- Night in Luxana's Room, Moonlit Edifice; Elmir-
*GRASP*
I awoke with a jolt, the remnants of a dream slipping through my fingers like grains of sand. My heart raced, and I grasped the blanket tightly, my fingers curling into the soft fabric like a lifeline. The room around me was dimly lit, the moon casting a silver glow through the sheer curtains, illuminating the intricate patterns on the walls of my room in the Moonlit Edifice.
"LUX!" Cillian's voice sliced through the haze of my confusion, sharp and urgent. I turned my head slowly, the movement sending a ripple of pain through my body. Cillian was kneeling beside the bed, his face a mask of concern, framed by the delicate doll maids who stood behind him, their expressions mirroring his turmoil. They looked like porcelain figures, their eyes wide with worry as if they were caught in a moment of stillness, frozen in time.
I blinked, trying to clear the fog from my mind, feeling utterly drained, as if I had run a marathon in my sleep.
The doctor's voice broke through to my left, filled with relief. "I'm glad the Princess has regained consciousness." His words felt heavy, laden with the gravity of the situation.
"You might not remember what happened last night, but you fell unconscious right after you asked me to wash up," Cillian exclaimed, gently placing my right hand near him and pressing his forehead against the back of my palm. His body was cold. "HAAAaaaaaa...I think I would've died if I'd lost you," Cillian murmured, his voice muffled as my eyes widened in bewilderment. I could not discern his countenance, as it was obscured by my hand. Why would he say that? No, what's that even supposed to mean? You'd die for me? ME? What have I even done to deserve such devotion? My mind raced with questions that burst forth like a volcanic eruption, but I was too fatigued to articulate even a single syllable.
In that moment, clarity struck me. Cillian hadn't killed me; the figure that had haunted my dreams was not him. I had merely been referring to him as such due to their resemblance in appearance. It must have been a memory belonging to someone else entirely. I had been ensnared in someone else's memories, And I suspect the Whisperer's machinations are to blame. He still seems onto me.
With Cillian's head still pressed against my hand, "Thank you. You may take your leave," I requested, glancing towards the doctor in a low voice, despite it not being my place to issue such commands and the potential impropriety of my words. But I needed to converse with Cillian in private.
"Huh? Oh! Of course, I shall depart forthwith. I wish you a swift recovery, Princess," the doctor exclaimed, bowing deferentially as he exited the chamber, accompanied by the maids tasked with escorting him out.
"Is there something you wish to impart to me?" Cillian inquired, his voice muffled as he remained pressed against my hand.
I attempted to rise, my efforts successful despite the bodily aches that accompanied the movement. With my back lightly touching the ornate headboard, "Yes," I replied, gently sliding my hand away from him. He lifted his head slightly and rested his arms beneath it, facing me with his eyes locked onto mine.
"I desire an audience with your mother, the Duchess of Valentino. Will you escort me to her?" I asked, my countenance devoid of emotion. I did not wish to forge any further connections with this man, especially after his earlier words. I feared becoming entangled in a web of regret. Let this be the last such request I make. I had an ominous feeling that he harbored feelings for...umhh...UGH, whatever! Regardless, his mother and mine had been the closest of companions for many years, so I believed she might also possess some knowledge of this Whisperer and Omeen thing, and perhaps even more than Leena, who had been even closer to my own mother.
Cillian appeared perplexed, turning away from my gaze as he hesitantly responded, "Umhh.......I...you see..........like........ummhhh......."
"It is of no consequence," I sighed, shutting my eyes and pressing further back against the headboard. It was evident that the Duchess of Valentino was, in fact, the illegitimate daughter of the Pope of the Kior Empire. They had long since relocated their residence and temple to Elmir, after Kior's defeat and not to mention, no truly devout adherent of the Holy would ever desire connections with the Royal Families of any region. They believed the monarchs to be tyrants who wished to disregard the God when in reality, there was no such thing. It was merely a random belief held by the temple folk and one that irritated every monarch, causing them to make this belief a reality. Moving on, for someone like Cillian, who was akin to a son to the Emperor, it was obvious that his mother's family would be displeased and disregard him for maintaining ties with their perceived enemies. So it was clear why he hesitated, due to his erratic and perplexed relationship with his mother.
"What if she's okay with you?" I murmured to myself, softly.
"What do you mean?" Cillian's voice was sharp, his head still resting on the bed, as if he were trying to decipher my thoughts.
"Cillian, sit up straight. Isn't the floor cold? You've been kneeling for too long," I said, my voice softening.
"Are you worried about me?" A smile danced on his lips as he finally rose, settling into the chair beside him, the movement fluid and graceful, as if he were a dancer in a grand performance.
Why did he kneel when there was a chair right beside him? I thought, narrowing my eyes as I gazed at the ceiling, trying to shake off the weariness that clung to me like a shroud.
Opening my eyes and focusing on Cillian, "What if your mother really doesn't care whether you have a connection with the Emperor or not?"
Cillian scoffed lightly, "If that were true, I don't think I'd be here right now."
"Yeah, sure, you're a mind reader, a fortune teller, an all-knowing being. I truly believe that," I retorted, my voice laced with sarcasm. His puzzled expression only fueled my frustration. "Idiot, you're human, not some demi-god. You don't know what she's thinking or what she's going through. So stop acting like you know her to the core when you don't even know the color of her shell!" I shouted, my anger boiling over.
Silence enveloped us, and Cillian turned his head away, avoiding my gaze, his lips pressed into a thin line.
"To claim to know a soul is to overlook the substantial pressure of their unexpressed burdens; to think your words can encapsulate the depth of their struggles is to misunderstand the seriousness of their inner upheaval," I exclaimed, my voice rising with fervor.
Cillian pursed his lips, still refusing to meet my eyes.
"To presume to know another's heart is to turn a blind eye to the shadows that dance in their depths. You can never truly know someone until you walk a mile in their shoes," I continued, crawling toward him, my left hand reaching out to touch his cheek. I turned his face toward mine, our foreheads gently bumping together, a spark igniting between us as our eyes locked.
In that moment, I felt the walls I had built around my heart begin to crumble. Staying away from him would only be a disadvantage; he was powerful, wealthy, and had connections that could prove invaluable. He was not just the son of my mother's trusted friend. From what I remember in that dream like nightmare of yesterday was it said the 'king' wants to kill me. But not to mention, the look of the Edifice from my dream and reality is completely different, seems like the dream took place long ago, so during that period this Empire was just a Kingdom and maybe that's why he said 'king' or even possible, that the 'king' was my fath- no my UNCLE. Because if Uncle gives me away as a dead sacrifice to the Emperor/King of Elmir, he'd definitely benifit from my blood, since it's the Dragon related. So it'd be good to have him by my side till I can get things cleared up.
"Are you done thinking?" Cillian's question pulled me from my reverie, and I realized how close we had become, the intimacy of our position sending a rush of heat to my cheeks.
"Ye-yes, I am," I stammered, pulling away quickly, my heart racing.
"So, what were you thinking, Lux?" he asked, his curiosity evident.
"You don't know what exactly the Duchess of Valentino thinks about you and your connections. To add on, as a demon contractor, your teleportations work just fine, right?" I asked, my curiosity piqued as I leaned forward, eager for his response.
Cillian's face remained an inscrutable mask, devoid of any emotion. "Yeah, and where do you think all the Uri comes from?" His words hung in the air.
Mana is a mystical force, a spiritual energy that flows through people, animals, and even inanimate objects. Uri, however, represents a more advanced and dangerous manipulation of mana. It involves mana users who have the unique ability to generate additional mana from their innate reserves—the mana they were born with—to produce diverse forms of this energy. Among these forms, Uri stands out as particularly fearsome. It is created by merging one's own mana with that of a recently deceased human, a process akin to fusing two souls into one. While it doesn't allow two souls to coexist within a single body, traces of the deceased's essence can manifest at times, haunting the user.
However, the creation of Uri is fraught with peril. Should the deceased's mana prove insufficient to complete the ritual, the process backfires. Instead of forming a Uri, the ritualist risks having certain personality traits suppressed or altered, leading to a fragmented soul. This incomplete Uri inflicts severe consequences on the individual, triggering mental decay and inevitably impacting physical health. The deterioration is relentless, and over time, the damage becomes irreversible, culminating in the total collapse of both mind and body.
Just as healing powers are associated with mana, demonic powers are linked to Uri. If you're the result of a failed Uri combination, then not only will your Mana but also your Uri be drained equally, but there are suppressers these days that help keep a balance between complete consumption of your Mana. But these suppressors also come with a price to pay. They usually affect the physique of the ritualist.
"Oh, really? Uri's suddenly the center of your universe now? That's rich," I said with a teasing lilt in my voice. "Considering you were practically sprinting back and forth to my palace like it was a leisurely stroll in the park a few months ago without even a fleeting thought about it. How delightfully consistent of you!"
Cillian let out an exasperated sigh and rubbed his temples as if trying to massage away my words. "Fine," he conceded, his tone resigned.
"Hehe! Then when will you take me to her?" My excitement bubbled over; for someone like me, meeting the Duchess of Valentino was crucial. I needed to gather enough information for my upcoming journey to Kior—my future depended on it.
"Hmmm......I guess there's a banquet my maternal family is holding next week. Let's wait until then," Cillian replied thoughtfully.
"Next week? You mean next Tuesday? Isn't that too far away?" I questioned, urgency creeping into my voice.
"I know but-"
Suddenly, before he could finish his thought, a soldier burst into the room, breathless and wide-eyed. "YOUR HIGHNESS!" he shouted, urgency lacing his tone. "The Tons are attacking on the boundary again!"
Without wasting another second, Cillian sprang from his chair like a coiled spring released from tension. He rushed toward the exit with determination etched across his features. "Prepare the knights! Inform His Majesty! Request troops to be sent immediately!" he commanded, his voice ringing with authority.
As the echo of Cillian's hurried footsteps faded into the distance, I was left standing in the quiet aftermath of his abrupt departure. The air felt heavy, charged with the urgency of his commands and the impending chaos outside. I could still hear the soldier's panicked voice ringing in my ears, a stark reminder of the dangers lurking at our borders.
To be Continued...