The moon hung pale and distant over the Western Palace, its light rippling across tiled roofs like thin ice. Unease hung thick in the air, stealing the sleep of multiple guests. Many stepped out onto their balconies, gazing at the moon—pretending to admire its glow while quietly wondering whose blood would stain it red next.
But Illaria couldn’t waste time watching the moon.
She sat alone in yet another abandoned room, her cloak drawn tightly around her as she tried unleashing the same damning magic she had unleashed years ago. Even Illaria herself didn’t understand how she had done it back then—something had overtaken her, something ancient and dark, a power unheard of had surged forth. Illaria tried forcing herself to relive that night—the screams, the blood, the allies, the enemies, the betrayals, and most importantly, the searing rage that had consumed everything in its path. The picture of absolute destruction crystal clear in her mind. Her voice whispered the same incantation, word for word, as it had on that dreadful night.
But nothing happened.
The power that once came so easily, so violently, lay buried deep within her—silent, unreachable, dormant, like a volcano long cooled yet still alive beneath the surface.
She knew she still had it within, she had spent seven more years re-building herself. She could feel it inside, but it was like a caged up animal. Powerful, but not impactful.
“Why…”
“Why can’t I bring it out?” A soft whisper filled with stubborn fatigue scattered into the night.
She closed her eyes and forced herself to remember — the smell of blood, the heat of the battle seven years ago, the screams,
“They took everything from me,” she told herself. “They all deserve to burn, don’t they?”
Her pulse raced. Anger rose, black and heavy. Then her nephew’s teary face came to her mind — eyes that had already resigned to the fate she had sentenced him to. It didn’t matter though.
The air stayed still. Dead. Empty. The magic won’t come through. Ugh. Something was missing. But what? She couldn’t quite pinpoint. Frustration was rising and things looked bleak when she remembered. The root cause of the war - the laboratory which had equipped the Western Kingdom with the power to tear the sky open. She had seen it from the outside seven years ago but had not infiltrated it. But that lab probably held everything: the records, the failed experiments, the truth and the key to unlock her power.
If the lab was still, then maybe, there was her answer too.
Illaria moved like a shadow across the inner court walls, her steps soundless. The guards had doubled, and every torch flicker was a threat. But she remembered Amayra’s secret routes were a blessing. Come to think of it, where was Amayra? The archive didn’t mention her name among the Western casualties and neither had she seen her in the court meeting today. But nevermind, there were bigger problems at hand.
Illaria quietly slipped into the city and within half an hour she was at the relic of a tower now. The Royal Western Lab. It was dimly glowing in the dark. Her heartbeat quickened. After all these years, it was still running.
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A very high glass window glowed softly with green light — she could feel magic brimming inside. They were still doing their experiments. Great. She climbed the outer wall, fingers gripping loose stone and stepped in. It was oddly quiet. Maybe everyone was home due to the Festival. She silently climbed up the tower and when she reached the high window, she paused, listening.
Silence.
She eased it open and looked down. She couldn’t see things clearly, but the green glowed more intensely at what looked like a bottomless pit. She slipped inside and began her descent. It was a while before her feet touched the floor again. The air smelled of old parchment and iron — and faintly, of blood. Her gaze swept the room. The green glowed intensely at the centre. It was too dark to see anything else.
She stepped forward towards the green. Close. Closer. Almost within hand’s reach. Just as her hand extended towards it the room shifted — it flooded with a blinding light and a whisper of steel behind her. A blade touched her throat.
“Don’t move.” That voice. Cold, calculative, calm as ever. Illaria froze. Prince Lyn.
Even after seven years, she recognized that tone — the one that could make even kings step aside. But his words held confusion, not hostility. Yet.
Her eyes darted forward. The green glow she had been chasing was neither secret magic nor hidden power—it was just an Amora vine, a rare plant that pulsed with an eerie, emerald radiance. The room was moulded across to make its light cast shadows across the walls, which seemed to give the room texture from the window above but on the ground the space was completely bare. No tables. No scrolls. No signs of research on magic. Only the single vine, its roots sunk into a circular stone in the center of the room.
Illaria’s heart sank. Realization hit. This wasn’t a laboratory. It was a trap chamber. The green light wasn’t to illuminate secrets; it was to lure intruders. That is why there were no guards outside. The Western Kingdom set it up to catch pesky intruders like her and she had walked right into it.
“I had a feeling that the recent murder would lead to someone trying to break into our lab. Who are you, and what is your purpose?”
She didn’t answer. Her heart thudded painfully against her ribs. He hadn’t recognized her.
Lyn’s blade pressed harder as he replied, “Tell me who you are.”
She clenched her jaw. She didn’t know what to do, but she had to buy time. Cook up a story. Maybe use that same my brother's ill story and try to run. She opened her mouth to spew lies but froze again as a gust of wind swept through the window. She looked up. Another body entered the window. From atop the window only, a voice filled the lab. Smooth. Calm. Familiar.
“Lyn,” said Marcus, hanging by the window’s ledge. “That is no way to treat a guest!”
Lyn’s eyes narrowed as he looked up and replied, “Marcus. What are you doing here? Come down first of all.”
“Coming,” Marcus called back, and recited a short incantation as he flung Iceblade into the air. But instead of falling, the sword spun once and settled midair. Marcus leapt onto it, and descended in a swift, almost divine glide. His Myrenn abilities, Illaria had to admit, had become far more impressive — and far showier — than before.
Marcus stepped close towards Illaria, and shoved her a bit back as he took Lyn’s blade on his own neck. He replied, “Curiosity. You know I’ve always been fond of your lab.”
“This one,” he said casually, “was helping me. I asked him to find the old archives. Didn’t think he’d get caught so fast, but that’s on me, I should have told him that there is a very super obvious trap near the entrance and he has to evade it but he’s going through puberty right now so probably a bit too emotional to apply brains.”
Illaria’s heart leapt — he’d covered for her.
But Lyn didn’t lower his blade. It was still touching Marcus.
“You sent a spy into my lab?”
“I sent a scholar,” Marcus corrected, his tone easy but his eyes sharp. “You and I both know how much I have loved magic and exploration as a kid.” The tension didn’t loosen up though. One long quiet moment passed.
“Come on brother, I don’t want a fight and this guy didn’t even find any of your secrets. And I promise, no more of my personal investigations. Plus with the current tense situation around Usher’s death, doing something against your own brother isn’t the best move.”
Finally, Lyn exhaled and sheathed his sword. “Fine. But this conversation isn’t over. You two will return to the palace. We’ll talk there.”
Marcus nodded lightly, as he replied, “Of course, brother.”
As Lyn turned to leave, Marcus shot Illaria a hard and angry glance — one that said everything without a single word. Do not cause more trouble. Follow my lead. Illaria lowered her head, heart pounding. For now, she would obey. But only for now. Marcus could save her a thousand more times but that won’t stop her.