CHAPTER 41
The shackles hissed as they dropped, blackened and twisted from the inside out.
A pulse of ancient light radiated from Sorayael's core, her silver hair lifting like it was caught in a silent storm, and her eyes no longer their usual gleaming hue, but luminous-shimmering like a thousand constellations condensed into twin burning stars.
She stood still, yet the entire chamber bent to her presence.
Deimon, who had spent centuries guarding a vanished legacy, felt his heart thunder as his knees weakened beneath him. He had expected power, a magic, asuccessor, maybe. But this... this was something far beyond.
His legs gave out, and he dropped to his knees.
His forehead kissed the cold stone floor, his voice barely a whisper.
The very name quivered through the space.
Sorayael stepped forward. Her expression unreadable, but her gaze carved through him like divine fire.
When she spoke, her voice was layered-two tones speaking as one. Velthira ascended.
Deimon's breath caught.
The golden light surged, her very presence an unspoken judgment.
His hands trembled where they pressed to the floor.
Her eyes dimmed just a flicker-enough for emotion, confusion, to begin returning to her face. She staggered slightly, her voice softer. Still not entirely herself.
A long silence followed. Terravon stayed where he was, head bowed, overwhelmed by a truth that shattered centuries of waiting.
The golden glow that wreathed Sorayael dimmed slowly, like twilight folding into the hush of midnight.
Her feet touched the ground again, quiet and steady, though her eyes still gleamed with a remnant of the divine light-Velthira's will lingering behind the veil of mortality.
Deimon remained kneeling, his head bowed, the weight of his reverence pressing heavily on his spine.
Deimon stiffened but dared not speak.
The floor rumbled. A symbol across the far side of the chamber glowed, a broken glyph, trembling like a heartbeat.
Then...
A footstep echoed in the shadows beyond the chamber. Smooth. Deliberate. From the gloom emerged a tall man clad in a sharp, dark coat lined with old insignias. His golden-streaked hair caught the fading golden light, and his storm-grey eyes immediately dropped in respect.
He fell to one knee before Sorayael-no, Velthira.
His right palm crossed his chest, over where his heart thudded with loyalty.
Velthira regarded him quietly through Sorayael's eyes.
Reinhold did not waver.
After a heartbeat, she spoke.
He stood, his expression unreadable but his gaze steady. "I heard her call. I've been watching, waiting for confirmation. But the moment I saw her eyes blaze with your light... I knew."
Reinhold remained calm at her presence, "You are correct, my liege."
Deimon remained where he was, quiet, pensive, almost remorseful.
Velthira took one step forward, and her voice softened-Sorayael's body beginning to falter under the weight of the divine presence.
With that, the golden shimmer began to fade from her form. Her eyes dimmed to their usual gold, their fierce light now merely human. Her knees buckled slightly.
Deimon jolted forward, but Reinhold was quicker. He caught her just in time, cradling her gently.
Reinhold turned to glare at him. "Burn brightly?" he repeated, incredulous. Then, without warning, he smacked Deimon on the back of the head.
"Ow! What was that for?"
Deimon huffed but didn't argue.
Reinhold exhaled, eyes softening as he looked down at the unconscious Sorayael in his arms. "She's just a girl. A powerful one, yes.. but she's young. Let her breathe."
He carried her gently into the next room and laid her carefully on the bed prepared earlier.
Deimon followed, sheepish.
Two hours later...
The warmth of the room gently brushed against her skin as consciousness slowly returned. Sorayael's lashes fluttered open, golden eyes adjusting to the soft amber glow from the chandelier above. She blinked.
'Where...?'
Her body ached faintly, but it was her mind that swirled in residual weight, memories tangled like windblown silk: the beasts, the dungeon, the handcuffs... and the golden blaze that wasn't entirely hers.
She sat up abruptly, instinct flaring.
Before she could utter a word, a deep voice spoke from the corner of the room.
The man stepped forward, composed and resolute, his right palm pressed against his chest as he bowed deeply. The gesture shows how devoted he is.
Sorayael stared at him, wariness curling at the edges of her vision. Her golden gaze narrowed as she asked, "Who are you?"
The man did not falter. "Reinhold Crescent. At your service."
Her eyes flicked toward the shimmering interface that hovered faintly near him-a translucent window she instinctively summoned. Like everyone she met, she sought their identity, abilities, rank.
But something was wrong.
Her brow furrowed. The interface only revealed:
Everything else was cloaked in question marks-sealed, encrypted beyond her reach.
'Elven?! And who is Ark?'
She winced slightly, a sharp pulse of pain behind her eyes. She reached up to touch her temple, breath uneven.
Reinhold stepped closer, but still at a respectful distance. "Please, rest, my liege," he said gently. "Your essence is still stabilizing."
He nodded. "You've awakened something that sleeps in stars and echoes in the blood of the ancients. Your body, mind, and spirit, they need time to breathe in unison again."
Sorayael frowned, struggling to piece the puzzle. "What happened after.. after the dungeon?"
The name tickled her memory. The golden flare. The presence. Velthira's voice speaking through her lips.
Reinhold, sensing the confusion tightening in her brow, bowed again-lower, more reverently. "You are her and yet, still you. It is our duty, our vow, to serve. No matter the form you take."
She opened her mouth to speak, but dizziness washed over her again.
Reinhold's voice was low and steady. "Rest now. When you awaken again, I will answer what I can."
The weight of exhaustion proved heavier than her questions. Slowly, her gaze dimmed, lashes sinking shut once more, this time, willingly.
Outside Sorayael's room, the dim corridor was lit only by a few flickering lamps embedded in the stone walls. Reinhold stood like a sentinel, arms crossed, posture rigid with duty.
The quiet was broken by the sound of uneven footsteps.
Reinhold didn't even turn his head. "How is she, you say?" he repeated dryly. "Go and do your task."
Deimon blinked. "What task?"
Reinhold inhaled deeply, then pressed two fingers to his temple, muttering, "This idiot doesn't even remember his task..."
Reinhold's brow twitched. He turned his gaze slightly, golden eyes narrowing thoughtfully.
'The boy.. that must be the Aethelgard prince. If his men were injured during the pursuit... our liege would be furious. And guess who she'll unleash that fury on? This idiot.'
He clicked his tongue softly and finally spoke. "Fine. Go and help. If you mess this up again, I'll tie you to the training pole myself."
Deimon grinned. "I'll take that as a vote of confidence."
Reinhold rolled his eyes. "It's a warning."
Deimon gave a mocking salute and turned to leave, fading into the corridors.
Reinhold exhaled and returned his gaze to the door. "Our liege... please sleep well. Trouble brews beyond your reach already."
Moonlight stretched thin over the jagged cliffs where the abandoned stronghold of the Voidwalkers stood like a wound carved into the land. Broken towers loomed, shrouded in shadow and secrets, and the cold wind whispered through the ruins like lost voices.
Azi stood atop a ledge, his ocean-blue eyes scanning every crack, every trace of movement below. His coat whipped behind him, boots silent against the stone. Below, his men fanned out, moving with precision and silence-trained to track, to search, to retrieve.
Azi clenched his fist at his side. His heart thudded too loud in his ears. The stillness of the ruins unsettled him. It was as if even time had paused here, waiting for something terrible to arrive.
His lips barely parted, and his voice came out in a whisper carried by the wind.