y blood ran like surges of icy water in my core, the thoughts swirling in my mind chanting and hissing with a song of dread and fear and uneasiness.

Nothing. Not even a single crack.

The barrier protecting us was unscratched and powerful like the first days of its existence. But the flacon had arrived to this shore, had been found by the child, and had killed every single innocent soul partying through the night.

There were little options to consider, and as I stared at my father, as my thoughts ran with his in a maze of twisting and twirling ideas and schemes, we knew.

Today's doing was the result of an intern traitor.

The idea hadn't been strange or as heavy as we feared when we explained everything to our court; after Blake's appearance, the White Troopers were able to capture nests and nests of apostates growing and rooting in Cantelot's streets and inns and undergrounds. Most of them were original Mages from poor cities that saw it better for their interests to sell themselves in fake promises of wealth and fortune. They had only lied to themselves. Each time we captured a nest, we found as much alive people than corpses attached to columns and skinned till death.

But tonight, the act hit hard. Our guards were loftily raised, Troopers scattered every few inches, watching and noting. Siltheres's eyes watched restlessly, observing and protecting every bit of Cantelot, unveiling more traitors as days went.

The flacon hadn't been sent this night, hadn't been escorted by a traitor during the ball. No, it was already there, already infiltrated and only waiting for the right time to surge out of the water. All borders were already checked each day and night before the ball, only noble authorities capable of accessing the farthest lands of the continent.

The traitor had to be from the castle, or at least one soldiers under his or her lead.

The conclusion didn't make anything better.

For heavy moments, silence glommed us, tying our tongues and weighting on our shoulders.

And thank the Gods Luthian spoke, his words piercing through that deafness and shattering it like splitting and breaking glass, "We cannot leave the bodies here, Your Excellencies. We kept the area clear as possible, but the smell will spread and the curious eyes will wander."

"He speaks truth," commented Claurod, his eyes turning to us. "But we can't just go around carrying masses of dead bodies."

"No, we truly can't." Ramos turned to the King, fingering his long, trimmed beard that glowed silver under moonlight. "We must take them to the cemetery and make sure they receive a temporary burial under the dirt. Few days from now, we'll let the people know some of what they need to and give them the proper burial they deserve."

"Wouldn't there be people at the graveyard?"

Némair hit one end with his question which urged me to call upon my Mark. My body felt weary and drained of all energy, but my magic still hummed and trashed with ferocity, urging me to let it flow free. And I did, tapping into my Ealas and seeing vast lands and vague faces until I reached the cemetery. It was void but the mite number of visitors—three persons, one man and two women. They were enough easy souls and plain minds that it took me a few seconds to play with their thoughts and carry them away, never any of them breaking my will or looking back to any of the tombstones.

"All clear," I said, my vision steadying and soul snuggling back in my flesh. Sorcha's brown-flicked-grey eyes stared at me, a glint in them that could be read as pride.

I had unlocked a vast area of my magic during the three weeks after emerging from the Eye of Lamera. I was no longer that foolish human. No longer that damsel that feared to stand. To shine. I had changed, built myself anew from scratches. I trained and learned and became everything my throne needed so much that, even when the castle didn't know who I was, even when Ramos would pair me with well-trained, powerful guards, I could bring them down in moments.

I wasn't scared of power anymore.

"Then we take them," Father said, walking away from the sea, half his body drenched, and crouching next to one body, "and give them as close as the temporary burial they deserve, even if it is rudimentary."

The king walked from the cadaver he was next to, sand sticking to his knees, and made his way to his horse, removing a pile of black cloaks from the sacks attached to his black monster.

"These are covered with charm; they will turn invisible everything they cover as long as they are tightly wrapped." His eyes scanned the lands, counting. "I have only five and there are seventeen bodies. Cover each few with one."

Isal, Némair, Hydn, Ayaz, and Luthian took the cloaks as Leon and Claurod helped stacking each three or four together. I didn't move from where I stood, my legs still kissed by the salty water, my face still caressed by the cool breezes. Rhiannon and Sorcha came and stood along, the witch's hand slightly squeezing my left shoulder, and I merely turned to stare at her. She was dressed in black, an odd sight from her usual white gown, as though a walking spirit through the night. She smiled even as it was slight and feeble but I knew it was more forced than reassuring. She could feel the darkness around just like I did, hating it as much.

The future Reagent of Nevora's Second Crown stood silent, aura calming as best as possible as her eyes drifted. I followed her line of vision and saw the small girl, the one who had been cursed enough to find the flacon, and there was heaviness in her soul.

Her eyes flicked to mine, her face glimmering under starlight and it remained as such a shock of how much she looked like Estelle. How beautiful and disarming she was with eyes mirrors to Leon's: as blue as the deepest of oceans. A beauty so powerful it could be used as much to lull then to destroy. She truly was the Shadow's sister, no doubt.

But I was quick to forget both the ladies alongside, only staring ahead at my father then at Ramos who joined him, and everyone who followed, done grouping the corpses. Luthian and Hydn were hurling them on the steeds, occupying three—two full and one merely able to accommodate the rider.

The Court Leader tapped his long, oak cane on the shore even though we all knew he had no need for it more than the traditions. I had seen Ramos fight and hold a sword before, most of them during training, and he could hoist and yield steel with ease and power I wondered how were possible for a man of seven hundred years.

Everyone closed around Ramos as light emerged from under the cane's foot--but I didn't, even as Sorcha and Rhia walked past. Instead, I reached one sand pile, moving away scattered pieces of glass and bottles of beer with my feet until a piece of paper became visible. I pulled it and dusted it from the sticking prickles before joining the circle that had formed around Ramos, light cloaking us. A flame was born from the tip of my index, illuminating the candle still fixed inside the lantern, glowing like a miniature sun. And then the light from Ramos' cane swallowed us, taking us from Taloan to the nearest bone yard.

But not before the paper lantern flew in the sky and toward the shiny star from before. To their new home.

The castle was alive to its prime even after the ball had ended; waves of servants buzzed restlessly all around, walking and moving with no such thing as lament.

After Ramos's spell cast us in the cemetery, leaving both of Luthian and Hydn under the Rocheguard Lords and Sir Ayaz's leadership to bury the cadavers, the Court Leader had propelled us to one of the castle's smallest gates, down in the south-west, nearing the gardens and just a few floors above the dungeons.

No one ever came near this area without noble permission, which played well for us.

We took the secret passageways, once again taking dark, humid, and narrow paths until we were right behind the throne room. From there on, most of what was left of our company bowed, retreated, and disappeared like living shadows—soundless and imperceptible.

But the night wasn't even near being done.

We waited in the darkness for several minutes, nothing but the merely audible voice of breathing creeping through the silence. But I could hear the thoughts swirling in the minds of all of my father, Ramos, and Leon, who had stayed to seek answers, even though father's thoughts were the darkest as he observed the Shadow who had given himself the authorization to stay. I truly wondered if the king would let him live to sunrise. For a reason or another, it made me smile slightly, arching an eyebrow at both men even as I knew they couldn't see me. Which was better for all of us.

The hustle in the throne room ceased and we gave it three heartbeats before deeming it clear and appearing out of the closest wall to the three golden thrones, hidden behind a pillar of gold and white marble adorned with swirling patterns that glinted under the chandeliers.

We moved fast and quiet, and it took me instants to open the gate leading to Siltheres. And then, a few instants more until we were out of Ardoria and engulfed in the immaculate white.

Everything was still the same: the mighty dragon on his raised dais, the glowing symbol carved from my blood underneath him, and the embossed sceneries playing all around and showing all of Ardoria.

I didn't wait any of the men behind me to move before I strode fast-paced to Siltheres, something in me eager to stand next to its towering height and being warmed by the fire shrieking in the crevice at the top of his neck. With a hurry, I climbed the stairs three-by-three until I stood on the dais, neon light of red and green and blue shimmering beneath my feet, my gazes running over the fifteen foot high—his standard size—dragon that stared down at me with fire in those chartreuse eyes.

'I have missed thee,' he said, head lowering until his eyes locked with mine and my hand could brush the cool scales of his muzzle. He inclined into the touch, closing his eyes as my fingers gently stroke him, his fire gently rumbling.

"And so did I," I replied, leaning my forehead against his. After the council, I had come to Siltheres, spent a few hours that had ran too short, before never having the chance to come back until this moment.

The Dragon of the Gods rose from his lowered position, wings, big and scaly and undoubtedly powerful, stretching out as his eyes flickered to my company.

"An honor, it is, to meet thee in flesh and bones after all those painful years, Aragon son of Iadamer. Truly a joy to see thee alive."

"The honor is all mine, mighty dragon," said Father as he came closer until he stood alongside, shortly followed by Ramos and Leon. The dragon bowed its head to the ground, eyes gleaming as he looked over my king.

He smiled, scaly mouth revealing sharp, silver coated fangs that matched with the color lining his mug, edges of his wings and tail, and tip of his sharp, pointy ears, and contrasted with the emerald of the rest of his body. And I knew better than to underestimate the power of those fangs, forged by celestial bones out of Aether's first angel, the most powerful and deadly of all weapons.

"I have seen the massacre at Taloan," voiced Siltheres, his words killing the flickers of joy that had formed upon seeing him. "And I had looked back into the past of these few days, but there was no one but the Troopers."

And there was more coming, I knew that much. Felt it, at least. But I waited until he stood loftily once again, and braced myself for whatever upcoming words.

"Thus, I have looked farther past the day ye showed thy presence at the court. There was one thing that I remembered caught my eyes that happened nine days from now: a hooded silhouette reaching the shore, walking halfway into the sea, flacon in hand before returning as fast as he came. Alas, I could not tell who he was as his scent was too well washed away by the soot of burnt Adeim's leaves. I tried to track him afterward, but nothing came as he disappeared into mist, the soot covering him shielding all his whereabouts.

"I had doubts regarding him at first, but then he had stood in the midst of the water, splayed some goods as sacrifices and chanted an old song to the Gods. And there was no seeping evil from his soul that my eyes could see. Nothing but a mere person sending his prayers. Odd place, but everything was peaceful enough, his soul was clear enough, that he posed no threat."

Burnt Adeim's leaves, the only thing that could hide the tracking scent of a demon, and if heavily used, the scent of a supposed pure Ardorian.

"Then it was all planned and prepared before we even knew of anything," commented Leon. "They knew what our plans were before we could realize them, already standing several feet ahead of us."

"They did. Téors had come to me earlier through the night, carrying a warning. Not about the attack, but about Eziara. The mines are working fast, sprouting deadly warriors. But," he paused, and I could feel my breath hitching in my throat as I stared at his immortal soul. "Both the Black Queen and her son are rummaging through ancient spells as dark as the ones used through the first Red War."

The first, meaning there was another one coming. And fast.

"Some of them are the forbidden chants that had been once pronounced on Apocalys's tongue."

A chill ran down my blood and spine and bones, tracing icy, skeletal claws down my soul. So much darkness was being invoked bit by bit and I feared what the reason might be.

My dragon retreated from his upraised dais, the ground dissolving like the last time, allowing me to retrieve the Book of Astazan. When the ground sealed once again, there was a seat shaped like a throne sitting proudly in the middle. With merely his thoughts, Siltheres beckoned me to sit, his body resting behind, his heavy head on my right shoulder as Father stood at my right, Leon and Ramos on my left.

With my order, the book opened, swirls of light dancing all around, bringing a bit of life to the unmoving lands mantling us. And then, the light died, leaving blank pages waiting to be ordered.

"Has Téors told you what sort of magic they were looking into?" I queried, leaning my head against his and tilting slightly so I could stare into his glowing eyes.

"He has, but they are from words that cannot be pronounced nor understood by mere mortal tongues." His eyes bored long into mine until his fire reverberated as he hissed words that carried by their own mention waves and waves of darkness and despair.

All the men around me stood still, wearied by the weight of the words undoubtedly, even as they could not make any sense of what Siltheres had pronounced. The dragon's words were a hiss and whisper at once, forced out like a suffocating choke from his fire and down his throat. They were dark and laced with enough malice and dripping venom it made my bones go cold.

But what scared me more was the fact that I understood it.

Siltheres felt and knew as he eyed me keenly, not judging, not contemplating, not wondering. Just waiting.

He knew as much as I did what this language was: those words—that tongue—were the one Apocalys used as he defied the Gods and turned to chaos. The tongue he taught Dearcious and made sure to be carried by the strongest of each generation. The tongue of death and despair.

I didn't wait Siltheres to tell me how I knew this, or what the memories playing at the edges of my consciousness were, flashing like vague splashes of thoughts down my deepest fears. I would know it eventually, but it wasn't the time for it. Not as something more dangerous was brewing and waiting.

I closed my eyes as I laid both hands on the book, the chants echoing in my soul with heaviness. No spoken spells, no uttered orders, but when I opened my eyes, the chant was inked on the old, frail papers holding the knowledge of the world.

But this time, it could be read and understood, written in our own language.

Father's face turned as pale as the moon far above in the sky, shadows looming in his eyes. No one sported any better signs.

My father's eyes were storming, smoldering emeralds as he looked at my dragon, his thoughts a chaotic mess of ideas that remained unreached for me. And I didn't try seeing into them, perhaps because how dark they were or just how much fear they carried.

And for a mighty king to fear his own thoughts…

"This is too dangerous," he said, at last. "No one should know of these spells, no one should be aware of the knowledge of bringing what shouldn't be brought back."

"I had received words about dark rituals going on in the heart of Eziara, something that rages from hundreds and thousands of years. If those words are true, then what awaits might well be the end of the world we know," Ramos paused, face troubled and wrinkles hard around his alerted eyes.

"And it is for sure that, if we do not come with something strong and efficient within the soonest time possible, the world that will be build again will be of nothing less than a world with our Gods fallen and defeated."

In the outside, and even through the whiteness playing around us, I could both see and feel the sky darkening, the stars flickering weakly.

"This spell," the Shadow trailed slowly, thoughts building fast, "is used to revive or to awake, if Mother's studies come true. But to bring back who?"

"The first Demon King, perhaps?" even Ramos was not convinced by his own words, his voice frail and worried like never before.

"Lysithea's soul isn't Dearcious's, we know this much," I stated, everything filling together.

"And Blake is her rightful son and heir, kept secret from our eyes all those long years."

"He is Dearcious's reincarnation."

We knew all of this, but it didn't explain anything at all.

We flipped through pages after pages, reading spells and chants and sorceries as dark and similar as the one the phoenix had brought, analyzing each bit of them, studying and memorizing.

The more we read, the more terrified I became. There was a blurry outline, the edges of a conclusion forming. And I dreaded it.

The line we followed brought more inclination to awakening than reviving, some for beasts that were long forgotten, some for dead men and warriors that had fallen in battle to rise again, and some dark enough if summoned correctly could alarm the heavens and the Gods themselves.

It was bad. Really, really bad.

An hour passed then the other and then some more as we read, eyes sore and minds numb as we delved deeper until I could feel the moon retreating, barely an hour until dawn creaked in.

I stopped staring at the fancily curved letters, stopped trying to decipher what those words meant, because deep down I knew.