Chapter 7
Phaeday morning came around quickly; Rain had spent the night training hard until his muscles fatigued.
He loved the feeling of tired muscles after hours of working out, it made him feel alive and gave him a sense of accomplishment.
He had beaten his dark thoughts into submission as he punched and kicked at targets, used his self–loathing to push extra reps, and ran from the tortuous grief that haunted him.
It was therapy, and it worked for him. Pushing his body as he combated his mind was excellent for his emotional wellbeing.
After pushing his body to its limits, Rain surrendered to exhaustion, allowing sleep to claim him swiftly.
Yet, his rest was anything but peaceful.
Throughout the night, he was plagued by recurring visions of the Aetherchromes—inky, black shadows crept into his subconscious, extinguishing the radiant crystals he so often saw in his dreams. These ominous vines weren’t content to simply blot out the light; instead, their tendrils slithered towards him, coiling tightly around his throat and robbing him of breath.
The nightmare’s intensity jolted him awake, leaving Rain gasping for air as if the grip of those spectral shadows lingered long after he’d opened his eyes. The vividness of the dream unsettled him deeply, and it took considerable effort for his heartbeat to return to a steady rhythm.
Rain’s gaze settled on the bright hues of dawn that crept through a gap in the heavy drapes, grateful to see daybreak and with no desire to fall back into dreams, he reluctantly rolled out of bed.
Breakfast would be served on the terrace, where he was scheduled to meet with Elder Isarion—another step in the path of his recovery.
Isarion Vaelwyn, revered throughout the White Kingdom and an Elder of the Order of the Aurora, had become the prince’s personal mentor. As a member of the Order, it was his sacred duty to guide fellow Aetherials in mastering their unique gifts.
The Order of the Aurora was composed of those born with an innate ability to attune to higher planes, granting them access to ancient channels of wisdom.
Such individuals often became seers, counsellors, or spiritual guides.
With Elder Isarion’s help, Rain had finally broken free of the destructive cycle that once consumed him.
He hated to imagine where he might have ended up had his father not succeeded in finding the Elder.
It had been no simple task. Isarion had spent fifteen years on a sacred pilgrimage through the snowbound mountains, seeking divine clarity through stillness, hardship, and prayer.
By sheer serendipity, the royal guards, who were on their own gruelling journey north toward the icy White capital, in seek of guidance for the burnt-out prince, had come upon him trekking across the icy dunes.
Isarion later told Rain that a whisper from beyond had urged him southward.
When he learned what the Blue Guards had been sent to accomplish, he insisted they take him to Nilantra without delay.
Rain came to find the Elder already seated as he walked out onto the sunlit terrace.
“Sorry to keep you waiting Elder,” Rain uttered apologetically, dipping his head as a sign of respect as he took his seat.
The Elder waved away the small talk, reminding Rain of his preference for meaningful conversation over trivialities.
Speaking only when needed; this was a trait Rain admired, that created a sense of peace whenever in his presence.
Isarion’s brow furrowed curiously as he assessed Rain’s composure.
“It would seem your empathic ability is locked away, am I incorrect in this assessment?”
The prince sighed before he could stop himself. He had hoped—naively, perhaps—that he would wake to find his powers restored, that a hard workout and a night of rest would be enough. Yet still, there was nothing. No flicker of sensation beyond his own thoughts.
What unsettled him most was how deeply it bothered him.
He had spent years wishing for normalcy, longing for the quiet that came with being untouched by the constant hum of others’ emotions.
Now that he finally knew what “normal” felt like, he hated it.
Something vital was missing, and the absence left him unsteady.
How was he meant to read people’s intentions without attuning to their feelings?
How could he trust anyone when he was blind to the truth beneath their words?
The loss made painfully clear just how much he relied on his ability in every corner of his life.
And, in equal measure, how inseparable he had become from it.
A bittersweet revelation—one that could not have come at a worse time.
“Yes. I cannot feel a thing,” Rain admitted at last. “I’m not sure when the shutdown happened, but I noticed it in the early hours of Cyrday.
I’ve rested, taken my supplements, trained last night, and I’ve been drinking as much water as possible.
” He listed each point with the precision of someone proving he had followed every instruction.
“And what of the mind, Master Royale?” the Elder asked gently.
“It is a process,” Rain replied, the bitterness slipping through despite his effort to contain it. His mind was chaos; he knew it, and so did Isarion. “Training usually helps quiet everything, but it will take time to work through my demons. As you’re aware.”
“Indeed.”
The Elder took a slow sip of warm tea, eyes drifting into contemplation. Rain used the pause to slather cream cheese and honey onto a toasted bagel, indulging his craving for something sweet.
“Meditation,” Isarion murmured at last. “You must make time to meditate. Yes. Meditation will help.”
Rain’s eyes rolled before he could stop them.
Meditation had never been his strength; his mind refused to fall silent long enough for anything divine to reach him.
He could sit in stillness for hours, he even enjoyed solitude, but his thoughts were a relentless theatre of vivid daydreams and internal monologue.
He often suspected he could live his entire life alone and never truly feel lonely.
A side effect, he supposed, of spending so many years in isolation.
“I can try,” he mumbled between mouthfuls.
“Nonsense! You will do it, and you will be cured,” Isarion declared, matter-of-fact and unwavering.
Rain shoved the rest of his bagel into his mouth to stop himself from defensively snapping back.
He knew the Elder meant well—Isarion always had a certain foresight about these things—but without his empathic abilities, Rain felt raw and irritable.
He wanted a quick fix, not a torturously slow, meditative process he had never enjoyed.
Anything requiring a still mind felt impossibly out of reach.
How was he supposed to find inner peace when he had just slaughtered an entire squadron of innocents?
Forgiveness, letting go, releasing resentment—none of it felt remotely attainable.
“So… I’m not stuck this way?”
“An individual is shaped by their self-perception. Appearances deceive, and nothing remains unchanged.”
“Okay. Good.” He accepted the cryptic reassurance.
He was used to the Elder’s riddles and understood them well enough to know Isarion was telling him he would recover; if he followed the path laid out for him.
Meditation it was. Eventually. He wasn’t sure when he’d feel ready to sit alone with his own thoughts and feelings.
They finished their breakfast in a companionable silence. Before dismissing him, the Elder rose and performed a brief spiritual cleansing, his hands moving with practised grace as he blessed the prince and swept away any lingering spiritual debris.
With his stomach finally satisfied, Rain headed to the gym, ready to sweat out the frustration simmering beneath his skin.
As he stepped through the doorway, he spotted his twin already working herself into a lather on a spin bike.
The sight of her lifted his mood, and he swung a leg over the bike beside her.
“Morning, sis.”
“You’re finally with us again, I see?” She breathed. He couldn’t read the tone. Was she worried, annoyed, relieved? The uncertainty was maddening.
“Are you angry with me?” He asked, genuinely puzzled.
“What?” She slowed her pedalling, brows knitting. “Do I feel angry to you?”
“I don’t know how you’re feeling.”
“You don’t know how I’m feeling?” She echoed the words slowly, as though she had misheard.
“Nope. I don’t feel anything but my own woeful feelings. I’m broken; I guess that means you’re out of a job.”
She stopped completely, staring at him in horror. Snow’s abilities shielded her from his amplifying power and her touch suppressed it, but he could always read her emotions—hers had always felt almost like his own, one of the strange perks of being twins. She reached for his hand and squeezed hard.
“It’s okay. It isn’t permanent. Just another ball of fuckery from the universe,” He joked, trying to lighten the blow.
“Can you still share your own energy?” She asked, worry carving lines across her face. He was grateful for her expressiveness; at least he could read that much. “Oh gods—can you still manipulate energy at all, or are you completely powerless?”
With a confident smirk, he flicked his gaze toward the tray of water bottles lined up against the far wall.
At his will, one lifted cleanly into the air and shot straight into his waiting palm.
Snow exhaled in visible relief, clearly rattled by the possibility that he might have lost everything.
Their powers might have seemed superficial to outsiders, but to them they were as intrinsic as eye colour or bone structure, part of who they were.