The night over the Kingdom was beautiful in a way that hurt to look at.
Stars lay scattered like spilled silver across the sky, and the endless river whispered beneath the moon, its surface broken only by the shadow of the Divine Wall. The wall breathed… low, resonant, alive… its unseen power humming through stone and water alike.
On the Tadashii side stood Klythos, fingers pressed to the cold surface where the world ended. On the Hidari side stood Iris, mirroring him, her breath fogging the air where her palm met the same unyielding barrier. They could see each other clearly, only not feel each other's warmth.
"I am here," Klythos said.
"I know," Iris answered, her voice trembling through the stone, carried by the river and the wall's pulse. "I always know."
They spoke of small things first, of days gone wrong, of skies that felt heavier since the split, of how the world seemed determined to keep them apart. Their words slipped easily into silence and then into truth.
"I love you," Klythos said, the words sharp with certainty.
Iris closed her eyes. "I love you."
The wall did not move.
Anger followed grief, slow and poisonous. Klythos's hand curled into a fist. "They built a world where love has borders."
"They chose walls over us," Iris whispered. Then, quieter, colder: "If we cannot cross… if we are forbidden to be together…"
Her hand flattened against the barrier, resolve hardening beneath her sorrow.
"Then no one should be allowed to be," she finished.
On the other side, Klythos nodded once, the night swallowing the motion. "If this world denies us love," he said, "then it deserves none."
Above them, the stars watched in silence.
The wall listened.
The morning came wrapped in fog.
It clung to the streets of the capital and pooled at the feet of the cathedral where banners of Skyllan black and purple hung motionless. Bells tolled slowly, their sound muffled, as if even grief hesitated to carry far. For the first time since the Wall rose, the Royal Faction and the Noble Faction stood reunited not in agreement, but in mourning.
At the center of the procession lay the body of King Amz, sealed in a stone bier etched with dragon sigils and ancient vows. He had been the last living bridge between Tadashii and Hidari, and now that bridge was gone.
Beside the bier stood Leon Skyllan.
He wore no crown, no symbols of command, only a simple dark mantle, clasped at the shoulder. His posture was straight, his expression composed, yet his eyes carried a weight that did not belong to a young man. Those who watched him saw not weakness, but restraint. Not hesitation, but thought.
This was the Heir to the Throne.
To his right stood Astoro Skyllan, his trusted advisor, older, sharp-eyed and silent. Where Leon absorbed the moment, Astoro studied the crowd the nobles measuring futures, the royals guarding tradition, the murmurs already forming beneath lowered heads. He leaned in just enough for Leon alone to hear.
"They will look to you now," Astoro said.
Leon's jaw tightened. "They look too soon."
The rites were spoken. Ash was scattered. The bells rang one final time.
When it ended, the people did not disperse. They waited.
Leon stepped forward, unplanned and unannounced. His voice was calm, steady, carrying across stone and fog.
"My father ruled so that no side would be forgotten," he said. "Not Tadashii. Not Hidari. Not the people who stand here, nor those who cannot."
A murmur rippled through the gathered factions.
"I will not take the crown today," Leon continued. "I will not pretend that a title alone can mend what has been broken."
Astoro watched carefully. Some nobles stiffened. Others exchanged glances.
"But justice does not wait for coronations," Leon said. "And while I am not yet King, I will stand for the people, for order, for truth and for what my father died protecting."
He bowed his head, not in submission, but in resolve.
The fog began to thin.
As they returned home, the fire was already burning when they arrived.
Leon's quarters were warm, the hearth stacked high with crackling wood that pushed back the chill still clinging to the city. Outside, the fog pressed against the windows like something unwilling to leave. Inside, the flames painted the stone walls in slow, restless light.
Leon removed his mantle and sat, exhaustion finally catching up to him. He stared into the fire, silent.
Astoro remained sat next to him.
"The nobility will move," he said calmly. "Not openly. Not yet. They will test you first petitions, councils, suggestions disguised as concern. Each one a step closer to the crown." He turned slightly, watching Leon's reflection in the flames. "They will try to place it on your head before you choose to bear it."
Leon did not look up. "I won't be rushed into becoming something I'm not ready to be."
"That," Astoro replied, "is exactly why you must be careful."
The fire popped, sending sparks upward.
Leon sank back into the chair, eyes tracing the flicker of the fire. Silence had settled between him and Astoro, heavy but not uncomfortable, just the kind of quiet that followed a day full of watching, listening and calculating.
"Does my mother already know?" Leon asked quietly, almost to himself.
Astoro looked up from where he adjusted the firewood. His gaze met Leon's, steady and unflinching. "Queen Valentina," he said, voice calm, "is always aware of what matters. She will know in time, as all things do, even before most realize there is anything to know."
The flames popped, sending tiny sparks dancing across the hearth, and for a moment the weight of their conversation rested only on the warmth of the room.
A sharp knock echoed through the chamber.
Both men stilled.
Astoro's eyes narrowed. "No one was expected."
Leon rose slowly. "Then let's hear what fate is impatient to say."
He nodded once toward the door.
"Enter."
The door opened without hesitation.
Darkios Skyllan stepped inside.
Tall, broad-shouldered, wrapped in a noble cloak lined with deep crimson, the Archlord carried himself like a man who had never once needed permission. His presence alone seemed to press against the room, the fire bending as if acknowledging something older and stronger than heat.
Astoro shifted immediately, placing himself half a step in front of Leon.
"Archlord," he said, voice tight.
Darkios grinned. "Still sharp as ever, Astoro. Good. Means you're still alive."
Leon looked up and smiled faintly. "Uncle."
The word cut through the tension.
Astoro hesitated. Darkios raised a brow, amused. "You see? The boy remembers his blood." His gaze flicked back to Leon. "May I?"
Leon gestured toward the fire. "Sit. You'll freeze standing like a statue."
Darkios laughed softly and moved with ease, taking a seat opposite Leon, boots stretching toward the flames. Up close, the rumors made sense the calm confidence, the barely restrained power coiled beneath humor. This was a man feared not because he threatened, but because he never needed to.
"So," Darkios said, hands resting on his knees, "the King is buried, the nobles are circling and you've refused the crown." His smile widened. "I must say, you've already disappointed half the room. Excellent start."
Astoro crossed his arms. "I'm sure the Head of the Nobility didn't come only to joke."
"No," Darkios agreed, eyes sharpening. "I came to warn."
The fire crackled between them.
"The nobility will not wait long," he continued. "Some will push you forward. Others will try to replace you. And a few…" his gaze darkened briefly "will attempt to rule through you."
Leon met his eyes, unflinching. "And you?"
Darkios chuckled. "I am your uncle. Which means I will do the most dangerous thing of all."
He leaned forward slightly.
"I will let you choose."
Rain fell steadily over Hidari, softening the Town patrol into shades of gray. The Hidari Knight Corps moved through the streets on horseback, hooves striking wet stone in a slow, steady rhythm.
Commander Morpheus rode at the front, reins loose in his hands, eyes half-lidded but alert. To his right, Lieutenant Garen leaned forward slightly in the saddle, rain dripping from the edge of his helm.
"Streets are emptier than usual," Garen said.
Morpheus hummed in acknowledgment. "Rain makes liars of shadows."
They turned into a narrow side street. The horses slowed on instinct, uneasy. Ahead, dark shapes lay scattered near the walls, half-submerged in rainwater.
Garen frowned. "Debris?"
Morpheus didn't answer. He raised a hand.
The patrol stopped.
One horse snorted, refusing to step closer.
"Dismount," Morpheus said.
Steel rang softly as boots met stone. The rain seemed louder now.
They approached on foot. Up close, the shapes resolved soaked cloaks clinging to human forms, limbs bent wrong, faces pale beneath the rain.
Garen froze. "That's not debris."
Morpheus crouched beside the nearest figure, brushing wet hair aside. His fingers paused at the neck. He exhaled slowly.
"Dead," he said.
The word settled heavy between them.
Garen looked around. "No crowd. No noise. No alarm."
"Which means it was fast," Morpheus replied, standing. His gaze swept the street, measuring angles, exits, silence. "And intentional."
Thunder rolled, distant but deep.
Rain washed thin trails of blood into the gutter.
Morpheus straightened. "Secure the horses. Block the street."
Garen's hand tightened around his sword hilt. "And the killer?"
Morpheus looked down the fog-choked alley ahead.
"Didn't go far," he said. "They never do."
They advanced down the street, the distant memory of rain-slicked streets in Hidari echoing in their minds, mirrored here in Tadashii's quiet alleys. A shadow of dread followed, hinting that the kingdom's blood would not remain confined to one side.
Darkios stretched, letting the firelight catch the edges of his cloak. He gave a low, amused bow toward Leon.
"I'll take my leave," he said, voice smooth. "The city has a habit of stirring trouble when no one is watching. I'll see what mischief is afoot and ensure it doesn't grow teeth."
Leon inclined his head. "Be careful, Uncle."
Darkios smiled, a flash of sharp humor beneath the calm. "When am I not?"
And with that, he departed, boots clattering against stone as he left the room. The door closed behind him with a soft but final click, leaving only the warmth of the hearth and the quiet hum of anticipation.
A few minutes passed. Leon finally rose, stretching and rubbing his shoulders. "I should see the streets myself," he muttered.
Astoro's hand hovered over the doorframe, but he followed without protest. "I'll come. There are… things you should not see alone."
The rain had stopped, leaving Tadashii streets slick with runoff, the fog from the river curling through alleys like restless smoke. The scene was calm at first glance, until a messenger stumbled into view, soaked and pale.
"Prince Leon," the man gasped, "please there's been a murder. Someone… someone was found dead near the northern bridge."
Leon's brow furrowed. He exchanged a glance with Astoro. "The north… near the Paladins' patrol route?"
Astoro's lips pressed together. "Yes. That area is usually quiet, protected, but not heavily patrolled."
The mist rolled off the river, swirling around their boots as they moved. Leon's gaze hardened. "Then we must see it for ourselves."
Voices rose ahead, cutting through the fog.
Leon and Astoro slowed as torchlight spilled into the street, revealing a small crowd held back by armed guards. At the center stood a familiar figure, cloak draped loose, posture relaxed despite the tension around him.
Archlord Darkios.
Leon's expression did not change, but his tone did when he spoke. "Archlord."
Darkios turned, eyes lighting with recognition and amusement. "Ah. Your Highness." He inclined his head just enough to be proper. "I was hoping you wouldn't hear about this from a runner."
Astoro's gaze dropped briefly to the covered form on the ground. "How bad?"
"Clean," Darkios replied. "Deliberate. Whoever did this knew where to strike and when to vanish."
Leon stepped closer, studying the scene without touching anything. "The Royalty will investigate," he said. "Quietly. Thoroughly."
"And the Nobility will hunt," Darkios added smoothly. "Loudly, if needed." A faint smile touched his lips. "We are very good at that."
Astoro stiffened, but Leon remained calm. "Two paths chasing the same shadow can trample evidence."
"Or corner it faster," Darkios countered. He gestured toward the north, where the city faded into darker stone and colder air. "This isn't common violence. It smells… patient."
Leon followed his gaze. "You think it will happen again."
"I know it will," Darkios said. "Which is why you should request the aid of the Paladins."
Astoro's eyes narrowed. "They rarely descend south."
"Exactly," Darkios replied. "Which means no one expects them. Let the Royalty think, the Nobility chase, and the Paladins judge."
Leon was silent for a moment, weighing the city, the people pressed behind the guards, the body beneath the cloth.
Darkios studied Leon for a long moment, then spoke more quietly.
"You hesitate because the Paladins answer only to the King," he said. "And you are not wearing the crown."
Leon met his gaze. "I won't misuse authority I haven't accepted."
Darkios's smile faded not into menace but into something serious. "True. But listen carefully." He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "They do not listen to crowns. They listen to continuity."
Astoro looked sharply at him.
"The King is dead," Darkios continued. "But the line is not. You are the next Skyllan Monarch, whether you claim it today or tomorrow. To the Paladins, that is enough."
The fog shifted around them. The body lay still between torchlights.
"They will listen to you," Darkios finished. "Not because you command them but because they are sworn to what comes after."
Silence.
Then Leon exhaled slowly.
"Very well," he said. "I will make the request."
Darkios's approving smile returned.
The fog thickened again, swallowing the torches one by one.
And somewhere beyond the streets of Tadashii, the hunt had truly begun.