-The NARRATOR'S POV-
Here We Go!
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The evening sun filtered gently into the prince's chambers, casting long, golden beams across the cold marble floor. Shadows danced lazily along the edges of the room, wrapping it in a warm yet solemn quietude.
On the bed, layered in dark velvet, Agnirasva stirred.
His breaths were shallow, labored, but no longer ragged. Pain still hummed beneath every nerve in his body, but it was familiar now—controlled. He shifted slowly, dragging his bruised limbs into a seated position. A dull ache throbbed through his back and chest, and yet... there was a calmness in his gaze as if his soul had finally returned to him.
He blinked once, staring ahead in a quiet daze.
The door creaked open.
Charvi stepped inside, her posture tense with uncertainty. Her eyes widened the moment they met his—alive, awake, breathing.
"You... woke up?" she said, stunned.
Agira offered her a faint smile and nodded.
"Thank you for taking care of me these past few days," he said, his voice hoarse but sincere. "I'll make sure to repay the favour—by finding your companions, as promised."
Charvi shook her head slowly. "No. It wasn't for repayment. It was the least I could do for what you went through... because of me." Her voice faltered, guilt etching every word. "Honestly, all I did was to ease my conscience. I hope you can forgive me for that."
He studied her for a moment—quiet, unreadable—then shrugged lightly, brushing the air with his fingers.
"That's alright. The pleasantries are done with, I suppose. So..." He shifted, trying to sit straighter. "Shall we move on to proper introductions?"
His smile grew, just a little.
"Greetings. I am Agnirasva Vaystriel, the second prince of Chirosa Dominion." His voice held a teasing edge. "And you are?"
Charvi hesitated for a moment, then stepped forward with a formal nod. "Charvi. From the Inner Hall of the Temple of Sanctity, Suralis Empire."
Their eyes locked—a silent acknowledgement of the gravity that lay between those words.
Before another breath could pass, the door opened once more.
Mevira Lenra entered with the same stormy presence she always carried. Her hands rested on her hips as she stared straight at Agira, unimpressed.
"You're awake," she said dryly. "Shame. I was looking forward to seeing you beaten into bed rest for a few more days."
She stalked over to his bedside and leaned forward with authority. "I told you not to go through with it. But you did it anyway. Satisfied now?"
Her voice rose. "The girl sat by your side for two whole weeks. Without food. Without proper rest. Because of your stubbornness!"
Agira winced—not from pain, but guilt. "If I'd taken any medicine beforehand, they would've known. You're too recognizable, Mev. I was protecting you."
"Well, I appreciate the gesture," she snapped. "But it was reckless."
Charvi, sensing the growing tension, stepped between them.
"It's alright now, isn't it?" she said gently.
Mevira clicked her tongue, folded her arms, and turned away in frustration.
Charvi turned to Agira again, her expression softening.
"I'll go back to my chambers now that you're awake," she said quietly. "I sent Kael to continue the search for my entourage. Once we find them, I'll be leaving for the temple."
Agira watched her for a beat. His expression softened, but he said nothing.
She bowed slightly and left the room, her footsteps fading down the hall.
Silence returned.
Mevira crossed the room and placed a fresh set of salves and tinctures on the table.
"You're not going to say anything to her?" she asked.
Agira didn't meet her gaze. "About what?"
Mevira sighed. "About everything, Agira."
"I don't want to discuss it," he murmured, pulling the blanket over his head with finality.
"Typical," Mevira muttered, then turned on her heel and left, leaving the room in silence once more.
A few moments passed.
Then came the faint echo of footsteps in the hall—fast, disorganized, unmistakable.
Kael burst into the chamber, looking winded and wild. His hair was tousled, his cloak uneven, and there was dirt on his sleeves.
"You're awake?" he blurted.
Agira didn't turn to face him. He stood at the window now, staring at the setting sun with a distant smile.
"My dear precious brother," he said with exaggerated drama. "Even in my unconscious state, I heard you crying in the chamber. There, of all places. The most echo-prone room in the entire wing."
He turned slowly, smirking. "Didn't you think I'd hear you? Honestly. How embarrassing."
Kael's face flushed. "I don't care," he said quickly. "If crying could've woken you up, I would've bawled like a baby. As long as you opened your eyes, I'd have thrown away every ounce of pride."
Agira raised a brow. "So you admit to being embarrassing."
"You're still not denying it worked," Kael countered with a grin.
Agira chuckled, then groaned, holding his ribs. "Alright, enough. I know what you're trying to do."
Kael shrugged innocently. "I didn't say anything."
The two stood there in a rare, comfortable quiet. The tension had lifted, just a bit. Outside, the sun dipped beneath the horizon, and twilight bathed the room in soft indigo light.
For a moment, everything was still.
Agira leaned on the window frame, his golden eyes reflecting the last light of day.
"... She remembered me," he said quietly with a small smile.
Kael tilted his head. "Huh?"
Agira didn't answer.
He just watched the stars beginning to appear, one by one.
"How is the Investigation for the entourage going?"
"I am searching for clues. Though I have not found them, I am close." Kael Informed.
"Hmm. You can try going for the northern borders. Our dear Uncle should not be ruled out."
Agira scorned. Kael was confused.
"You think He can do something like this? It needs a lot of courage. It's the Temple we are talking about." Kael mocked.
"Don't underestimate the opponent," Agira warned. "Search around the northern borders."
"Understood." Kael bowed.
The cold winds of the Chirosa borders howled like ancient beasts, biting into exposed flesh and cloaks alike.
Kael stood alone at the cliff's edge, staring into the distance where jagged mountains clawed at the sky. Snow fell in slow, deliberate flurries, layering the earth in a deceptively peaceful white.
He pulled his hood closer and inhaled sharply. The scent of blood still lingered beneath the ice.
He crouched low, fingers brushing the snow. Faint tracks, almost erased by wind and frost, marked the terrain—too organized to be wildlife, too shallow to be guards.
Someone passed through here recently.
He reached into his satchel and retrieved a small orb, pulsing faintly with lunar magic. As he whispered an incantation, the orb flickered and projected ghostly trails in the air—remnants of energy signatures from a few days past. Several outlines appeared.
Six... no, seven figures. Moving quickly. Tired. Injured. One was carried.
Kael's silver eyes narrowed.
"They made it farther than I thought," he muttered, rising to his feet.
He moved swiftly, silent as a shadow across the snow-blanketed terrain. Each movement was calculated, precise—trained. His werewolf instincts guided his balance, while his vampiric agility kept him almost airborne. But it was the magic inherited from his mother's bloodline—the Moon Sight—that revealed the story hidden in the landscape.
He followed the path west, past jagged rocks and collapsed ruins of what used to be an old Temple outpost—long abandoned after the collapse of the Southern Reformation Wars.
The crumbling pillars bore traces of old runes, half-buried beneath snow and moss. But as Kael entered the outer sanctum, he felt it: A pulsing residue of divine energy. Faint. Nearly gone. But recent.
Kael knelt again, placing both hands on the ground. His eyes shimmered with silver as he activated the spell again.
This time, the vision was stronger—he saw them, barely holding on.
A group of warriors dressed in Temple white, dragging one of their own. Then a flash. Screams. A flare of dark energy.
The vision shattered. Kael gasped, bracing himself against the icy ground. His heart raced—not from fear, but the familiar sensation of something foul nearby. This wasn't a rebel attack.
This was planned. He stood, scanning the crumbled arches again until something caught his eye—a strip of white cloth wedged between two stones, fluttering slightly in the wind. He tugged it free. A crest woven in gold thread shimmered briefly in the twilight: The sigil of the Temple of Sanctity.
He pocketed it, his expression darkening.
"They were here. And someone wanted to make sure no one found them."
Suddenly, a sharp whistle cut through the silence. Kael didn't hesitate.
He leapt backwards just in time as a blade slammed into the spot where he stood, cracking the ground beneath.
From the shadows emerged three figures—cloaked in black, faces masked, movements unnaturally fast.
Assassins. Not rebels. Not hunters. Professional silencers.
Kael didn't speak. He simply dropped his cloak and flexed his fingers.
His blood began to rise from his veins—thin tendrils like dark red blades floating mid-air, swirling and dancing around him in a deadly rhythm.
One of the assassins lunged. Kael sidestepped, the blood tendrils snapping like whips, slicing through the air with razor precision. He moved like the wind in a storm—unpredictable, wild, beautiful. The second assassin conjured a barrier, but Kael's blood slithered around it like serpents and pierced the man's side. He crumpled to the snow without a sound.
Only one remained now. Kael narrowed his eyes.
"Who sent you?"
The masked figure didn't answer—only raised both hands and summoned a storm of shadow energy. It twisted and turned like a beast, shrieking as it charged. Kael's eyes shimmered, silver light blooming from his core.
He raised one hand, and the moonlight above intensified, creating a spear of pure lunar energy. With a single motion, he threw it. Silence followed. The shadow exploded, the attacker thrown back into the stone ruins—unmoving.
Kael stood in the blood-specked snow, panting. Around him, the cold settled again.
He approached the bodies, searching quickly and efficiently. On the last one, he found a pendant—a broken seal inscribed with ancient glyphs. Not rebel. Not mercenary.
Temple blood magic. Corrupted. Stolen. He stared at it for a long time. Then, he whispered into the wind, the spell of mind-link reactivating.
"Agira. I found them. Or at least, where they were."
"...and?"
"They were taken. But not by rebels. Someone with inside knowledge. Possibly from the Temple."
A long silence followed across the link.
"Keep going. Don't come back yet. We need answers."
"And what should I tell her?"
Another pause. Then a slow reply:
"Tell her nothing yet. Just bring them home."
Kael looked up at the moonlit sky, jaw clenched.
The shadows were moving faster than they'd imagined. But so was he.
-To Be Continued-
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See you in the Comments.
-P.S. CONSTRUCTIVE ADVICE WOULD BE APPRECIATED. REFRAIN FROM SPREADING HATE.-