"Even the moon does not ask who reflects its light. It only shines for the night that needs it. So be the light for this land, and let blood be the old whisper of history."
"Polophar wants His Highness the Crown Prince as a tribute for the ceasefire—an exchange for the villagers," Tavon finally revealed the heart of the matter.
Night had swallowed the last hues of twilight, and even the stars seemed reluctant to appear. Inside the main war tent, the dim lantern light swung gently, swayed by the wind sneaking in through the seams of the canvas. The scent of burning resin mingled with the heavy tension that had once again thickened the air.
I sat at the edge of the round table. To my right, Zura held my hand tightly beneath the table while cradling Leo in her lap. Somehow, the two had grown close, but then again, Zura had always been fond of children. Aarav sat across from us, arms crossed, his face stiff with disbelief. Finnian sat hunched, his hands clasped tightly on his knees as if to still the tremble that lingered in his limbs.
Velmarth and Everett kept their distance, seated apart without looking at one another. The village elder stood restlessly near the entrance as if ready to flee but held by invisible chains. Dante lounged with his legs propped on another chair, still toying with his small mirror. Even Thalgar, the usually composed old veteran, now stared at the table, jaw clenched and eyes hard.
And Tavon stood.
It was unlikely for him to stand during a meeting, but perhaps this time, he needed something firmer than his own thoughts to keep him grounded.
The response was immediate.
"What?!" Thalgar slammed the table. "This is an insult!"
The air inside the tent grew thick, almost suffocating. I inhaled deeply, but the weight in my chest didn't lift.
I turned my face away, knowing all too well why that creature wanted me.
"Why would he want the little prince?" Dante spoke, eyes on me. "Sure, he's the heir and all, important to the Empire—but he's only useful for that." He raised an eyebrow. "No offense, little prince."
Zura tensed beside me, but I merely shook my head slowly. My tongue felt heavy. The fear I had kept buried for so long now lodged itself in my throat. I knew why Polophar wanted me. But I couldn't say it. Not yet. Not even Tavon knew—not entirely.
"Are we really going to just hand him over?!" one of the Beastkin nobles growled in outrage. "We can't give up the Crown Prince like that!"
"Enough!" Finnian's voice cut through the tension, louder than usual. His face was flushed, his chest heaving. "You weren't there! You didn't see..."
Every eye turned to him.
Zura stiffened beside me, her grip tightening. I gave a slight nod, silently asking him to go on.
Finnian looked down, his voice shaking but clear. "They showed us... something. Not human. Not demon. Not a monster like the ones we've fought before. It was like... something ripped from the worst dreams this world ever had. The creature breathed like a beast, but every step it took... swallowed light."
He paused, then continued, "They said... it only obeys blood-borne by the Crown Prince. They want... a link. A key. Someone who can bind the creature."
All heads turned.
Finnian stared into the space ahead of him, unblinking. "It didn't speak. Didn't move like the others. It was like... mist. It dragged sound with it. It drained courage. But when the name Elenio was spoken—it trembled. It turned. It... bowed."
Thalgar inhaled sharply. "Are you certain, Prince Finnian?"
"He sniffed the air," Finnian continued, his voice trembling. "Like an animal. But it's not... not a beast. Not a demon. Not—anything we've ever seen before. Everett saw it, too."
Everett, who had remained silent until now, clenched his fists on his lap. His voice was rough when he finally spoke. "I thought I'd seen every shape death could take... but this was different. It felt like standing before a void. And that void—it stared back."
Velmarth abruptly rose to his feet. The noble, who was usually so proud, so sure of his own dignity—was pale now. His eyes were wide, like a man who had just glimpsed hell.
"We... we could just give him up," he stammered. "Listen—we're not just talking about Polophar anymore! We're talking about that creature. If we give them the Crown Prince... the hostages will be returned. One life... for hundreds."
The room fell into a silence so sharp it rang in the ears.
Zura started to rise, but I touched her arm, silently asking her to sit back down. She obeyed, lowering her gaze though her eyes still burned with fury.
Tavon stared at Velmarth like the man had uttered the vilest blasphemy. But he didn't speak. He didn't have to. His gaze alone was a blade.
"I'm... I'm only presenting the possibility," Velmarth said after a shaky breath, his tone calmer but still unsteady. "Crown Prince Elenio, please don't misunderstand. There is no disrespect intended. But this... this isn't about you. It's about that creature. And the lives of our people."
I looked straight at him, then let my gaze sweep across those gathered around the table. Everett, silent and shaking. Dante hid his fear behind a crooked smile. Aarav, still and unreadable. Finnian, unable to meet my eyes. And Zura... still holding my hand under the table—warm, trembling.
"It's still strange," Dante said, placing his small mirror on the table, his tone lazy but his eyes sharp. "Why the little prince? If it's royal blood they want, why not Finnian instead?"
"You wonder why?" I murmured.
Before anyone could respond, the air shifted.
Cold.
Damp.
I knew that presence.
I stiffened instantly.
The steps were slow. Silent. But I felt them.
And without warning, from behind the tightly sealed entrance, came a figure I hadn't seen in a long time—a figure that had no reason to be here.
The great wolf walked in with calm, deliberate steps. Twigs grew from his shoulders, petals swayed gently with his every movement, and his eyes... those eyes hadn't changed. That deep, piercing green that felt like it could strip my thoughts bare.
"Kaeltharion..." I breathed, barely a whisper.
Everyone froze. Even Tavon looked disoriented, his hand twitching toward his sword—but he didn't draw.
Kaeltharion stopped in the center of the room and looked directly at Dante.
"Because that creature," a voice echoed inside my mind—soft, deep, and impossible to ignore, "is not Abyssian. It does not answer to the bloodline of your empire."
Stillness. No one dared speak.
Then his eyes—like ancient forest lakes—turned to me.
And I knew. I understood what he meant.
"It bows to the blood you carry, my old friend," the Forest Spirit stepped closer to me. "The blood of those who once stood as equals to us."
My breath caught.
Please... don't.
I understood Kaeltharion's meaning. This wasn't about imperial blood.
Not about Midgaria's lineage.
It was about something else.
Something no one was supposed to know.
Elven blood.
Blood from a lineage that must never mix with that of the Emperor. Humans believed themselves to be the superior race. Thus, every imperial heir was to be born of pure human blood—descendants of the first Emperor alone.
But within my veins flowed three bloodlines that were never meant to intertwine. And no one—no one—must ever know.
I tensed, fingers reaching for the five-leaf clover pendant resting around my neck—a seal meant to hide my true heritage.
Kaeltharion surely knew. He knew I carried Elven blood—noble blood at that, descended directly from Queen Rukasha, sovereign of the Elves.
But he said nothing directly. His words were always veiled, wrapped in layers of meaning, riddles never meant to be solved.
And still... my body burned cold.
My hand, still gripping the pendant, dropped beneath the table to clutch tightly at my robe. My heart pounded so fiercely I was certain Zura could feel it through our clasped hands.
"The blood that binds the creature..." Kaeltharion's voice echoed in my mind again, soft and ancient, "...belongs to those who once became one with us, under the Old Pact."
I could feel their eyes beginning to turn toward me. Zura. Tavon. Even Everett.
Dante glanced my way, a flicker of realization knitting his brow. He was piecing it together.
No.
Don't.
Don't think it.
Don't ask.
I forced a small smile—a well-practiced royal gesture I'd worn countless times within the palace walls. But now, it stung my lips like thorns.
"I believe we've played long enough with symbols and riddles," Tavon finally said, his voice low, edged, yet composed.
He stepped forward, positioning himself between Kaeltharion and where I sat. "His Highness the Crown Prince is not a bargaining chip to be tossed onto a negotiation table. We will not hand him over—no matter who demands it."
The air thickened with tension once more.
Tavon swept his gaze around the room, firm and unyielding. But I knew this wasn't just a declaration. It was misdirection.
And I had to follow his lead.
I drew in a slow breath, steadying the storm still pounding in my chest, and rose to my feet.
"Besides..." I said, injecting as much calm as I could into my voice, though my tongue felt heavy as stone, "...who said I would surrender myself?"
Their eyes fixed on me.
"I've already prepared something. A plan to rescue the hostages. I had it in mind from the beginning."
I turned to Kaeltharion. He remained where he was, serene and unmoving, the blossoms on his shoulders quivering as if touched by an unseen wind.
"Kaeltharion..." I spoke carefully. "I know this may sound presumptuous, but... I wish to ask for your help again."
Silence.
A breeze whispered through the tent, stirring the already weighted air.
Kaeltharion shook his head. Slowly. Firmly.
"No."
That single word shattered something inside me.
"If two old friends find themselves on opposite sides of a war," he said, voice calm yet impossibly distant, "which one should I stand with?"
My brow furrowed. What did he mean? Two old friends?
He had always called me that—old friend. But now... who was the other?
My lips parted, a question forming—but it was cut off by Finnian's voice.
"But you helped us during the goblin assault," Finnian's voice rang sharply from across the table. He stood, his tone rising with barely concealed anger. "You even bent the forest to save the soldiers, luring them away! Why can't you do the same now?!"
Kaeltharion turned to him. His emerald eyes flared—not with peace this time, but with a warning.
"Watch your tongue, human," he said, voice low and dangerous. "What I did then was a favor repaid. A debt to an old friend."
The air around him thickened, his forest aura rising like the dense morning fog—ready to smother anyone who dared speak too boldly.
"You and your kind measure everything in terms of war and power. But I... I am something older. Older than your empires. Older than the histories you worship."
"You think I would aid the greediest of creatures?" His voice rumbled like wind through ancient trees. "If not for Elenio, I would have let your corpses rot into mulch for my forest."
Finnian stiffened but said nothing.
I sighed quietly.
Kaeltharion... was as unpredictable as ever.
"But I understand," I finally said. "Even without your help, I will save them."
My gaze met those old green eyes—deep as a bottomless forest lake. I stood, stepping forward, and rested my forehead against his.
Kaeltharion's eyes fluttered closed as our skin touched.
"Thank you for saving me back then," I whispered. "Forgive me for taking so long to say it."
I felt the cool texture of bark and the faint scent of wild leaves from his body. With my forehead pressed to him, the world seemed to fall silent. No arguments. No council. No weight of royal blood chasing me like a shadow. Just me and this ancient forest spirit—two old friends in forms that no longer recognized each other.
Kaeltharion kept his eyes shut.
Whether it was real or imagined, I felt the air grow warmer. Softer.
"No need to thank me," he murmured. "If you weren't you, I wouldn't have come to help."
I slowly lifted my head. There was mist in his gaze—something deeper than memory. Something I didn't yet understand.
"But what did you mean by 'two old friends'?" I asked softly, nearly a breath.
He looked at me for a long moment. Then, with a single slow blink, he pulled back. The space between us reappeared—an invisible wall I couldn't cross.
"It's time that must answer you, not me."
His words pierced deeper than I expected. But before I could respond, he turned his gaze across the room again. His posture shifted—wise, distant, untouchable.
"I will return to Kael'thar now," the forest spirit said, turning toward the tent's exit. "If you survive... stop by again. I'll make you the forest juice you used to like."
He began walking, slow and silent, toward the exit.
"Kaeltharion," I called after him once more.
He turned slightly, not quite facing me.
"If I'm... not entirely human. If my blood is impure—too many legacies entangled in one body... am I still worthy of fighting for this land?"
Kaeltharion didn't answer right away. He bowed his head as if listening to something no one else could hear.
"That question belongs to the old man who walks beside you—the one who calls himself Emperor." He turned back to the entrance. "A king once told me: People worship pure blood because it's easy. No questions asked. But the land... the land doesn't care who your father is. It only asks: Will you stand when all else falls?"
My brow furrowed. "What does that mean?"
"I don't know," he replied, almost playfully. "Just an old king's saying, I remember."
Then he walked away, back into the light and mist.
No footsteps. No rustling leaves. Only the faint scent of damp earth lingered in his wake.
I looked down. My fingers still trembled—but inside, a spark had ignited. Small but steady.
"Your Highness," Tavon approached, his tone once again formal. "We still need to finalize the rescue strategy. The prisoners may not have much time left."
I nodded slowly. "Bring the maps. And find Everett. I want every underground tunnel between Valedor and the eastern border on this table in an hour."
"Yes, Your Highness."
I turned toward Finnian, who still looked unsettled but said nothing.
"You'll come with me and Aarav on the infiltration team," I said.
Finnian blinked in surprise. "Why me?"
"You've been inside the enemy's stronghold," I replied. "You know more than the rest of us. And in case we can't get everyone out in time, I need the sacred Mana from your Arcana Codex to shield the civilians until we can return for them."
He didn't respond, but I saw it in his eyes—he wouldn't turn down a chance to fight. To prove himself.
Polophar.
Will everything unravel there?
All that I've hidden for fifteen years... will it finally come to light?
And then I felt it.
A pair of eyes watching me.
The kind of stare that raised the hairs on your neck—cold, unreadable.
I turned, heart thudding.
But the eyes... were gone.