Tous les chapitres de : Chapitre 121 - Chapitre 130

🎀CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY🎀 "Irene! Irene, talk to me! Are you okay?" Zayla cried, her voice frantic as she lightly slapped Irene’s pale cheek. Irene’s eyes fluttered open, rolling back before finally focusing on Zayla’s worried face. She let out a jagged, painful wheeze. Zayla quickly hooked her arms under Irene’s shoulders, helping her sit up against a damp mossy rock. "What the hell... just happened?" Irene managed to croak out, her voice sounding like it had been dragged over gravel. She gingerly touched her throat, where the red marks of Remiel’s fingers were already darkening. "Wasn't that him? The Last Prince? The one you’ve been so... worried about?" She winced, leaning her head back. "Jas, why did he attack us? He looked like he wanted us dead." Zayla looked toward the treeline where Remiel had vanished, her heart aching even through her fear. She shook her head violently. "I think something is controlling him," Zayla insisted, her voice trembling. "I swear o

🎀CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-TWO🎀 Remiel bent down, his fingers tangling roughly into Cayren’s hair and yanking his head back to force him to look up. Something dark seemed to shimmer in Remiel's pupils. "What am I?" he repeated, his voice trailing off into a chilling, airy whisper. Cayren choked on the metallic taste of blood, his eyes narrowing despite the pain. "You are obviously... not Remiel," he hissed. Remiel let out a sharp, jagged laugh that echoed off the trees, sounding more like a bark than a human emotion. "Wow... is it really that obvious? I thought I was doing such a convincing impression of the 'fragile' little prince." "Where is he?" Cayren wheezed, his hands clawing weakly at the dirt. "Where is the real Remiel?" Remiel's expression flattened instantly, the mock-amusement vanishing. He released Cayren’s hair with a shove, acting as though he had suddenly grown bored of the game. "Enough asking questions. You're starting to give me a headache." With

🎀 CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-FOUR🎀Remiel thrashed against the vines, the thorns tearing through his tunic and drawing beads of blood that seemed to make the mist glow even brighter. He gritted his teeth, refusing to give the shadow the satisfaction of a plea. "What do you say?" the entity asked, its voice vibrating through the very marrow of Remiel's bones. "One word, and the pain stops. One word, and the power begins." Remiel only struggled harder, his face flushed with a mix of exertion and defiance. He remained silent, his jaw locked tight. "Deep down, you want to kill them ALL!" the entity roared, the sound hitting Remiel like a physical blow, making his ears ring. "I can feel the heat of your rage! It’s a beautiful, burning sun inside that pathetic chest of yours! You want to see the palace crumble! You want to see them beg for mercy!" "What... exactly are you?" Remiel finally wheezed, his strength spent. The entity erupted into a jagged, mocking laugh that echoe

🎀CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-SIX🎀 The air in the secret chamber was thick with the scent of expensive tobacco, Kaelric sat back in a velvet chair, his eyes tracking the light as it glinted off the heavy bags of coin on the table. Across from him sat Silas and the man called scar. "Well," Kaelric began."I must confess... you did a good job. Better than I expected, given the security." Scar didn't laugh, but the corner of his scarred mouth twitched upward into a jagged, unsettling smile. He looked like a wolf that had finally tasted blood and was already hungry for more. The King isn't dead yet," Kaelric noted, leaning forward. "But the healers are losing hope. It is only a matter of time now." He reached down and slid a small, bulging leather bag across the table. It landed with a heavy, muffled thud in front of the killer. "This is a bonus. It’s more than enough for you to vanish, Scar, Change your location. Go far away where the crown’s reach can’t find you." Sc

🎀 CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-EIGHT 🎀 The sun had long since slipped below the horizon, leaving the palace square swallowed by a thick, oppressive darkness. The only light came from massive iron fire-drums scattered around the perimeter. The wood inside crackled and popped, sending orange sparks dancing into the black sky and casting long, flickering shadows that made the gathering crowd look like a sea of ghosts. In the center of that dancing orange light, Remiel was lashed to a thick wooden pole. His skin looked ghastly pale against the dark wood, his wrists chafed and raw from the heavy iron chains that kept him upright. Off to the side, Kaelric stood with his arms crossed, the firelight glinting off his polished buttons. He watched the scene with a mask of cold indifference, though a dark spark of amusement flickered in his eyes. Fools, he thought, watching the guards sharpen their blades. They are about to execute the wrong man while the real architect stands in th