"P-Princess Lumielle!" Hynes roared, his voice cracking with horror.
Stynx's eyes were wide with shock, his pupils quivering.
On the rooftop of a tavern miles away, Daisuke's heart sank to his toes, his eyes dilating as a sudden explosion lit up the distant skyline. He didn't stop to think. In the next instant, he shot forward like a bolt loosed from a crossbow.
25 Minutes Earlier.
The throne room was drowned in silence, cloaked in shadows so thick they seemed to breathe. The only light was that of the moon. It spilled in through the arched windows, its glow painting silver streaks across the marble floor and red carpets.
A woman knelt at the base of the dais, her cloak pooling around her like black ink. Her head remained bowed, spine rigid, breath still.
Upon the throne sat a man shrouded in darkness, his form barely visible save for the glint of a ring on his finger and the faint outline of his face. His chin rested upon a closed fist, his posture relaxed—yet there was nothing casual in his presence. He watched her with the patience of a blade before the killing stroke.
He spoke few words. A task. A promise. If she succeeded without flaw, the title of Archmage would be hers. Along with the keys to the Magic Tower.
The woman did not lift her head, but her lips slowly curved into a smile, cold and serpentine. "I am honored," she murmured, voice low and careful. "And deeply grateful for the opportunity."
The moonlight gleamed against her cheekbones as she tilted her head ever so slightly, that smile sharpening like a knife unsheathed.
"I'll see it done."
3 Minutes Before the Blast.
The Crownspire's lobby stood eerily quiet. Lumielle sat with her back straight, legs crossed, her expression composed but distant. Lyndoria was beside her, kneeling on a velvet cushion with a tray of untouched tea between them. Neither said a word. There was little point—every corner of the room was watched.
Six guards stood posted in tight formation. Four flanked the stairway entrance while two lingered near the columns, their eyes fixed on the pair with silent scrutiny. It was house arrest disguised in civility. The royal décor couldn't mask the bars.
Under the center table, hidden by a drape of embroidered silk, Zephyr lay sprawled, his snowy tail twitching in boredom. Between both paws, the pup nudged an apple back and forth across the floor, his nose wrinkled in distaste. But, no matter how much he willed it, the apple wouldn't miraculously transform into a tender piece of barbecue, not even a bone.
It remained a fruit.
He gave a small huff and was about to roll onto his back when—
His fur bristled.
His pupils shrank.
Something wrong was coming.
The scent of ruin. The taste of bloodlust. It struck like lightning. He didn't think or delay. A sharp, frantic bark shattered the stillness.
Lyndoria's head jerked around, her face paling as her eyes met Zephyr's. "Princess—!"
The canine lunged out from beneath the table, clamped his teeth around Lumielle's sleeve, and made a break toward the window.
"Zephyr?! What are—?!"
CRASHH!
Glass shattered into a thousand shards as the pup hurled them both through the window. The sudden blast of cold night air ripped through Lumielle's hair as they plummeted downward. Lyndoria didn't pause—didn't think. She was already diving after them.
The guards snapped to action.
"After them! They're escaping—!"
But then the ground shook.
The air shifted.
And the temperature soared, then—
BOOOOOOOOOM!
An earth-shattering explosion ripped through the topmost floor. The sky lit up with fire, a tidal wave of crimson flame devouring stone and wood. Screams barely had time to form before the firestorm surged through the corridor, vaporizing the guards where they stood. Armor melted like wax. Bones turned to ash.
Present Time:
Far below, mid-fall, Lumielle clung to Zephyr while Lyndoria caught her by the arm. Then she reached into a strapped pouch on her thigh and retrieved a makeshift grappling hook. She launched it toward a crevice in the stone, the cord stretching taut just in time.
Whip—SLAM!
The momentum flung the trio inward. They crashed through a lower window, rolling across the ground of the middle floors. Breathless. Alive.
Several meters above the chaos, a silhouette stood bathed in flickering hues. It was a woman. Her cloak fluttered in the heated wind as she stood upon a glowing screen of mana as translucent as glass. Her eyes shimmered with glee as she watched the flames dance across the night.
"So beautiful," she murmured, voice smooth as velvet and laced with venom. "Nothing stirs the soul quite like destruction."
—Elyndra Everhart: Captain of Lunarel's Court Mages.
***
GONG. GONG. GONG.
The shrill toll of alarm bells pierced the night as chaos erupted across the palace grounds. Crimson embers bled into the sky, painting the darkness with firelight and ruin. From every corridor and corner, soldiers spilled out, weapons half-drawn, eyes wide with disbelief.
"Get the court mages! NOW!"
"Water! Bring buckets—get the enchanted barrels from the south wing!"
The shouts came from all directions, overlapping, frantic. Some men were dragging others from sleep, hauling half-dressed soldiers from their bunks with panic in their eyes. The barracks were in uproar.
Hynes's eyes quivered in horror as he stared up at the hellish flames. Instead of finishing off the bloodied and gasping traitor, he sheathed his sword and darted toward the tower.
"PRINCESS!!"
His voice tore through the screams and alarms as he pushed past the surging guards, ignoring their protests, ignoring everything but the fire consuming the sky.
***
Manalight illuminated the anxious faces of noblemen, military officers, and royal courtiers who had gathered for an emergency meeting. Tension hung thick in the air like a storm waiting to break.
Suddenly, the silence fractured.
"There's been an explosion at the Crownspire Tower!" a man blurted out from the far end of the table.
Gasps rippled across the room like a sudden gale.
"What in god's name is happening?" a noblewoman cried. "Is Princess Lumielle safe? And Lord Stynx?"
Grand Chancellor Cassius rose from his seat, his face unreadable. "The court mages have already been summoned. They're working to suppress the flames. It's only a matter of time before the fire is contained." He paused grimly. "As for Her Highness and Stynx… we do not yet know their fate."
An eerie hush descended. The air felt too heavy to breathe. Then a knock echoed through the chamber.
One of the guards opened the door just enough for a messenger to slip in, sweat-slick and breathless. He crossed the room quickly and handed a sealed note to Cassius who read it with narrowed eyes.
"…Stynx has been located in the inner ward," the chancellor announced. "He sustained injuries, but none are life-threatening."
"And the princess?" came another voice from the table. "Is there any word of her?"
Before Cassius could respond, the chamber doors were thrown open again, this time by Vaerythos, his cloak billowing behind him like smoke. His voice rang through the chamber with fevered urgency.
"To hell with the princess for now," he snapped. "Something far worse has happened."
Heads turned. Silence swallowed the room.
"The king is dead."
The words detonated like a second explosion. Chairs scraped, hands flew to mouths, eyes widened in disbelief.
Prince Reneal surged to his feet, his voice unstable. "What did you say?"
Vaerythos looked him straight in the eye. "His Majesty was found in his chambers… burned alive."
"No," someone whispered.
"How could this be?" another uttered.
"He… didn't succumb to his illness, but was killed?" another asked, almost pleading.
"If only," Vaerythos murmured. "No. This was no peaceful passing. It was a premeditated murder."
All light seemed to drain from the room. Faces paled.
Reneal stood motionless, fists clenched at his sides. "Who?" he demanded. "Who would dare?"
Vaerythos turned, eyes narrowed into slits, his voice trembling with fury. "The princess."
Whispers broke into gasps.
"The fire at Crownspire was no accident," he continued. "It was a diversion—to secure her escape. She arranged the king's assassination and vanished into the chaos."
"That is a lie!" Reneal roared, slamming his fist onto the table. "My sister would never—she couldn't—"
"Her Highness loved the king dearly," Lucien defended, rising beside him. "She was the only one stubbornly trying to be by his side while he was ill."
"That's true," added Tiberian. "This accusation is madness. What would be her motive for doing this?"
"Then where is she?" Varrick challenged from across the table. "She disappears the moment the king dies and Stynx gets injured? And let's not pretend she hasn't been… unstable."
"You speak of her as if she were insane," said Lucien sharply.
"She is," Varrick snapped. "Ever since His Majesty's health began to decline, she's grown erratic—deranged even. This wasn't grief. This was collapse. And now—this."
"A psychotic break," someone agreed.
Several others exchanged quiet, uneasy glances. Whispers turned to mutters. The air shifted. Not one voice rose to suggest Lumielle might have been kidnapped, or caught in the blast. Not one person considered she might be hurt—or dead.
The conclusion was already drawn. The narrative had taken root.
"She's gone mad," someone murmured.
"Delusional."
"She's a danger to the realm."
"Your silence is a betrayal," Reneal snapped, looking around the room, heartbroken by those who kept their lips sealed. Then he turned to the serpents. "How can you all stand there and twist the truth so easily?"
"I'm afraid there's more," came a slow voice from the end of the table. Sylas stood, his eyes unreadable. "Word has reached us from the Zepharion Church. Father Alvian's body was found in a local tavern. Tortured and then killed."
A noblewoman clutched her chest. "But I thought he died in the dungeon?"
"Witnesses believe he was killed by none other than Princess Lumielle and her aides," Sylas continued, "…in retaliation for the death of your servant, Prince Reneal."
"That's ridiculous!" Reneal barked. "Why would she stoop to such petty vengeance?"
Varrick cleared his throat, his voice grave. "I've also received word that Lord Ignatius was killed moments ago in his own manor. He was… likely tortured as well."
A wave of horror passed through the room.
"Do we suspect… the princess as well?" someone asked hesitantly.
"Ignatius was outspoken," Varrick reminded them. "He openly opposed her claim to the throne."
"Or," Vaerythos said with quiet menace, "he was silenced… by the Absolution Guild."
Gasps erupted.
"Gods have mercy," someone whispered.
"They could be among us now," Vaerythos went on. "She's been blackmailing nobles who opposed her ascension—feeding their names to the Absolution Guild so they'd be branded traitors and executed under false pretenses. This was her plan. Remove every obstacle in her path. She killed the king to crown herself."
"Enough!" Reneal roared. "You speak of her as if she were some kind of monster!"
"Because that is exactly what she is," Vaerythos countered coldly. "And she is now wanted for high treason."
Cassius stepped forward. "We must ensure the safety of Prince Reneal—and Stynx. Increase their security. Immediately."
There were nods of agreement across the chamber.
Reneal could hardly breathe. The walls felt like they were closing in all around him. He looked around, searching for sanity in a sea of serpents. "You really believe she'd make an attempt on both our lives?"
"Whether she's alive or dead is no longer relevant," Vaerythos declared. "From this moment on, she is to be eliminated on sight."
"That's too rash," Tiberian argued, standing once more. "Princess Lumielle is still a member of the royal family. She deserves a trial—at the very least!"
"I agree," said Lucien. "We are not barbarians. A proper investigation is required. Due process."
Vaerythos's tone turned venomous. "We are in a state of emergency. This is not the time for mercy. We must steel our hearts and move swiftly. The king is dead. If we do not crown a new ruler at once, the people will lose faith, and our enemies will strike."
"I agree," Cassius said gravely. "It grieves me to admit, but with the king no longer among us, the responsibility to uphold his legacy now rests on my shoulders. I take no pleasure in turning my blade toward a member of the royal family," he added, his gaze shifting to Reneal, "…toward your dear younger sister.
But His Majesty always placed the people's safety and happiness above all else. As his Grand Chancellor, I must honor that conviction. Princess Lumielle will be granted a fair trial—but if she dares resist, she will be cut down without hesitation."
Vaerythos grinned.
The chamber fell into a chilling silence.
While the smiling faces of the power-hungry jackals gleamed in manalight, those loyal to Lumielle, Reneal, and the late king ground their teeth in silence, hearts heavy with dread.
The trap had been set.
And the noose had found its neck.