The chamber was cloaked in silver quiet, the kind that followed nights of turmoil. Shadows coiled lazily near the torches, whispering against the marble as if afraid to disturb the stillness. Valerian lay motionless on the obsidian bed, his breath shallow, his skin pale as moonlight.
Days had passed since the collapse, though time meant little within the keep. The healers came and went, their murmurs weaving between light and darkness. Ancient runes glimmered faintly on the floor, sealing the air around him in wards meant to hold his essence together. The veil had nearly taken him — and yet, stubbornly, he endured.
At the far end of the hall stood his father, the former Lord of the Empire. Cloaked in midnight silk, he watched in silence as another pulse of shadow rippled through his son's body. Each thrum was proof of life. Proof that Valerian — reckless, cursed, loyal — still belonged to the living.
"His bond to the mortal weakens him," muttered Elder Corvus, bowing low. "Each crossing drains more of his union. Were he anyone else, the shadows would've consumed him by now."
"He is not anyone else," the elder lord said quietly. His eyes, cold as onyx, fixed on his son's face. "He is my blood. And he carries what none of you will ever understand."
Corvus hesitated, then inclined his head. "And what of the Council? They demand an explanation. Leo's vision was not to be revealed outside the inner circle."
The elder lord turned, his cloak sweeping across the floor. "Then it will not be. What happened here will remain sealed — under the authority of my name."
He stepped closer to the bed. Valerian stirred faintly, caught between dreams and reality, his mind still tethered to the mortal realm.
"She calls to him even now," murmured Corvus. "Her blood hums with the same frequency. If Leo's vision holds true—"
The elder lord cut him off with a raised hand. "Leo's vision speaks of the Alexander bloodline. A lineage once meant to rule — not die. If that line still flows through the girl, then prophecy is already in motion."
Corvus frowned. "You mean… she—"
"Yes," the father said softly. "Shyla carries Alexander's mark. And that means the bond cannot be severed. Not by law. Not by death. Not even by the veil itself."
The shadows in the chamber seemed to pause, listening.
"If the Council learns this truth," Corvus whispered, "they'll turn on him. The prophecy declares that the one bearing Alexander's blood will either save or destroy the empire. They won't risk it."
"That is why you will say nothing," the father replied, his tone ironclad. "Tell the Council his collapse was the cost of defending the outer borders. The truth dies here."
Corvus bowed low, fear and reverence mingling in his voice. "As you command, my lord."
When they were alone, the elder lord approached his son's bedside. Valerian's breathing had steadied; faint color returned to his cheeks. Shadows stirred restlessly around him, protective, loyal, almost sentient.
"You defy the laws of the veil for a mortal girl," his father murmured. "You think I cannot see the madness of it… and yet…" He paused, brushing a hand through Valerian's hair, a rare gesture of tenderness. "You are my son. And the blood that runs through her veins… was meant for you."
The runes on the floor pulsed once — recognition, perhaps, of the truth spoken aloud.
Valerian's lips moved faintly, barely a whisper. "…Shyla…"
The elder lord closed his eyes. "Rest now, my son. Let them think this was weakness. Let them whisper. But when the time comes, the prophecy will claim its shape — and the empire will kneel again before the blood of Alexander."
The shadows deepened, curling protectively around Valerian's form. Outside, the halls of the empire stirred with rumor and uncertainty, but within that chamber, destiny had already begun to move.
For in the veins of a mortal girl and the heart of a fading prince, the ancient line of Alexander still lived — and soon, it would awaken.