More and more reports of citizens being taken began to surface. Rebellions broke out across the kingdom, spreading like wildfire.
"Slay the false king, destroyer of families!" the people cried.
And who could blame them? Since the banquet, over a thousand citizens had vanished. The Duke now walked freely among the commoners, claiming it was the king himself who had ordered the abductions.
The kingdom teetered on the edge of chaos.
Within the palace, the king had become a shadow of the man he once was. His eyes—once bright with purpose—were dulled by sorrow. His regal robes hung in tatters, dragging across the floor as he walked. Each step felt heavy, as though burdened by the weight of a crumbling crown.
In public, he wore the mask of strength. Behind closed doors, he was hollow.
His legacy, once etched into the annals of history, was fading—erased by time. His name, once spoken with reverence, now drifted on the wind like a forgotten prayer.
"Lo...ra," the king rasped, his voice hoarse. "What became of the letters I asked you to send to my vassals?"
He spoke to Loraine, his second wife. She stood before a gilded mirror, draped in a gown crusted with jewels and amber. Her hair was coiled high atop her head like a throne, a gleaming crown perched like a trophy. Her skin glowed like silk; her eyes, heavy with makeup, sparkled as she admired her reflection.
"Oh, those vassals?" she said, smirking. "They seem terribly… occupied."
She didn't bother to turn to him.
If the king was wilted and weary, Loraine was radiant and cruel. She sparkled in every way he had dimmed.
"What of my son, then?" he asked.
"I hear he's out trying to calm down those beasts who dare to revolt," she replied, her tone sharp with disdain. "Ugh. Where do they even get the nerve? Lowly animals."
The king closed his eyes, her words slicing deeper than she knew.
"I suppose it's time I speak with the Seer. This is getting out of hand."
He turned and walked away, his ragged cloak dragging behind him.
Loraine didn't even blink.
Back at the Arcturus estate, preparations were well underway. Ever since the Duke's banquet, the family had been busy—strengthening the wards around both their fief and their ancestral manor.
"My lord, how are you today? Thank you again for giving my husband a job," said a young woman with long brown hair, dressed in a plain, well-worn robe.
"Things could be better..." Alexandre replied, his voice low but steady. "Please stay safe. Turbulent times are coming."
"Nothing could ever happen to us with you here, my lord," the woman chuckled as she bowed and walked away.
This kind of interaction was common in the Arcturus fief. Unlike the cold, hierarchical structure of other territories, here, the lords and their people looked after one another.
James watched it all unfold, the reality of the situation dawning on him. Tension was building, slowly but undeniably.
"Let me help," James offered eagerly, watching as silver disks were carefully placed along the edges of the coastal barrier.
"Oh, young master, it's quite alright," said an elderly man, smiling gently. He waved his Sigrod through the air with practiced ease, melting the silver into long rods and embedding them into the stone ground in a straight, magical line. The rods were etched in glowing runes—some shaped like fish, others stars, and some too abstract to name. This was part of an ancient warding ritual known as Стъалыты хъахъхъæнынад, or Veil Protection.
Splash. Splash.
Not far off, a young child played at the bay's edge, splashing barefoot in the water—unaware of the growing darkness looming beyond the horizon.
James, curious and slightly uneasy, walked down the beach toward her. The girl had long silver hair cascading down to her waist. Her white robe shimmered with delicate silver butterflies that flapped their wings and dropped glitter like scales.
"Hello there," she said as James approached, still facing the water. All around her, strange sea creatures gathered—some James didn't even recognize.
"Hi… how are you?" James asked, squatting down to meet her at eye level.
She turned toward him, and James froze.
Her eyes were white—completely white. Even her pupils were a clouded gray. She reached out and gently touched his face, her fingers gliding like she was searching for something in the dark.
"Hm. You're a strange one, aren't you?" she said softly, her voice calm and melodic.
James instinctively stepped back.
"Oh, forgive me—I'm blind, you see," the girl said, standing up.
From her shoulders, tiny imp-like creatures climbed down toward James, staring at him with childlike curiosity.
"What's your name?" the girl asked, tilting her head slightly.
"I… I'm James Arcturus. Pleasure to meet you. What's your...?" he asked.
She paused, then smiled.
"Oh, I see now... Children of the Stars," she murmured. "But what is this I see from you? We're alike, you and I. Do you want to be friends?"
James blinked, puzzled by her strange words. She's quite odd, he thought. But for some reason, her presence felt… familiar.
"Okay," he said at last. "Let's be friends."
"Still don't know your name," she teased, giggling as she stepped back toward the water. The waves seemed to respond to her, circling around her feet as if the sea itself was listening.
She rushed toward James again, playful as ever. This time she grabbed his hand.
"Close your eyes. I have a gift for you," she whispered.
James hesitated, then obeyed. Her voice was enchanting—warm and laced with something beyond comprehension.
She pressed something into his palm. A small seashell, smooth and blue, etched with flowing runes.
"My name is Ocean. Let's meet again, soon… my friend."
And just like that, her voice faded into the air.
When James opened his eyes, she was gone.
From the depths of the loch, a shadow stirred.
A great water horse—its mane soaked and glistening, its hooves leaving ripples as it stepped out of the waves—rose from the sea. Its eyes glowed an eerie blue, reflecting the vast depths of the ocean. Atop it sat Ocean, poised gracefully.
It was a Kelpie—a creature of ancient lore. Both beautiful and terrible.
James could only stare, awestruck, as it galloped across the bay and disappeared into the mist.
"I'm coming," came a voice behind him—Alexandre's, calling from the edge of the beach.
James didn't answer at once.
He looked down at the scale in his hand. It shimmered faintly, cool against his skin.
Though no larger than a coin, it felt heavy.
Heavy with meaning.
Heavy with magic.
Heavy with something James couldn't yet name.