The palace was too quiet.
Its marble halls stretched like a dream made of silence and mirrored walls. Every step echoed louder than it should have. Cael and Veylan followed the handmaiden in silence, cloaked in velvet robes they hadn't asked for. Her feet didn't make a sound. Her eyes never met theirs.
"This place feels scripted," Cael whispered. "Like every step we take is already written."
"They've been expecting us longer than we've been here," Veylan muttered. "This isn't hospitality. It's choreography."
They passed through twin gates carved with constellations, entering a massive atrium bathed in soft silver light. At the center stood a crystal tree—tall as a tower, frozen in bloom, its glass branches humming faintly. The air around it shimmered like heat, though the room was cold.
Princess Diana stood beneath its glow, arms clasped behind her back. Her gown trailed behind her like spilled ink on polished stone.
"Does it speak to you?" she asked without turning.
Veylan's eyes narrowed. "What is it?"
"A remnant," she said, stepping forward. "The last breath of the Everflame. It bloomed once for the gods. Before they fell."
He approached slowly. "Fell? Or were chained?"
She smiled. "A poet's distinction."
Cael moved closer, his boots scraping the floor. "This tree… it's dead."
"No," Diana said. "It's waiting."
A pulse of light passed through the crystal bark. Just once.
A heartbeat.
Diana turned, her eyes resting on Cael. "You're close to remembering."
"Remembering what?" Cael asked.
"Who you were," she said. "And what you were built to do."
Veylan stepped between them, his voice low. "He's not your pawn."
"You think I'm playing?" Her voice was soft, but it cut like a blade. "I've seen kingdoms crumble under men who thought they were beyond influence. But even gods kneel when their purpose is revealed."
Cael shook his head. "We don't kneel."
"No," she whispered, walking past him. "But you're already bending."
She raised a hand toward the tree.
A sudden burst of light erupted—filling the room with impossible visions.
Flashes of war between winged titans. Worlds bleeding stars. A woman cloaked in fire, her scream severing galaxies. Chains forged from time. A sword falling endlessly through a black sky.
Cael cried out, stumbling back. His hands clutched his head as the visions surged like a storm behind his eyes.
Veylan reached for him. "Cael—!"
And then the light faded.
The tree dimmed.
Cael staggered, breathing heavily.
"What… what was that?" he gasped.
"Your inheritance," Diana said gently. "A piece of it."
Cael didn't answer. He just stared at the crystal branches, eyes wide, chest heaving.
Diana's expression didn't change. "The palace is yours. Stay as long as you wish. But if you look for truth…"
She turned her back to them.
"…be ready to lose your balance."
---
Veylan didn't sleep that night.
He wandered the palace corridors like a shadow, tracing the strange architecture—doors that led to places they shouldn't, stairs that circled endlessly before returning to where they began. Servants bowed but said nothing. Guards never blinked.
He passed a long hallway lit with moonlight. At the end stood a door with no handle, no carvings, no guards.
It opened when he touched it.
Inside was a small chamber. Empty, except for a mirror.
But the mirror didn't reflect the room. Or him.
It showed something else entirely.
A winged woman suspended in firelight. Chains around her wrists. Her eyes burned like galaxies, mouth open in a silent scream.
Then she looked straight at him.
"Veylan…"
He stumbled back, slamming the door. His heart thundered in his chest.
He wasn't imagining this.
There was someone here.
Someone forgotten.
---
Elsewhere in the palace, Cael stood on a moonlit balcony, staring at the stars. The same stars that once meant freedom. Escape. Purpose.
Now they felt distant. Cold.
A golden goblet rested in his hand. He didn't remember picking it up. The wine inside tasted sweet. Too sweet.
Behind him, he heard the soft sweep of fabric.
"You're not running," Diana said.
"I don't need to run," Cael muttered.
"Don't you?" She stepped beside him. "You once ran from entire empires. Burned cities just to buy time. But here you are. Still. Silent."
Cael's jaw tightened. "You think this is peace?"
"No," she said. "I think it's surrender. And that's a kind of freedom, too."
He turned his head, but her face was already close. Closer than it should be.
"You were made to protect," she whispered. "But your fire has burned too long. Rest. Let someone else shape the world."
"I don't serve crowns."
"No. But you will serve truth."
She touched his chest, and for a second—just a second—he saw chains again. The Goddess's eyes. The stars crying out.
Then it was gone.
Diana's hand fell away.
And Cael stood in silence.
---
Veylan returned to the inn by dawn. Cael's bed was untouched. Cold.
He stood in the doorway for a long time, eyes narrowed.
Something was happening.
Something slow.
Something dangerous.
And the worst part?
Cael didn't even know he was slipping.
---
Far beneath the palace, the Goddess stirred.
Her lips, cracked and glowing faintly, parted to whisper a single word.
"…Cael…"