CHAPTER 62
The council of heirs had barely faded from the orb's glow when Sorayael swept through the quiet halls of the manor, her steps brisk but poised. The urgency simmered beneath her skin, but her posture held firm-composure woven into each breath.
She found him, as expected, in the garden courtyard.
The Grand Duke of Aethenroth sat beneath the arbor of trailing dusk-blooms, a book open across his lap, though he wasn't reading. The early light caught faint streaks of silver in his dark hair, and a porcelain teacup sat untouched by his side.
He looked up as she approached, eyes as piercing as ever.
Sorayael nodded once. "I do."
She lowered herself into the seat across from him, every motion deliberate, each word chosen with care. She told him what had transpired-what the heirs discovered, the celestial summoning, the Emperor's forbidden ritual, and Reinhold's findings.
When she finished, the garden held stillness-breathless and waiting.
The Grand Duke folded his hands atop his book.
A silence passed.
Then he shifted his gaze to her.
She straightened slightly. Her golden eyes did not flinch.
A beat. Then another.
Her lips parted. "You mean..."
She sat back, expression unreadable, a slow inhale grounding her.
The Grand Duke shook his head faintly. "No name. Only whispers. Some say he was once the bastard of a foreign lineage. Others believe he was conjured by rites long sealed. But I do know this-his rise began in the shadows of the old war, and his ascension was built on silence."
Sorayael took it, holding it firmly.
A pause passed between them.
Sorayael rose to her feet, steady and sure.
And with that, she turned and disappeared into the rising light-already moving, already planning.
The moment she stepped back into her study, the weight of what needed to be done anchored in her chest-but she wore it like armor.
Sorayael activated the comm orb, the glass sphere humming as it pulsed with responding lights.
One by one, the heirs appeared-some still in motion, others already preparing. Zarethian. Ravelia. Karsen. Silas. Kieran. Celene.
But this time, there were more.
The orb flickered again, and Zacchaeus appeared, hood slightly skewed and hair ruffled like he ran through a storm just to answer. He blinked. "Is this another emergency or a surprise exam?"
Beside him, in another window, a calm voice responded: "Neither. She wouldn't call unless it mattered."
Valen. The former heir of the fallen Silverstein Empire. Dressed in quiet grays, with a steady presence that contrasted the chaos he once witnessed firsthand.
She didn't pause for questions.
Her eyes moved across the orb, naming each pairing with intent:
Silas gave a curt nod. Karsen adjusted his coat. No questions.
Zarethian cracked his knuckles. "Finally. Something to burn."
Ravelia smirked, brushing her cloak back. "And someone to stop you from lighting everything."
Kieran leaned into the frame, grinning. "Oh, great. I get assigned to the saint."
Zacchaeus huffed. "I'm not a saint. I just know how to use my head."
Sorayael cut in with a dry look. "And yet, you both got high rank status. I expect you to use it for something other than bickering."
Kieran grinned sheepishly. Zacchaeus crossed his arms, muttering something about "unearned rankings and daily migraines."
There were none. Only motion-everyone already moving.
Then she added, "Valen. Zacchaeus. Thank you for joining this."
Zacchaeus gave a short bow. "I told you I'd help if it was important."
Valen's voice was quieter. "Silverstein may be gone, but its people still have breath. I won't ignore a threat like this."
The orb dimmed as each link disconnected-one by one, sent out across the empire like streaks of silent lightning.
Sorayael leaned back in her chair, fingers tapping once against her palm. The room was quiet again.
But the board was no longer still.
The Emperor had moved.
And now.. so had she.
A hush settled over the war room, the kind that made even the walls seem to lean in and listen. The parchment map on the table, old and fraying at the edges, was littered with markers and paths. But none reached the hollow, mountain-shadowed region in the far west-where no chart dared to name.
Then the air shifted.
A translucent glyph shimmered faintly above the marked point, like a mirage summoned by Sorayael's faint mana.
The Grand Duke tensed, narrowing his eyes. "That... is not an ordinary magic."
She stepped closer, her golden gaze locked on the floating glyph. Her fingers moved above it in the air, tracing the ancient lines as if remembering something.
'This is from what I only remember.'
She drew a breath and spoke slowly, as though reciting from memory.
The room felt colder after the words left her mouth.
The Grand Duke was silent. For a moment, the only sound was the soft creak of aged wood settling.
Sorayael's brows furrowed. "Which means what's inside is more than just a relic. It's a boundary line-a test. Or a lock."
The Grand Duke's voice lowered. "And now the Emperor seeks to open it."
'does he really?'
Sorayael gave a slow nod. "He must've found a key. Or made one. But if he truly plans to summon two celestials, then this is where it begins. Soltice Grave isn't just a burial site... It's a forge of fate."
She looked up at him, her voice steady. "We leave at dawn."
The Grand Duke regarded her in silence for a beat.