"The devil is not as black as he is painted."
— Dante Alighieri
Today, I was to meet Theron. A banquet arranged by the emperor, as a sign of belief in the Goddess upon my arrival, was sure to be attended by Theron.
"Your Holiness, will you not wear the robe gifted by the emperor?" One of the priests asked, holding the ornate garment.
"No, its far too lavish for a humble servant of the Goddess."
The priest's eyes welled up. "Your Holiness, such… such devotion…"
What an overreaction.
The truth was far less saintly. My usual robe carried a divine protection spell. With Theron present, I couldn't risk earning myself a sixteenth rebirth.
I reached the banquet hall later than the emperor. A sign of disrespect but in Lucian's case, no one would call it one.
Because, Why would a humble holy saint ever intentionally do discourtesy to anybody?
"Behold!" the herald announced, his voice echoed. "Chosen by the Goddess and graced by her Divine Light, the Saint of the Realm, second son of the Westwoods: His Holiness, Saint Lucian Walter Westwood!"
On the highest seat in the hall, sat the emperor and beside him—the empress—Ariadne Easton Victor Drakonhart.
Ariadne for short.
It was custom, one must greet their majesties upon arrival.
I inclined my head, "Blessings upon Your Imperial Majesties, the strength of our kingdom and shield of our people." The greeting made him Chuckle, "We agreed on no formalities Lucian."
His voice dipped lower, his gaze sharp. "So, have you made up your mind?" I had of course, but it wasn't yet time for him to know.
Until I myself had met Theron, it was untold if this was a safe route to the ending. After all, all these fourteen lives had me killed with certainty.
"I'm here for that very reason, Your Majesty," I replied, meeting his gaze. "Surely this banquet has a purpose?"
He smiled faintly. Of course it did. Theron. This was his way of forcing us to interact. Theron would never agree to a private meeting with me otherwise.
"Oh, my… I had no idea you two were such good friends." Ariadne interrupted, malice behind her smirk.
"I suppose I shall go greet his highness Your Majesty." I ignored Ariadne.
She was that one mistake of Lucian that made my each life difficult. Entertaining her, would come at cost.
I moved away, pretending to be scanning the hall for Magnus. In truth, I was restless, waiting for Theron.
Just then, the herald announced, "Behold, His Highness, The prince of the empir-
"Shut up!"
The herald fell silent as the prince stormed in, cutting him off mid-sentence. Theron.
Scarred, black-haired, imperial red eyes. Dressed in a sharp violet suit that clung to his tall, lean frame.
He radiated menace, his presence more commanding than regal. The whispers began almost instantly.
"Impudent. To arrive later than His Majesty…"
"If he weren't the prince—"
"Is that the first prince? The witch one?"
The whispers buzzed across the hall, sharp and insistent.
Theron's disdain for the nobles was unmistakable. He didn't bow to the emperor, didn't greet a soul. Instead, he strode to a balcony, yanked the curtains shut, and vanished.
It was time. Time to meet the fish that would finally drag my boat to shore—or sink it for good.
Without hesitation, I pulled the curtains aside and stepped in. No knock. No permission. Just me, uninvited.
"Your entrance caused quite the ruckus, Your Highness." My tone polite.
His head snapped towards me. "YOU—"
"You're not alone, are you?" I interrupted, locking eyes with him, I chuckled. Letting him know he couldn't hide from me.
He stood in denial. After all, bringing an assassin to the banquet, a shadowmancer no less, in the presence of my holiness, could land him to execution.
"Heh! Have you cultists finally gone insane? What are you even babbling about?"
I ignored his deflection. Theron wasn't here without a purpose. A man like him didn't waste time attending banquets—not unless he had something to gain.
His hatred for the temple was no secret, yet he rarely showed outright disdain for me.
"Why attend this banquet, Your Highness?" I asked, stepping closer. "If you despise us cultists so much?"
He rolled his eyes, frustration on his face as he searched for an excuse. "Formality." But we know one who does it for formality, do's it right.
"Attending the banquet in an attitude like that of a god, was in no way respecting any formality." I smiled faintly.
"What do you want?" he snapped. "Is this some political scheme? Did my brother send you here to humiliate me?"
"No, Your Highness. I mean no harm," my voice reassuring. "I am merely here to greet you."
I paused. "And the guest hiding within your shadow… I believe we met just last night."
His eyes widened, shock cutting through his composure. But before he could speak, the glint of steel flashed. A dagger pressed to my throat, held by a shadowy figure, Nyx.
The blade bit cold against my skin, but I didn't flinch.
"Your Highness," I said, voice steady, "this… thing cannot kill me. You know that better than anyone. After all, weren't you once the chosen one… before you were cursed?"
Theron's expression darkened, he contained himself. "Tch." His hands balled into fists. "Say another word, and I'll—" he paused, before continuing. "Cursed... so you do agree—it was a curse."
His eyes glared mine.
"Ah! my apologies, I slipped out. Not a curse—a divine punishment I suppose."
"Why are you here?" His voice was a growl, his patience running thin.
"To speak with you," I replied.
He rolled his eyes again. "Why should I bother listening to a dog? Did my brother not throw you and your temple a bone this time, that you've come here to do your bargain?"
"How truly impudent, Your Highness," I said, letting my voice grow icy. "Wouldn't you at least hear what I have to say?"
"No."
A pause.
"Very well," I said, my tone soft and dangerous. "Perhaps I should cremate her without delay."
His head snapped toward me, his expression that of disbelief. "What?"
"Ah," I said smoothly, tilting my head. "Surely you didn't think I had already cremated her using my Divine flames, did you?"
His pupils dilated, the realization hit him like a storm. "Are you saying…" His voice cracked with raw fury as he lunged at me, grabbing my collar.
"YOU… BASTARDS!" He roared, shoving me back with enough force to make me stumble. His anger erupted in waves, the bloodlust radiating from him almost suffocating. "You've kept her…you've…still kept her body?"
"Yes," I replied, brushing off my robe. "Unfortunately for you… only I have."
"Nobody else, knows!" I paused, then continued. "And nobody else will, unless I allow them to know."
Theron's mother—the strongest witch this world had ever seen. Lunette Drakonhart, former wife of the emperor.
One said to have existed for as long as Eloven—when she left this world, her body was given to the temple.
Lucian had been tasked with purifying her corpse with his divine flames. Of course, that did not happen. The temple believed Lucian had already done the cremation. Had that only been the case.
Why would his corpse concern Theron so highly? It wasn't just his love towards his mother.
"You disguise it with plenty of skill your highness, you yet fail to deceive my divine eyes"
"What?"
"Your fire spells do not make you a fire mage." His eyes turned away. "You knew? Who else knows?" His anxiety made sense.
I gave no reply.
"Huh? Tell me! WHO ELSE IS AWARE OF THIS? Who else knows?" He grew impatient.
"Aware of… what exactly Your Highness?" I smirked, it felt great watching him a tad bit nervous.
"About me… being a blood mage." He looked away.
His mother could be revived, blood mages could potentially revive a dead person at a cost. The basic requirement being, the body or blood of the person should exist.
Except… Blood mages weren't the most admired class of mages.
"I shall take my leave your highness, we will discuss this later"
"Stop. What do you want in return? Tell me," he demanded, dropping to his knees, his voice thick with sorrow.
Nyx, now manifesting in his true form, placed a hand on his shoulder. "Your Highness…"
"What I want in return…" I muttered. "I wonder"