Chapter 26
Chapter twenty-six
King Ravenor
The King’s private alchemy lab was dimly lit by flickering torches mounted on the walls.
Vials and beakers bubbled across two long tables, strange ingredients simmering beneath Zaro’s hands.
Rusted chains hung from the walls, clinking with every movement, occasionally scraping against the stone.
The room bore scars of old stains and scratches, and the air was potent with the harsh scent of chemicals mingling with a hint of copper.
Zaro sat in a wooden chair between the tables, his head bowed over his notebook. Sweat beaded along his brow as he worked, the torchlight catching the precise movements of his fingers as they danced between vials and flame.
King Ravenor followed his every motion—each adjustment, each note scribbled with unnerving patience.
The potions hissed softly.
The King paced, his eyes now fixed on the Life Stones perched on a smaller table in the corner of the room.
His footsteps echoed on the stone floor, reverberating through the chamber as his robe flowed and twisted with each stride.
“You said we would be ready by now. The Stones are in our grasp yet we’re still one Mystic short of claiming them all.
What’s taking so long?” The King’s voice sharpened.
Zaro glanced up from his notebook. Something tightened in his expression—gone as quickly as it appeared. “Stormcallers are hard to find, My King. Rushing this process would be as foolish as trying to wield a blade without mastering its edge.”
King Ravenor scoffed, doing little to conceal his impatience. “I don’t need a lecture, Zaro. I need a Stormcaller before the entire realm collapses. How close are we?”
Zaro tilted his head, locking eyes with the King. His gaze was steady, but his shoulders were locked. “It would be quicker if we had the boy, the dark Flamekeeper.”
King Ravenor halted mid-stride. “Why is he necessary? He doesn’t wield the storm. We already found a Flamekeeper.”
A saccharine smile spread across Zaro’s face. “Because his blood is special. Unique. It would grant you more power than you could possibly imagine. He will make a stronger conduit. You wouldn’t need the storm.”
“I want all six.”
Zaro’s jaw tightened before quickly loosening. “As do I, my King, but then we may be waiting generations. We can proceed without it.”
The King scoffed. “Then we should kill the spares. They are little more than empty vessels anyway.”
Zaro didn’t flinch. “Once you become a Mystic, you will be able to control them as your conduits. They must remain alive, My King. It will please the gods. You’ve already angered them with the executions,” Zaro replied, his tone carrying an underlying warning.
King Ravenor curled his lip but managed to maintain his composure. “The executions never happened, Zaro. Just ask the scribes.”
A loud knock on the chamber door interrupted them.
“Enter,” the King bellowed, his voice echoing through the stone chamber.
A frail guard scurried in, his uniform rumpled, his hands trembling as he carried a piece of folded parchment.
“Shut the door, you fool!”
“Apologies, Your Majesty,” the guard mumbled, shutting the door and bowing deeply.
“Lower,” the King snapped.
The guard lowered himself until he was nearly folded in half.
The King smirked. “What is your purpose?”
The guard stood straight and handed the King the piece of parchment. “A raven, Your Majesty. From Aquamere.”
The King unfolded the parchment with deliberate hands, his focus fixed on the words on the page. A sinister smirk curled his lips as he read.
“What is it, My King?” Zaro asked.
“The dark Flamekeeper,” he said. “It won’t be long now.”