Chapter 14:zerach vengeance upon his blood

The hall still trembled from the echoes of Rosa’s final scream.

The darkness of the eclipse bled through every stained-glass window, swallowing the gold and flame until the palace itself seemed to mourn.

Zerach stood frozen, his chest rising and falling in shallow, disbelieving breaths.

The word “daughter” still lingered on his tongue — bitter as ash.

And then he heard it.

A soft, broken gasp.

He turned—

Daphne collapsed.

Blood ran scarlet down her lips, painting the white silk of her gown. Her eyes rolled back, her body trembling in his arms.

“Daphne!” Zerach’s roar shattered the silence.

He caught her before she struck the ground, cradling her close. His hands glowed faintly with magic, dark flames licking at his skin — the old power he had long forbidden himself to use.

“Someone—get the royal physician! Now!”

Guards scattered like frightened birds, but Zerach barely saw them. His entire world had narrowed to the dying woman in his arms.

Her breath came in shallow gasps. Blood trickled from her nose, her eyes, her mouth.

Her body convulsed once, twice.

“Stay with me,” he whispered. “Do you hear me? Don’t you dare leave me.”

Her hand found his cheek weakly, her fingers cold. “I—tried to tell you… it was her… Rosa…”

Zerach’s throat tightened. “Don’t speak. Save your strength.”

But she shook her head. “No… you must… listen…”

Her voice faded, her hand slipping from his face.

He caught it and pressed it against his chest, his heart thundering beneath.

The physician rushed in, robes trailing, but when he saw the black veins creeping along Daphne’s neck, his face went pale.

“She’s been poisoned by Shadowroot, my king. A rare toxin—it feeds on life energy. There’s no antidote in this realm.”

Zerach’s voice dropped, dark and deadly. “Then find one in another.”

“My lord, even if we summon healers—”

“Go!” Zerach’s voice thundered, shaking the marble floor. “Bring them! All of them!”

The doctor fled.

Zerach turned back to Daphne, pressing his forehead to hers. “You will not die, my queen. Not while I still draw breath.”

And in that vow, the flames of hell answered.

Far from the palace, beneath the mountains of Aethra, Rosa stumbled into the shadowed ruins of the old temple — the place where her mother had once knelt and prayed for mercy that never came.

The eclipse burned faintly through the cracks above, bathing her in ghostly red light.

She fell to her knees, gasping, the anger in her chest giving way to something worse—grief.

“I did it,” she whispered, voice breaking. “I finally took from him what he took from me…”

But even as she spoke, her hands shook. Her reflection in the dark pool before her trembled—eyes red, veins black, the mark of the curse blooming across her skin

“Mother,” she whispered, tears falling. “Tell me I did right.”

Only silence answered her.

And in that silence, a shadow moved.

From the depths of the temple rose a figure cloaked in black — eyes glowing with violet fire.

“You seek the mother’s blessing,” it rasped. “But you have taken the daughter’s curse.”

Rosa’s heart stuttered. “Who are you?”

“I am what he tried to bury. I am what you’ve awoken.”

The shadow’s hand brushed her cheek. Pain seared through her, and she screamed.

Dark veins spidered along her throat, her pupils dilating until her eyes turned near-black.

“Your hate gives you power, child of the broken vow,” the voice murmured. “But love will be your ruin.”

Rosa gasped, trembling. “Love? There is no love left in me.”

The shadow laughed, a sound like cracking ice. “Then why do you weep?”

Back in the palace, the healers worked through the night, but Daphne’s condition worsened. Her pulse was fading. Her skin had grown pale as snow, her lips blue.

Zerach stood in silence at her bedside, his hands trembling as he brushed hair from her face.

The council begged him to rest, but he ignored them.

Instead, he turned to the ancient grimoire that lay sealed beneath his throne — a book older than the kingdom itself. Its cover was bound in dragonhide, its pages written in the language of the damned.

“Your Majesty,” one of his generals whispered, “that book is forbidden. The spell inside—”

“I know what it costs,” Zerach growled. “But I will pay it.”

He drew a blade across his palm, letting his blood drip upon the book. The runes ignited.

In the silence that followed, the flames turned blue.

He began to chant.

The air thickened. Shadows twisted along the walls, whispering in forgotten tongues. The magic was raw, ancient, wrong — but powerful.

Zerach’s body shook, blood running from his nose.

And then, slowly, Daphne stirred.

Her fingers twitched. Her chest rose in a shallow breath.

Zerach sagged, relief flooding his face. But the shadows behind him shifted — and from within them, a faint echo of laughter rippled.

He looked up, eyes wide.

From the mirror across the chamber, Rosa’s face appeared — her eyes black, her smile cruel.

“You can save her, Father,” she whispered. “But every life you pull from death… feeds the darkness that binds me.”

Zerach froze. “What have you done?”

Rosa’s voice trembled, half sorrow, half madness. “You can’t break the curse without breaking me.”

The eclipse faded, the sun returning weakly over the crimson horizon.

The kingdom awoke to rumors — of poison, of betrayal, of a princess consumed by hate and a king who had unleashed forbidden fire.

But in the royal chambers, only silence remained.

Daphne lay pale but breathing, her hand weakly entwined with Zerach’s.

And outside, in the wind, came a whisper — Rosa’s voice, drifting like smoke:

“This is only the beginning, Father.

You saved her life… but I will take her soul.”

The sky wept that morning, a slow rain of crimson over the white stones of the palace.

And beneath that rain, the king held his queen and swore vengeance upon his own blood.