Chapter 279: The Nightmare Behind the Throne
[Silthara Palace — Malika’s Private Residency — Private Courtyard — Continuation]
Silence.
No answer came; the necklace remained resting upon the white marble, untouched and unclaimed. The morning breeze gently stirred the newly planted lotus blossoms, yet throughout the courtyard...not a single serpent dared breathe too loudly.
Raviel remained kneeling, his forehead nearly touching the stone once more; his trembling hands remained folded before him, waiting and praying.
Levin never moved; his blue eyes remained fixed upon the necklace. Then Duke Aren quietly stepped forward; his calm gaze slowly swept across everyone gathered within the courtyard.
Lady Arinaya. Captain Raevahn. The Royal Knights. The kneeling Raviel. Finally...his eyes rested upon Levin.
"Levin." His voice was neither loud nor commanding, yet everyone immediately turned toward him.
Levin slowly looked at his father. Duke Aren folded both hands behind his back. "I shall not tell the Malika of Zahryssar how he must rule. Nor shall I ask a father..."
His eyes briefly drifted toward the palace where his twins, the prince and princess, slept peacefully.
"...to forget those who sought to murder his children."
Raviel slowly lowered his head further. Duke Aren continued as he looked directly at Levin.
"But there is one question...that only a ruler can answer."
Silence.
"If justice alone governs a kingdom...the people shall fear their ruler. If mercy alone governs a kingdom...the people shall cease fearing the law."
The courtyard remained completely still. "So tell me, what separates a great king...from an ordinary judge?"
Silence.
Levin never answered. Duke Aren slowly looked toward Raviel. "You ask for mercy."
Then toward Levin. "You demand justice, both of you, are correct."
Lady Arinaya frowned. "But..."
Duke Aren’s eyes narrowed as he looked toward the imperial crest carved into the courtyard wall. "The answer cannot be found in either extreme. The Crown...exists to protect the innocent."
His voice became firmer.
"And today...the innocent are already dead."
The words struck the courtyard like a blade. Raviel slowly closed his eyes. Duke Aren continued.
"No judgment...will return those daughters. No pardon...will heal those parents."
Silence.
"But neither..." He slowly turned back toward Levin. "...will another execution erase their grief."
Levin remained expressionless, yet his fingers slowly curled beneath his sleeves. For the first time his father had spoken not as a parent...but as a duke who had once borne the same burden.
Another silence followed.
Then a royal knight suddenly rushed into the courtyard.
"My Malika!" He immediately dropped onto one knee; his breathing had become hurried. "The Royal Physicians...request your immediate presence."
Levin frowned slightly. "What has happened?"
The knight lowered his head. "The prisoner...Naburash has coughed blood. He has lost consciousness. The physicians fear..."
His voice nearly disappeared.
"...he may not survive the day."
Silence.
Every face within the courtyard changed. Raviel’s world seemed to stop, and his eyes widened. Then without thinking he crawled forward across the marble.
"My Malika..." Raviel’s voice finally shattered; fresh tears struck the white marble beneath him. "...If he must die, please do not let him leave this world believing...that I found him only to lose him again."
Silence.
Not a single voice answered; the entire courtyard remained frozen. The Royal Knights. The gardeners. Lady Arinaya. Raevahn. Zyvera. Even Duke Aren remained silent.
Every eye rested upon only one person.
The Malika of Zahryssar.
Levin slowly closed his eyes; the breeze gently stirred the lotus blossoms around the sacred pond. For several long moments he remained motionless.
Then his calm voice finally broke the silence as he said, "...The sins Naburash has committed...shall never be forgiven."
Raviel’s heart slowly sank. Levin continued. "The blood upon his hands cannot be washed away. The omegas he stole shall never return home. The pain he inflicted shall remain upon the history of Zahryssar."
Silence.
"But..." His gaze settled upon Raviel. "Neither shall Raviel’s loyalty...nor the times he stood beside this Crown...ever be forgotten."
The courtyard remained deathly still. Levin slowly descended another step.
"Therefore today...I shall not pardon Naburash." Hope within Raviel’s eyes immediately dimmed. "...Nor shall I alter his sentence."
Another silence followed.
"But..." Levin looked directly into Raviel’s trembling eyes. "Until Naburash draws his final breath...I permit him to remain beside his mate."
Raviel froze, his breathing stopped. Levin continued. "He shall remain under constant guard. He shall never leave the palace. He shall never be freed from judgment. But a mate shall not be denied the final moments of another husband."
Silence.
Raveil lowered himself until his forehead touched the marble once more. "Thank you...thank you, Malika."
For the first time since entering the courtyard, relief found him. It was not the mercy he had prayed for, but it was enough.
Enough...to say goodbye. Raviel slowly rose to his feet; he bowed one final time. Then turned to leave.
"...Raviel." Levin’s voice stopped him.
He immediately turned back. "Yes, Malika?"
Levin slowly extended his hand; his gaze rested upon the silk pouch still lying upon the marble. "The necklace. It belongs...to the Imperial Family."
Raviel lowered his eyes without the slightest hesitation...he carefully lifted the ancient pink necklace. For a brief moment he looked at it quietly. Then he respectfully placed it within Levin’s waiting hand.
"It was never mine to begin with."
Levin accepted it without another word. Raviel bowed deeply. Then, without looking back, he hurried across the courtyard. Toward the Imperial Dungeon. Toward the mate, fate had finally returned to him.
Levin quietly watched him disappear beyond the palace gates; only then did he speak again.
"...Raevahn."
The captain immediately stepped forward. "Yes, Malika."
Levin’s eyes never left the departing figure of Raviel. "Assign the Royal Physicians to the dungeon." "If Naburash truly stands upon death’s doorstep, then I wish him to meet that fate, but...if he doesn’t, make sure we make him reach his death step. Today should be his last day."
Raevahn bowed deeply. "As you command."
Without another word he departed.
Silence settled once again. Then Levin’s eyes met Zyvera’s, and then she lowered her head respectfully.
"I respect your decision, Malika. I shall never defend a sinner. I may once have been a thief...but I never stained my hands with innocent blood."
Levin studied her quietly, then he gave a small nod. "I only hope that your brother finds the strength to survive the grief that awaits him."
Zyvera silently bowed; no words came; there were none left to say. Levin slowly turned away; the ancient necklace rested quietly within his palm. Its pink gemstone shimmered beneath the afternoon sun.
"...Lady Arinaya."
"Yes, Malika."
"Summon High Mage Arkhazunn."
She bowed. "It shall be done."
She departed immediately; only Duke Aren remained beside his son, his eyes settled upon the necklace. "Do you believe there is something unusual about it?"
Levin remained silent for several moments, his fingers slowly brushed across the ancient gemstone.
"I do not know, but one question refuses to leave my mind." He lifted the necklace slightly. "This belonged to Malika Ninsara. The treasury once held countless relics...crowns, royal seals, sacred scrolls, and ancient weapons."
Another silence followed.
"And yet..." His blue eyes narrowed. "Only this necklace...was stolen."
Duke Aren frowned. Levin continued quietly. "It vanished for centuries. It was traded. Auctioned. Passed from one stranger to another, and now...It has returned to Silthara Palace."
Silence.
The lotus flowers continued swaying gently within the breeze. Far away the bells of Lord Urzan’s temple echoed across the capital. Levin looked down at the necklace one final time.
"...I cannot explain why, but something..." His fingers unconsciously tightened. "Something within this relic feels as though it has been waiting to return home."
Neither father nor son noticed it. Yet deep within the heart of the ancient pink gemstone... For the briefest imaginable moment a faint golden light quietly flickered.
***
[House Kharzath — Midnight — Rakhane’s Office]
By midnight, silence had swallowed House Kharzath. The grand manor slept beneath the pale moon hanging over the endless desert. Servants had long since retired, the corridors remained empty, and only one chamber still burned with light.
In High Ensi Rakhane’s office, a single candle flickered upon the vast ebony desk. Its lonely flame danced against countless scrolls...maps, military reports, and detailed sketches of Silthara Palace spread across the table.
Rakhane sat motionless, one hand lazily holding a silver wine goblet. The other rested beneath his chin; his eyepatch concealed one eye.
The remaining crimson eye...remained fixed upon the map, unblinking and unreadable. The chamber remained so quiet...that even the crackling candle could be heard.
Minutes passed, then another, then another.
Without warning—
SCATTTTTEEEERRRRR!!!
Every scroll, every report, and every map was violently swept from the desk. Parchments flew through the chamber like frightened birds; several struck the walls, and others scattered across the marble floor.
Only the silver goblet remained untouched; not a single drop of wine was spilled.
Silence returned.
Rakhane leaned forward, his fingers burying themselves within his own hair, and his breathing grew heavier.
"Damn it..." The whisper barely escaped his lips.
Another breath, and another; his shoulders trembled, not from fear but from rage.
Slowly, very slowly...he raised his head; his crimson eye drifted toward the distant silhouette of Silthara Palace standing beneath the moonlight. Its countless towers shone proudly against the night.
His jaw tightened.
"...I have to end them..." His voice sounded hoarse, ancient, almost...monstrous. "Before they end me."
Silence.
His fingers slowly curled into a fist. "So long as they breathe...my future ends."
He continued staring toward the palace as his breathing became uneven and his words escaped like poison.
"Those children, those cursed golden-blood twins. I cannot...I will not allow them to live." His crimson eye slowly darkened.
"They must die before they awaken. Before they inherit everything, before they erase..."
He stopped, and another long silence followed. Then a low laugh escaped him, broken and cold. "Before they erase my entire...Black Serpent Clan."
The candle flame suddenly flickered, once, twice, and three times. The room instantly became colder; the air itself felt heavier.
A foul, rotten scent slowly spread throughout the office. It smelled like flesh abandoned beneath the desert sun, like death and like decay. Even the candle struggled to remain lit; dark mist quietly gathered behind Rakhane.
As it coiled upward like living smoke, the walls groaned. The shadows stretched unnaturally.
His crimson eye slowly closed, the eyepatch loosened by itself, and---
FOOOOOOSSSSHHHHHH—
The lone candle was extinguished; darkness swallowed the office whole.
Silence...a complete silence.
Several heartbeats passed, then a pair of black eyes slowly opened within the darkness, not crimson but black. Endless, bottomless, and ancient. Moonlight quietly slipped through the window. Illuminating the figure now standing before it.
The golden hair had vanished. In its place flowed hair darker than the night itself. The crimson eye had become a pair of abyss-like black eyes.
The face of High Ensi Rakhane was gone; standing before the moon...was someone else entirely.
The air around him rotted. Dark pheromones poured from his body in suffocating waves; the scent carried corruption itself like an ancient corpse that refused to remain buried.
It was the Black Serpent Emperor...Azhrakaal.
His lips slowly curved upward.
"At last..." A voice far deeper than Rakhane’s echoed throughout the chamber. "This body has become useful."
His black eyes remained fixed upon Silthara Palace, upon the distant home of the Golden Blood heirs.
A smile cold enough to freeze the soul spread across his face.
"Sleep well, little heirs. For I shall be the nightmare...that ends your bloodline."
The black pheromones behind him twisted violently. Its shape slowly resembled an enormous serpent watching the palace with endless hunger.
The chamber trembled because the serpent standing there was no longer High Ensi Rakhane. He had never been, but if the Black Serpent Emperor...Azhrakaal...had been wearing Rakhane’s face all this time...
Then only one question remained.
Where...was the real High Ensi Rakhane?
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