Third point of view
Sebastian's eyes locked onto Azarael as she stood at the edge of the ceremonial pool, her silver hair shimmering like starlight under the obsidian moon. The pool glowed faintly from within—liquid magic, raw and ancient, reserved only for the bloodline of kings. The ritual of awakening. Forbidden unless performed under the right celestial alignment.
Tonight was not that night.
"Azarael," Sebastian's voice was low, warning. "You're not ready."
"I'm done waiting to be ready," she whispered, stepping into the glowing waters.
The chamber pulsed. The obsidian runes etched along the walls glowed faintly, then flared violently as her foot sank deeper into the enchanted pool. Sebastian's other wives—Lyria, Nyx, and Irelia—stood silently behind him, the tension radiating off them in waves. They knew the power Azarael was tampering with. She wasn't born of this realm. She hadn't been trained to contain what slumbered inside her.
Lyria stepped forward, her voice laced with concern. "Sebastian, stop her. That magic... it doesn't belong to her bloodline."
"She's already started the Rite," Nyx hissed, her claws twitching at her sides. "To interrupt it now could destroy her."
Irelia remained silent, her golden eyes scanning the arcane symbols flaring around the pool, calculating, worried.
Azarael sank to her knees in the water. Magic surged around her, light lancing up her spine like bolts of silver lightning. Her mouth opened in a soundless scream.
Sebastian didn't wait. He crossed the chamber in a single, furious stride and knelt at the edge of the pool. "Azarael, listen to me!" His voice cracked with command, but her eyes had already turned white.
He reached in—magic lashing his arm—and yanked her body from the pool. The liquid hissed, shrieking as it rejected the contact, and steam rose where his bare skin touched hers. The magic bit into him like fangs.
Azarael collapsed in his arms, shaking. Her skin burned cold and hot all at once, and her breathing came in shallow, panicked gasps. "I—I saw something," she stammered.
"What did you see?" he demanded.
She clutched his chest, her nails digging into his flesh. "A throne made of bones… wings of shadow behind it… and a voice—your voice—whispering my name. But it wasn't you."
Sebastian went still.
That voice.
He'd heard it once, long ago—in the Temple of Forsaken Kings, during his first awakening. A voice promising power, but only through the sacrifice of everything he loved. He had turned away. But the temptation had never fully left him.
"What else did it say?" he asked.
Azarael's lips trembled. "It said… I belong to the other king."
The chamber dropped into silence.
"No one speaks of the Other King," Nyx muttered, stepping forward. "The mirror of Sebastian, the twisted reflection buried beyond the Gate of Shadows. Azarael... you've opened something none of us can close."
Lyria turned to Sebastian. "You have to bind her. Tonight. Before the moon leaves the Veil."
"No," Irelia snapped. "He binds her, she'll never be free of this voice. It'll anchor it inside her. She needs purification, not possession."
Sebastian looked down at Azarael. Her pale body trembled against his, soaked in forbidden magic, her heart still racing.
But he could feel it now, too—the mark on her soul. Someone, or something, had laid claim to her. If he didn't act soon, he might lose her to a power even he didn't fully understand.
He lifted her into his arms. "We leave the capital. Tonight."
"Where will we go?" Lyria asked.
"To the forgotten temple," he said grimly. "Where I first touched the crown of this realm. Where the Gate of Shadows still sleeps beneath the ruins. If that voice marked her there... I'll end it there."
They rode out under moonlight cloaked in illusions, the obsidian spires of the palace vanishing behind them like a fading dream. Azarael's body remained limp, but her eyes flickered with strange fire. Sometimes she murmured in her sleep—words in an ancient tongue only Irelia could half-translate.
"They're not just dreams," Irelia said during the third night. "She's being taught."
"Taught what?" Sebastian asked.
"How to unmake the veil between our world and his."
On the fourth night, they reached the broken stone circle—the ruined temple from Sebastian's past. The land was still scarred with runes older than time, humming with dangerous memories.
Sebastian carried Azarael inside.
As he placed her on the cold stone slab where he had once nearly sacrificed himself, her eyes opened.
Only they were no longer hers.
"You shouldn't have come back here, King," a voice said from her lips—too deep, too amused. It rumbled like thunder beneath the earth. "This place remembers you... and so do I."
Sebastian's blood froze.
"You're not welcome in her body," he growled. "Get out."
"Oh, but she called to me," the voice whispered. "She touched my pool, tasted my truth. And she is mine now."
Azarael's back arched. Her mouth opened in a voiceless scream. And suddenly—
She vanished.
Just disappeared. In a gust of black wind and violet fire.
"No!" Sebastian shouted, lunging forward.
The slab was empty. The shadows around them twisted, dancing mockingly. Nyx howled, her eyes burning with fury.
"She's gone beyond the veil," Irelia whispered in horror.
Lyria turned to Sebastian, pale and breathless. "If she crossed the threshold, then—"
"She's in the Mirror Realm," he finished grimly. "The realm of the Other King."
Sebastian dropped to one knee, fingers curled into fists. "Then I'll break the mirror."
"But to do that—" Nyx began.
"I'll need to go through it," he said, rising to his feet, his voice turning cold. "I swore I'd protect them all. No matter the cost."
As thunder cracked over the shattered sky and the temple trembled, Sebastian turned toward the Gate of Shadows—the passage to the Mirror Realm.
The realm that had taken Azarael.
He stepped toward it—
And the gate opened.
A figure emerged from within.
Tall.
Cloaked in silver.
Wearing Sebastian's face.
But with eyes as red as blood and a crown made of thorns and bone.
"Welcome back, brother," the Other King said, smiling.