, either. Just changed.
The air in the room felt sharper, somehow clearer. I could hear the drip of water in the distant halls as if it were right beside me. My heartbeat sounded louder, as if the world had turned up its volume and forgotten to tell me.
I swung my legs over the side of the bed, rubbing at my temples. A faint warmth pulsed there, lingering from the crown that had faded hours ago. When I exhaled, the flame in the small wall sconce across the room wavered—even though no breeze had touched it.
My chest tightened. “That’s new.”
I stretched out a hesitant hand toward the flame. Not close enough to touch it—just… toward it. And the strangest thing happened.
The space between us shimmered faintly, as heat rising from stone. For a brief moment, the flame leaned toward me, reacting as if it sensed my call.
My breath caught, and the shimmer snapped back. The flame steadied.
I stared at my hand. I could use fire as a weapon, and I could move objects from a distance, but I’d never thought to control a flame that already existed with my telekinesis.
I slowly stood, every sense heightened. Something was humming inside me now—soft yet persistent.
I pressed my palms against the cool stone wall, still trying to understand the flickering flame and the strange thrum beneath my skin.
Fire was familiar—it was the bond, the Faction, the wild, fierce part of me that shared Oren’s flame.
But this… this wasn’t that.
It wasn’t loud. It was quiet. Ancient. A thread pulling somewhere beneath the surface, like something was calling from deep inside my soul.
I closed my eyes and focused. It felt like all of Aurathia was holding its breath.
And then—faintly—I heard it.
Not quite a voice. More like a whisper pressed against my bones, a time I didn’t recognize but somehow felt part of, slipping through the edges of my mind like smoke through a keyhole.
A presence.
My heart stuttered. “Who’s there?”
The air shifted—warmer and more loaded. I sensed the presence more clearly. Not menacing, just watching. Familiar in a way that made my chest hurt.
I stumbled back toward the bed, pulse hammering. “Okay. Nope. This is… creepy as hell.”
But the whisper followed. Not so much a sound, but from inside. It brushed along my consciousness with the lightest touch, like fingers trailing ice along my spine. One word rose clear, carrying a weight that made gooseflesh race up my arms:
“Child.”
I froze.
The word wasn’t threatening or questioning; it was knowing—similar to a voice from a dream you recognize but can’t quite place when you wake up.
Images flickered in my mind: a line of women standing beneath starlight, their silhouettes wreathed in flames; ancient Fellat padding silently at their sides; a crown being passed from hand to hand, generation after generation.
And then, a voice—Clearer now, feminine, strong, threaded with that same authority I’d heard in my dream.
“You are not the first.”
My breath hitched. “Who… are you?” I whispered into the empty room.
Silence answered.
Then the presence dimmed, fading like mist in the morning sun. The humming inside me quieted but didn’t vanish. It settled somewhere beneath my ribs—waiting.
I pressed a hand to my chest, the echo of that single word still reverberating in my bones.
This wasn’t fire. This wasn’t an ability I’d gained through my Faction.
This was blood-deep. A door I hadn’t even known existed had opened, and on the other side were the voices of those who’d come before me.
Ancestors.
Queen Lilibet hadn’t just ruled. She’d carried the weight of a lineage. And now, somehow, that lineage had found me.