The throne room stood silent, its grand pillars stretching into shadows, the golden light of the torches flickering like anxious hearts. Mathew stood at the base of the dais, his breath heavy, his fingers twitching as if grasping for control. The emptiness of the hall echoed with the weight of failure.
He looked up toward the vaulted ceiling, his voice rising with bitter fury.
"Aura!" he shouted into the void. "Come out!"
His cry reverberated across stone and silence—and then, laughter.
Like silk soaked in wildfire, the voice rippled around him. A shimmer of smoke bloomed in mid-air, curling like a serpent until it took shape. Aura emerged from the mist, barefoot and breathtaking, her flowing crimson gown fluttering with unseen wind, eyes glowing with otherworldly amusement.
She stood at the edge of his vision, impossibly radiant, unnervingly calm.
"Such desperation already?" she teased, her voice lilting, playful. "And here I thought you'd last longer before calling for me again."
Mathew narrowed his eyes, jaw clenched. "You knew I'd fail."
"Of course," she purred, pacing slowly around him like a predator circling prey. "I told you the forest would swallow your men. But your pride—mm, it's beautiful, really. Like watching a wounded lion roaring at the storm."
Mathew's fists shook at his side. "I don't have time for riddles, goddess. I want answers."
Aura stopped. Her smile faded, just a touch, and something darker shimmered beneath her gaze.
"Then ask," she said. "Ask me for help. Beg, if you must."
That pushed him. The great King Mathew—slayer of traitors, ruler of Aeloria—felt heat burn across his chest. His failure now stood not only in bloodshed and defeat, but in the need to bow to something greater.
And yet… something inside him shifted.
"Fine," he said through gritted teeth, dropping his gaze in surrender. "Help me."
Aura tilted her head. "That wasn't so hard, was it?" She stepped forward, her voice low and near his ear. "And now, the truth."
She held out her hand, and an orb of violet fire appeared in her palm, swirling with images—blurry at first, then sharper. A woman with golden hair standing in moonlight. A belly round with life. Luther at her side. Arya nearby. And then, the unborn child, wrapped in a faint glow, radiating power.
"You thought the boy with them, the mage child… what was his name? Kael?" Aura scoffed softly. "Charming, yes. Talented, certainly. But not the threat. Not the heir."
Mathew's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"
"The power you sensed, the force that even your paladins couldn't name—it's inside her. Your brother's seed."
He reeled. "A child?"
Aura smiled. "Not just a child. A storm born of love and destiny. A god-king reborn into flesh."
Mathew staggered back, as if the words had struck him. Rage twisted his features.
"He left behind a son?" His voice cracked. "A son who will take everything from me?"
"If he survives," Aura said smoothly. "He will rise. Stronger than any before him. When he turns twenty, he'll return. He will claim Aeloria. And he will burn your name from history."
Mathew's heart thundered in his chest. Visions of fire, battle, and a crown stolen from his brow consumed his mind. He would not allow it. He could not.
Aura stepped closer, her tone soft, dangerous.
"Now tell me, my king…" she whispered, her smile returning like a blade sliding from silk.
"Do you want my help?"
She didn't wait for an answer. She just laughed—cold and beautiful—as her form shimmered into mist once again.
And Mathew stood in silence, heart pounding, haunted now not just by ghosts of the past… but by the storm growing in the womb of a sorceress.