Three days had passed since Luciana regained consciousness.
She had barely spoken a word to anyone, isolating herself in the crushing grief of losing her precious little sister. The world outside seemed distant, muted by sorrow. Whenever she closed her eyes, she could still hear Avlynn's laughter—so full of mischief, so full of life. And now, there was only silence.
A gentle voice pulled her from her trance.
"My dear niece. Dearest Luciana."
Aurora's hand cupped her cheek, a single tear slipping down her woeful face. Her expression was a mirror of sorrow, though she masked it better than Luciana ever could.
"Hades." Aurora indicated softly. The infant had finished nursing and now squirmed in discomfort.
Luciana's gaze drifted toward the child in her arms. His tiny body wriggled, his face scrunching up as if on the verge of tears. Carefully, she adjusted her gown, then shifted him against her shoulder, gently patting his back. He let out a small, breathy burp before settling down again.
She pressed a tender kiss to the crown of his head. His jet-black hair, soft as silk, and his delicate, pointed ears reminded her of Erebus. A gnawing fear clenched her heart—was he truly gone? Had the sea swallowed him forever?
When she was strong enough to leave her chambers, albeit carried on a palanquin, she made daily visits to Avlynn's grave, bringing fresh flowers and water. It was during these visits that she noticed the stares—sharp, unyielding, hostile. Not just at her, but at Hades as well.
Only then did she understand why Leila rarely took Apollonia out alone.
Aurora's voice once again broke the heavy silence.
"Your Highness, you must eat. You haven't touched a single meal since you awoke."
Luciana's hollow eyes drifted toward the table. A generous spread lay before her—plump grapes, ripe figs, dates, pomegranates, and olives, all accompanied by goat cheese and warm flatbread. But none of it stirred even the faintest hunger in her.
Even when Dacey and Fabio arrived from the guest quarters to visit, she only looked at them with vacant eyes, a lifeless doll trapped in mourning.
"Aunt… water… please." Her voice was barely a whisper, her throat raw with thirst.
Aurora immediately rushed to bring her warm honey water, pressing the cup gently to her lips.
"Would you at least try some dates with cheese? They are your favorites. Or perhaps some smoked quail?"
Luciana gave a slow shake of her head.
"Maybe… later."
Another tear slipped down her cheek.
Smoked quail with barley flatbread, cheese, and salted cucumbers—Avlynn's favorite meal.
Her gaze wandered to the window, where delicate blossoms of oleander, bay laurel, and pomegranate bloomed in the golden light.
It was cruel. How beautiful the world remained—when her own had been shattered.
---
The Alchemist's Tower...>
The alchemists' tower was in chaos.
Cornelius had left at dawn after receiving urgent news from Canute. Their father had returned from Canute's territory—grievously injured, his body covered in strange, unfamiliar symbols.
He did come whole. He was dying!
As Cornelius entered, he immediately spotted his elder brother, Canute, who stood rigid with tension.
"Brother! How is he?" Cornelius demanded.
"Not good," Canute replied grimly.
Cornelius clenched his fists. "Then what are his chances? What is the survival rate?"
Silence.
Cornelius stepped closer. "Say something!"
Canute exhaled sharply, frustration flickering in his eyes. "I don't know! The chances are already slim! Do you think I'd be standing here wracking my brain if I had an answer?!"
Cornelius took a step back, startled by the raw desperation in his brother's voice. The alchemists had been working relentlessly, searching for a cure, a solution—anything that could save their grandmaster.
But time was slipping away.
Canute's gaze landed on a parchment in Cornelius's grip.
"What's that?"
"From the battlefield." Cornelius's tone was clipped, his expression unreadable.
Canute frowned. "What news?"
Cornelius silently extended the parchment.
Canute unrolled it and scanned the words. His breath hitched.
"One disaster after another," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.
Cornelius studied his brother's face. "What choice do we have?"
Canute let out a weary sigh. He had spent every waking moment holding the alchemists' tower together, managing their vast network of resources and intelligence.
"The search parties have returned. Only twelve hundred survivors made it to the western safe zone."
Cornelius stiffened. "What?"
Twelve hundred.
The number was shockingly low. Entire cities, wiped out. The prophecy of the oracle was no longer a distant omen—it was unfolding before their very eyes.
"Wait." Canute's sharp gaze fixated on the parchment's edges. The faded markings caught his attention.
"What's this?" He turned the document over, examining it closely.
Cornelius stepped forward. "What is it?"
His brother suddenly went pale, a sheen of cold sweat forming on his brow.
"The imperial armada…" His voice trembled. "It has been annihilated by Dabbah. It is coming."
A deathly silence filled the room.
Helios, Rudolf, the generals—the entire fleet—destroyed.
Canute's hands clenched into fists.
"Canute… what do we do now?" Cornelius asked, his voice cracking.
Canute's jaw tightened. "What choice do we have?"
Just then, a frantic alchemist burst into the room.
"Lord Canute! The radar has picked up an unidentified entity approaching the northern Achaemenid frontier—its speed is impossible! And—Triglav has gone on a rampage in Kemetian lands, summoning deadly storms. The entire region has been obliterated!"
"What of the Wyvern?" Canute demanded, his expression darkening.
"We last received reports of it attacking the Mayan territory over a month ago. Its current location remains unknown."
Canute exhaled sharply.
No time. No options.
"Go give this to my wife. She will understand the meaning. Dispatch the Dark Troops," he ordered and gave his pendant key to an aide. The man dashed away to execute his orders.
Cornelius recoiled. "Brother! Those warriors excel in dark arts. You know they are forbidden to walk freely!"
Canute turned to him, his glare piercing. "And what other choice do you think we have?" His voice was cold, dangerous.
Cornelius hesitated.
"Tell me, Cornelius." Canute stepped closer, his voice rising. "Do you think I want this? Do you think I take pleasure in unleashing what should remain sealed? Our father is dying. Our citizens are dying. Our army is gone!"
Cornelius swallowed hard.
"We have nothing left," Canute whispered. "Nothing but the slow, creeping certainty of extinction."
Then, without another word, he turned on his heel and strode toward the underworld.
Cornelius remained standing, motionless.
His brother was right.
But the price of unleashing the Dark Troops…
Would be sacrifices beyond imagination.