Fatigue was a constant presence, like a parasite feeding on his bones.
Zirinos woke with the same weight on his chest that had accompanied him since leaving the inferno. His body, once strong and agile, now dragged itself like that of an old man. Every movement required an effort that seemed to come from a bottomless well. And the worst part was that he wasn't moving—he was just lying there, staring at the ceiling, feeling life slowly escaping him.
'It's a form of punishment', he thought, his eyes fixed on the void. 'The universe is punishing me. Each heartbeat is a penance. Each breath, a reminder of what I did.'
His trembling hand touched Zequila's necklace. The metal, cold and heavy, was the only object that kept him anchored to reality. Without it, he might have already ceased to exist.
He pushed his body out of bed. His legs trembled but held. He walked to the door, each step a herculean effort.
"Truilus," he called, his voice hoarse, broken. "I need a Cort-eran."
Silence. Then, the sound of heavy footsteps approaching.
Truilus appeared at the door minutes later, a syringe in his hand. The liquid inside was black as night, but small white lights danced within it, like stars trapped in a glass vial.
"In your current state, prince," Truilus said, his voice deep, "the Cort-eran could kill you."
Zirinos looked at the syringe. At the black liquid. At the stars dancing inside it.
'Perhaps that is my goal.'
He said nothing. He just extended his hand.
Truilus hesitated. For a moment, his dark eyes fixed on Zirinos's with an expression that could have been concern. Then, he handed over the syringe.
Zirinos injected it into his right arm.
The pain was immediate. Not a physical pain, but a pain that came from within—as if the liquid were burning his bones, tearing his muscles, rewriting his essence.
Then, the energy.
A wave of strength and will surged within him, so intense it made him tremble. The fatigue, which once weighed like lead, dissipated like smoke. His eyes, once dull, shone with a light he hadn't seen in months.
Blood dripped from his mouth. A thin, red line that ran down his chin.
Zirinos wiped it with the back of his hand, indifferent.
"Take me to the envoys," he said, his voice now firm. "I want to speak with them."
Truilus tilted his head but said nothing. He just turned and began to walk.
+-+
Xailla's room was as immaculate as its owner. White walls, light wood furniture, flowers in glass vases. And, in the center of the bed, Xailla.
She was almost naked.
The dress, which once covered her body, was now draped over a chair, and she wore only a thin, transparent shirt that barely hid what it should hide. Her hair, loose, fell over her shoulders like a cascade of silver. Her eyes, once cold and calculating, were fixed on Zirinos with an expression he couldn't decipher.
The guard at the door stepped back when he saw Zirinos enter. He didn't say a word. He just turned and walked away, as if he knew that moment was not meant to be witnessed.
Zirinos entered. The door closed behind him.
Xailla didn't move. She didn't cover herself. She just sat on the bed, legs crossed, eyes fixed on him.
"What do you want, Zirinos?" she asked, her voice calm, but with a hint of curiosity she couldn't hide.
Zirinos felt desire rise to his throat. The urge to grab her, to throw her on the bed, to possess her. But the Cort-eran's energy was still fresh, and with it came a clarity of thought he hadn't felt in a long time.
"Aren't you afraid," he said, his voice low, almost a whisper, "that some man might harm you?"
Xailla tilted her head. Her silver eyes fixed on his.
"If it were another man," she said, her voice even lower, "perhaps. But I wouldn't mind if it were you."
Zirinos's smile faltered.
Desire, once a controlled flame, threatened to become a wildfire. He felt his muscles contract, his breathing quicken, the urge to devour her grow within him.
But he stepped back. Took a step back. Then another.
"I need clothes," he said, his voice harder, more controlled. "Something suitable for a future ally."
Xailla watched him for a moment. Her silver eyes, once fixed on his, were now fixed on his body, on the way he kept his distance.
"Guard," she said, finally. "Go get clothes. Quickly."
The guard outside obeyed. His hurried footsteps echoed in the corridor.
Zirinos turned to the door. His hand touched the handle.
"Thank you, Xailla," he said, without looking back.
He left. The door closed behind him.
Xailla sat on the bed, her eyes fixed on the spot where he had been. Her face, once pale, was now flushed. Her pulse, once calm, was now racing.
'Has the Zirinos I knew when I was seven returned?'
The question echoed in her mind, and she didn't know the answer.
+-+
The palace kitchen was enormous, with marble countertops and stone ovens. The maids, who once moved in silence, were now staring at Zirinos with wide eyes.
He was smiling.
It wasn't the cold, calculating smile he used with enemies. It wasn't the empty smile he used when tired. It was a genuine smile—the smile of the young prince who had once won hearts with a single word.
The maids, once motionless, were now trembling. Some blushed. Others looked away. One of them, older, nearly dropped a plate.
Zirinos ate some bread and cheese, his eyes scanning the kitchen with a calmness that wasn't feigned. The Cort-eran's energy still ran through his veins, and he felt more alive than he had in months.
When he finished, he stood up. The maids, once motionless, were now bowing.
"Good night, sir," they said, in unison.
Zirinos nodded. He climbed the stairs back to his room.
---
The clothes were on the bed.
The guard at the door had done a good job. The pants, of a dark fabric that shimmered in the light, were tight but comfortable. The tunic, in a shade that matched X's coat of arms—a mix of silver and dark blue—fell over his shoulders like a second skin. And the coat, long and elegant, had gold embroidery that gleamed in the candlelight.
Zirinos dressed slowly. His body, once trembling with exhaustion, was now firm. His hands, once trembling, were now steady.
The guard at the door asked:
"Do you need anything else, sir?"
"No," Zirinos replied, his voice firm. "You may go."
The guard bowed and stepped away.
+-+
The corridor was empty when Zirinos left his room. But Truilus was waiting, his immense figure standing out in the twilight.
"The envoys are in the meeting room," he said. "Follow me."
Zirinos followed him.
Halfway there, Xiollor appeared. Her face, once beautiful, was now distorted by anger.
"Why did you call the envoys without consulting me?!" she shouted. "Why..."
Zirinos didn't let her finish.
The smile blossomed on his face—the smile of the young prince, the smile he hadn't used in months. He put an arm around Xiollor's shoulders, in a gesture that was simultaneously possessive and protective.
"Forgive my boldness," he said, his voice soft, almost a whisper. "It was impulsive. But I need your help. Accompany me to the meeting room."
Xiollor trembled. Her face, once distorted by anger, was now confused. The anger was still there, but mixed with something stranger—a happiness she didn't want to feel.
"But..." she began.
"Please," Zirinos said, his voice even softer.
Xiollor said nothing more. She just walked beside him, her steps uncertain, her heart racing.
+-+
The meeting room was enormous, with a round table of dark wood in the center. The walls, covered in tapestries telling the history of Xérius, gleamed in the chandelier light.
Four envoys were seated at the table.
The first was a tall man, with short graying hair and a scar across his face. He wore dark, simple clothes, and his blue eyes fixed on Zirinos with a curiosity that didn't hide his distrust.
The second was a woman, with red hair and green eyes. She wore expensive clothes with silver embroidery, and her posture was that of someone accustomed to giving orders.
The third was a short man, with a long beard and brown eyes. He wore traveling clothes, and his calloused hands rested on the table as if waiting for an opportunity to act.
The fourth was a thin man, with black hair and black eyes. He wore simple clothes, but the necklace around his neck—a black stone that shone with its own light—was clearly valuable.
Zirinos sat in the chair reserved for the ruler. Xiollor, beside him, kept her eyes fixed on the envoys with an expression that was simultaneously distrustful and curious.
"What do you want from me?" Zirinos asked, his voice calm, the smile still on his face.
The first envoy, the scarred man, spoke first:
"My name is Halveth, from galaxy H. I offer you governance over half of my galaxy. King, if you wish. Kings of royal blood at your service."
The second envoy, the red-haired woman, tilted her head:
"My name is Raela, from galaxy L. I offer you military power. A thousand ships. A hundred thousand soldiers. Everything you need to destroy your enemies."
The third envoy, the long-bearded man, spoke in a deep voice:
"My name is Dorn, from galaxy T. I offer you my loyalty. And the loyalty of my men. I have no ships or soldiers, but I have information. I know where Ariana keeps her secrets."
The fourth envoy, the black-haired man, remained silent for a moment. His black eyes, fixed on Zirinos, shone with a light that wasn't natural.
"My name doesn't matter," he said, finally. "My galaxy doesn't matter. What matters is what I can give you. A relic. A relic that can change the course of the war. A relic that can give you the power you need."
Zirinos felt the Cort-eran's energy vibrate in his veins. The smile, once genuine, became sharper.
"A relic," he repeated. "What relic?"
The black-haired envoy smiled. A smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"I can't reveal more, sir. Not here. Not now. But I can promise you that, when you see it, you'll know what to do with it."
Silence settled.
Zirinos looked at the four envoys. At the offers. At the promises.
"Stay," he said, finally. "Stay a few days. I have a plan to destroy Ariana. When I'm ready, I'll speak with you."
The envoys stood up. They bowed. And they left, one by one, escorted by guards to their guest rooms.
The room was empty.
Xiollor, beside Zirinos, was motionless. Her hand, once resting on the table, was now clenched, her knuckles white.
"Why did you do this?" she asked, her voice low. "Why didn't you consult me?"
Zirinos looked at her. The smile, once sharp, became softer.
"Because I needed to act," he said. "And because..." he paused, "I trust you."
Xiollor blushed. The anger, once on her face, dissolved.
+-+
Zirinos's room was dark when he entered. Xiollor, still beside him, felt her heart race.
Zirinos felt good. The Cort-eran's energy still ran through his veins, and his mind, once cloudy, was now clear.
*Perhaps I should give her what she wants,* he thought. *Perhaps I should let her be mine.*
But then he thought of Xailla. Of the lion necklace. Of what could happen if he lost control.
"Xiollor," he said, his voice low, "I want you to stay here. Just to talk. Nothing more."
Xiollor looked at him. Her expression, once full of expectation, was now confused.
"What..."
The door opened.
Xailla stood on the other side.
In her hand, she held Zequila's lion necklace. The candlelight, once faint, shone on the golden metal, creating shadows that danced like specters.
Zirinos felt his muscles contract. His breathing, once calm, was now rapid. His hand, once still, was now clenched.
The monster, which he had kept imprisoned for days, was trying to return.
"No," he said, his voice trembling. "Don't touch that."
Xailla didn't move. She just kept holding the necklace, her eyes fixed on Zirinos.
"Why not?" she asked, her voice calm. "It's just a necklace."
"No," Zirinos repeated, his voice louder. "It's all I have left."
Xiollor, who was motionless, felt the tension in the air. Her hand, once resting on Zirinos's shoulder, recoiled.
Zirinos advanced.
His right hand, once clenched, was now raised. The energy, once controlled, was now escaping.
"Listen to me carefully," he said, his voice cold, dangerous. "That necklace belongs to my dead brother. To the only person I ever loved without reservation. If you harm it, I swear..."
Xailla didn't step back. She just kept holding the necklace, her eyes fixed on Zirinos.
"I won't harm it," she said, her voice calm. "I just want you to know that I'm here. That I'm not running away."
Zirinos stopped.
The monster, once trying to return, retreated. His hand, once raised, lowered.
"Don't touch the necklace," he said, finally. "It's the only thing I have left."
Xailla handed him the necklace. The gesture, simple and direct, made Zirinos feel something he hadn't felt in a long time.
Gratitude.
"Thank you," he said, his voice low, almost a whisper.
Xailla said nothing. She just turned and left the room.
Xiollor stood motionless, looking at Zirinos with an expression that was simultaneously fear and admiration.
Zirinos held Zequila's necklace against his chest.
The monster was still there, inside him. But for now, it was calm.