Chapter 40

The great hall that once overflowed with laughter now lay in dreadful silence. The music had died. The candles still flickered, but no one dared to move.

The prince — the pride of the Beast Kingdom — had just collapsed, his body trembling, his eyes glowing like fire from hell itself.

King Zerach’s heart pounded so hard he could feel it in his throat. Without a word, he lifted his unconscious son in his arms, the boy’s limp body heavier than it had ever felt before. The hall was filled with whispers, wide eyes, and trembling lips.

“Your Majesty—” one of the guards began.

“Silence!” Zerach barked. His voice cracked like a whip across the terrified crowd. “The celebration is over. Go home. Now!”

No one argued. Within moments, the once-bright palace turned into a grave of whispers. Nobles hurriedly gathered their children, servants blew out candles, and the sweet scent of the feast was replaced by the cold breath of fear.

The king carried Lucien up the grand staircase, his crimson cape dragging through spilled wine and shards of crystal. Every step echoed through the marble halls, and with every sound, his fear grew heavier.

In the prince’s chamber, the torches burned low. The air felt too still — as though the walls themselves were holding their breath.

Zerach laid Lucien on the bed and brushed the hair from his face. His son’s skin burned with a heat that made his own palms ache. The boy’s chest rose and fell rapidly, as if he were fighting an invisible force inside him.

“Stay with me, my son,” Zerach whispered. He reached for a bowl of water, poured it into a golden basin, and soaked a white cloth. He wrung it and placed it gently across Lucien’s forehead.

Hours passed.

The king never moved from his side.

He sat there, drenched in sweat and fear, watching his son twist and murmur in his sleep — words that made no sense, voices that were not his.

He changed the cloth again and again as it warmed against Lucien’s skin, whispering soft lullabies Daphne once sang to the boy as an infant.

For the first time in years, the mighty king of beasts prayed.

Not to any god of war or flame — but to the one thing he had lost long ago: mercy.

It was nearly dawn when a sharp breath escaped Lucien’s lips.

His body jerked, his eyes fluttered open.

“Lucien?” Zerach leaned forward, gripping his son’s hand. “Lucien, can you hear me?”

The boy blinked rapidly, his pupils normal again — the crimson gone as if it had never been there. But his breathing was heavy, desperate, and his eyes darted across the room in confusion.

“Father…” he whispered. “Where am I?”

“You’re safe, my son,” Zerach said quickly, brushing his hand over his cheek. “You fainted at the feast. Do you remember what happened?”

Lucien frowned, his brows furrowing as though trying to recall a dream that slipped through his fingers.

“I… I saw things,” he muttered, voice trembling. “Strange people.”

“People?” Zerach repeated, his heart tightening. “What kind of people?”

Lucien’s eyes drifted toward the ceiling, his tone distant. “They were tall… with horns like mine, but sharper. Some had wings. Some had fire in their eyes. They were standing in a dark place, and they were all staring at me.”

Zerach’s blood ran cold.

He swallowed hard, forcing his face to remain calm even as his pulse thundered in his ears.

“They said things I didn’t understand,” Lucien continued softly. “But one of them — he bowed before me. And then the rest of them did too. They called me… their prince.”

He paused, eyes unfocused as though replaying the scene in his mind.

“I think they were afraid of me, Father… but they also obeyed me. They said I was one of them — only stronger. Bigger. Their leader.”

Zerach’s heart stopped for a beat.

He had read of such beings — not from mortal history, but from the forbidden scriptures hidden deep beneath the royal crypt. The beings of flame and darkness — the Dravari, an ancient race of shadow-born demons who once tried to consume the Beast Kingdom.

They had been defeated centuries ago — or so it was said. But their spirit never truly died.

And now his son… had seen them.

“Then I saw her,” Lucien said suddenly.

Zerach froze. “Saw who?”

Lucien frowned, rubbing his temple. “I couldn’t see her face. She stood across from me, far away, but the light around her was different. Not red — not dark like theirs. Her light was gold.”

The boy’s voice softened, as though he could still feel her presence. “When she appeared, the people — the creatures — all turned and bowed to her too. Even the ones who called me prince bowed lower to her. It was like they knew her. Like they worshipped her.”

Zerach’s breath caught in his throat.

His hands trembled.

That couldn’t be possible.

There was no her.

Unless—

Unless the rumors were true.

Unless the other child — the one born that same night — had survived.

He felt his chest tighten painfully.

If Lucien had seen her in that vision… if the other half of the prophecy had awakened — then it meant their fates were tied.

Both of them.

Bound by blood.

And if one fell, the other would rise.

Zerach staggered back a step, his thoughts spinning like a storm.

He remembered the ancient prophecy that had been carved into stone — “When twin flames are born of one womb, light and shadow shall breathe as one. The day they meet, the world shall burn anew.”

He had ignored it for years, believing the missing child to be dead.

But now… his son’s vision proved otherwise.

“Father?” Lucien’s small voice broke through his thoughts. “Why do you look so afraid?”

Zerach quickly composed himself, forcing a smile. “I’m not afraid, my son. I’m only… worried. You frightened everyone tonight.”

Lucien sat up slowly, though he still looked pale. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. It just… happened. I got angry when Rehn poured the wine on me, and then everything went dark.”

“I know,” Zerach said softly, sitting beside him. He reached out and rested a hand on Lucien’s shoulder. “You must promise me something, my son.”

Lucien tilted his head. “What is it, Father?”

“Never speak of what you saw tonight. Not to anyone. Do you understand?”

The boy blinked in confusion. “Not even to Mother—” He stopped himself, realizing what he said, and his expression softened. “Not even to the royal council?”

Zerach shook his head firmly. “No one. The dream is yours alone. If people learn of it, they will misunderstand. And I won’t allow anyone to hurt you.”

Lucien nodded slowly, trusting his father completely.

Zerach managed a faint smile. “Good boy.” He stood, walking toward the window where dawn was just beginning to break. “Rest now. We will speak no more of this tonight.”

But his mind was anything but still.

The vision had confirmed his worst fear — the prophecy was unfolding before his eyes.

When Lucien finally drifted back to sleep, Zerach remained in the shadows of the room, watching the boy breathe. The king’s eyes softened with sorrow and love.

He whispered quietly to himself, “You carry your mother’s heart and your father’s blood. But you also carry the curse of the stars, my son.”

He looked toward the rising sun. “And somewhere out there… she lives. The girl of light.”

He clenched his fists. “If she lives — I must find her before fate does.”

By sunrise, the king summoned his most trusted guard — General Kairon.

Kairon entered the chamber quietly, bowing low. “You sent for me, my king?”

Zerach’s eyes were hollow with sleeplessness. “Kairon, I have a task. One that must never leave this room.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Ten years ago, a rumor spread that another child was born the night my queen died. A girl. I want her found. Alive or dead — bring me proof.”

Kairon’s expression darkened. “Is this about the mark again, sire?”

Zerach turned sharply, his tone sharp as a blade. “Do not speak of that word in my presence!”

The general bowed his head instantly. “Forgive me, my king.”

Zerach sighed, lowering his voice. “You will not tell anyone what you search for. Say it is a matter of the king’s health. Take only the men you trust. No mistakes.”

“Yes, my lord.”

When Kairon left, the king looked out the window once more, where sunlight spilled across the forest far beyond the castle walls.

Somewhere, she was out there.

The girl from his son’s dream.

The girl who glowed in gold light while the world around her bowed in fear.

If she was real, then Lucien’s fate — and perhaps the kingdom’s — was already sealed.

Later that evening, Zerach returned to Lucien’s room. The boy was awake, sitting by the window, reading quietly.

“Feeling better?” the king asked.

Lucien smiled faintly. “Yes, Father. My head still hurts a bit, though.”

“That’s normal,” Zerach said, sitting beside him. “You’ve been through a lot.”

“I had another dream,” Lucien said after a pause.

Zerach froze, his hand tightening slightly. “Another one?”

Lucien nodded slowly. “I was standing on a cliff this time. There was a river of fire below. And someone was calling my name. I think… it was the same girl.”

Zerach’s heart thudded painfully. “Did you see her face this time?”

Lucien hesitated. “No. But I heard her voice. It was soft, almost like Mother’s. She said… ‘Don’t be afraid, Lucien. I’ll find you soon.’”

Zerach rose quickly, turning his back before his son could see the terror in his face.

“Father? Did I say something wrong?”

The king forced a steady voice. “No, my son. You said nothing wrong. Now rest. Tomorrow is another day.”

He left the room, closing the door behind him — but his hands were shaking.

The prophecy wasn’t just words anymore. It was alive.

And it was calling his son by name.

That night, as the moon climbed high, King Zerach knelt in the royal crypt beneath the palace — before Daphne’s tomb.

His voice trembled. “My love… if you can hear me, forgive me. I failed to protect you, and now I may fail to protect him.”

He pressed a hand over his heart. “If this prophecy is true, then our son’s fate is bound to another’s. But I will not let him become a monster. Even if it means becoming one myself.”

His eyes glowed faintly in the torchlight — not with power, but with sorrow.