King of Erindale's P.O.V
The metallic tang of blood hung heavy in the humid air, a grim reminder of the slaughter that had just unfolded at my very gates. I sat atop my charger, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs as I looked at the young woman before me. Solace of Thera did not look like the frightened girl I had hosted days ago; she looked like a storm held together by sheer will.
"My deepest apologies, Your Highnesses," I said, my voice sounding thin even to my own ears. I felt a cold sweat prickle my spine as she turned her gaze toward me. Her eyes weren't just angry—they were incandescent, burning with a lethal clarity that made me instinctively tighten my grip on the reins. "We have sworn our loyalty to your cause, yet somehow, a serpent has crawled into our midst. Someone has betrayed you. My men are already scouring every inch of the fortress to find the rat."
She didn't speak. Her silence was more terrifying than a scream. I watched her fist clench until the knuckles were white as bone, her entire frame vibrating with a suppressed power that seemed to hum in the air.
Alaric moved then, stepping into the space between us. His presence was a physical weight, his jaw set in a line of hard iron. "Make sure the traitor is caught," he commanded.
It wasn't a request. Despite my crown and my years, the sheer authority in the Prince's voice sent a jolt of genuine fear through me. I could only nod, a King silenced by the raw intensity of two heirs who had nothing left to lose.
"We shall go now. Until we meet again, Your Majesty," Evander intervened, his voice clipped as they spurred their horses away from the carnage.
I watched them disappear into the distance before letting out a shuddering sigh. "Bury the dead," I ordered my captains, gesturing to the heaps of black-and-gold armor littering the road. "I want this filth off my land before sundown."
The sun had barely set when my guards dragged a trembling man into the throne room. He didn't hold out long. For ten bags of gold—a pittance for the lives of royalty—he had sold the coordinates of the escape. He begged for mercy, his forehead hitting the stone floor, but there was no mercy left in Erindale tonight. I watched as they dragged him toward the deepest oubliette in the dungeons. He would never see the sky again.
Solace's P.O.V
We didn't stop. We rode for hours, the rhythmic thrum of hooves on the earth the only heartbeat in the world. The adrenaline from the ambush had cooled into a hard, focused resolve. Darkness began to swallow the landscape, thick and suffocating, yet Evander pushed us harder. He claimed we were close, and I believed him—not because of the map, but because of the way the air began to taste like ozone and ancient dust.
I glanced back at Alaric. His silhouette was framed by the silver glow of a high moon, his eyes fixed forward but his awareness clearly anchored on me. I had a thousand questions for him—about his father, about the curse, about why he looked at me like I was the sun—but they would have to wait.
We were at the literal center of the four kingdoms now, a place of geographical nothingness where the shadows seemed to have weight. Suddenly, the horses let out sharp, panicked whinnies, their legs locking as if they'd hit a stone wall. But there was nothing there. Only empty road.
"Shall we stop here?" the Captain asked, his hand on his sword as he scanned the gloom. Evander simply shook his head, his eyes shining with a strange, frantic light. He looked at Alaric, who was watching me with an intensity that made my breath hitch.
I dismounted, my boots crunching on the gravel. I walked forward, my hand extended. A few feet ahead, the air felt... solid. It was cold, vibrating with a low frequency that made my teeth ache. I pressed my palm against the void.
The moment my skin met the invisible barrier, the world exploded.
A blinding, iridescent light erupted from my fingertips, racing upward in a pillar of pure white fire that pierced the very vault of the heavens. It wasn't just light; it was a pulse. A great, humming force washed over us, a shockwave that I knew, with a sudden, terrifying certainty, could be felt by every king and peasant in the surrounding empires. The heir of Thera had found the door.
I gaped as the veil began to shred.
"Unbelievable," Alaric muttered behind me, his voice thick with awe.
Beneath the moon, the ground didn't just shake—it shifted. A magnificent castle, carved from stone that seemed to hold its own inner light, rose from the earth like a titan waking from a dream. Tall, slender spires climbed toward the stars, shining with a pearlescent glow that put the Erindale diamonds to shame. Thera was rising.
I led my horse through the archway of the main gate, my breath catching in my throat. This wasn't a ruin. It was a living, breathing city. Houses of intricate, white stone lined the streets, and as the light settled, the doors began to open.
People—real people, clothed in the same ancient patterns I had seen in my mother's letter—poured into the streets. They didn't look at me with fear or suspicion. Recognition flared in their eyes, followed by a collective, heart-wrenching sob of relief.
"The Heir!" someone cried. "She has returned!"
Trumpets made of silver and wind began to blare from the high battlements, the sound carrying on a sudden, warm gale that smelled of wildflowers and home. Decades of longing and silence broke in a single moment of absolute joy. I watched as the villagers fell to their' knees, their faces wet with tears, welcoming back the ghost they had waited a lifetime to see.
I wasn't a mercenary anymore. I wasn't an outcast. I was home.