Taken aback by the revelation of the Queen's name, Avelyn stumbled, nearly colliding with the bookcase behind her. Her breath quickened, her usually composed demeanor fracturing under the weight of the discovery. "H-how can this be…?" she stammered, her voice trembling with disbelief.
"Zorya Veilkanova…" Raviel muttered, his voice thick with venom. "The pale harlot who brought despair upon us." He enunciated each word with deliberate disdain, his fists clenching as he glared at the portrait. "But how does she connect to this tower? Why is she an advisor to the king?" His question lingered in the air, unanswered, heavy with accusation and dread.
Avelyn, regaining her composure through the resilience honed by years of suffering in this blighted land, looked toward Raviel. "Perhaps the better question isn't why she served as the king's advisor," she said slowly, her voice steadying. "But rather, who is that king?"
A heavy silence enveloped the room as the weight of her words settled upon them. Thyric, standing apart, appeared less concerned with their conversation and more intrigued by the framed letter hanging on the wall near the desk. His scarred face twisted with curiosity as he beckoned to Avelyn. "Avelyn, what does dis' letter here say?" he asked, pointing to the ornate frame.
Her focus shifted, if only temporarily, from the shock of the revelation. She stepped forward, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Thyric, her eyes scanning the ancient writing. The penmanship was elegant, the strokes deliberate and precise. After a moment, she began to read aloud:
"To mine most beloved daughter, Sereyna,
Five moons have now passed since the black wyrm descended upon our sacred lands, casting its shadow across our hallowed city. By the valor of Yaromir Tarkhanov, our most stalwart champion, the beast was felled. Its strength was that of a hundred men, its wrath unmatched, yet Yaromir's might proved greater still.
From the remains of the beast, I bade the craftsmen of our realm to fashion this tower—a refuge and token of mine enduring love for thee. Only the finest stones and most rarefied woods were used, and from the dragon's very scales, strength was forged into these walls. It is my hope that within these halls thou shalt find comfort and solace from the tumult beyond.
There is another reason for this gift, dearest Sereyna. Zorya Veilkanova, the Oracle of the Court, foretells troubling times ahead for our kingdom. Her visions, as cryptic as they are unsettling, warn of shadows that even the sun cannot dispel. She claims the dragon's death may awaken forces beyond our understanding. It is said that the beast's blood stained not just the earth, but the threads of destiny itself.
I do not fully trust her words, for they often speak in riddles and bring more unease than wisdom. Yet, I cannot ignore the gravity of her warnings. This tower, bound to Yaromir's strength, shall serve not only as your sanctuary but as a bastion against the unknown. Should her prophecies hold truth, let this place shield you from whatever storms may come.
May the year of 231 bring thee peace and joy, and may the shadow of the wyrm never again darken thy days. Let this tower stand as a monument to our endurance and the unyielding spirit of our people.
Thine ever-loving father,
Mikhail Valdarin"
"Wait." Raviel's voice cut through the air sharply, his tone laced with urgency. He closed his eyes, as if trying to piece together fragments of a puzzle that refused to align. "The year 231? That was nearly one thousand years ago." His eyes shot open, locking onto Avelyn. "Yet Zorya is mentioned?" His voice grew louder, tinged with disbelief. "How... how is she mentioned here? How can this be? This letter confirms she is at least one thousand years old!"
Avelyn stumbled backward, her hand instinctively grasping the edge of the desk for support. Her face had drained of color, her lips trembling as she whispered, "One thousand years? No... that's impossible. People—no one—can live that long." Her voice faltered, giving way to a faint tremor of fear. "And yet, there she is, written into this letter as if she belonged to that era."
Thyric, who had remained quiet, now shifted uneasily. His scarred face twisted into a grimace, and his deep voice broke the tense silence. "If... if she's been alive that long, what else ain't she told us?" He glanced at the letter as though it might leap off the wall and attack. "How can someone walk through centuries like it's naught but a stroll?"
The air in the room grew heavy, oppressive. Raviel paced, his mind racing as his words tumbled out. "It doesn't make sense. She was already a queen when we were born, but this? This puts her beyond mortality, beyond reason." He stopped abruptly, his fists clenched. "If she's been alive for a thousand years, what is she? And more importantly... what does she want?"
Avelyn's breathing quickened as she clutched at the folds of her tattered cloak, trying to steady herself. "Could she have... could she have orchestrated this? The curse? The downfall of our lands? What if she isn't just a part of history but the architect of its ruin?"
Thyric growled, a mixture of anger and fear. "A thousand years of schemes and lies... how do we even fight somethin' like that?"
The trio fell silent, the weight of their realization pressing down on them. The room that had once seemed so grand and awe-inspiring now felt suffocating, its paintings of long-dead figures staring down at them with an almost mocking indifference.
Raviel's voice, cold and resolute, finally broke the silence. "We need to learn the truth. If Zorya's roots go that deep into the past, then this tower might hold answers. And if she's behind this nightmare... we'll find a way to end it."
Avelyn nodded hesitantly, though her eyes betrayed her unease. Thyric grunted in agreement, his massive hands curling into fists. The mystery of Zorya Veilkanova had grown darker, and the stakes had become infinitely higher.
"What about the diary on the desk beneath the letter? Surely that holds some answers," Raviel said, gesturing sharply toward the desk.
Avelyn promptly stepped over, brushing dust from the worn leather cover before flipping it open to the first page. "Do you want me to read all of it, or should I just skip to the parts that seem—"
"All of it." Raviel's voice cut through her question, his tone edged with urgency. "Every page could hold the answers we need. Leave nothing out."
Avelyn sighed, glancing at the daunting thickness of the book. "You'd best make yourselves comfortable, then," she said, her voice tinged with resignation. "This isn't going to be a quick read."
The faint creak of Thyric settling into the elongated chair and Raviel leaning against the desk broke the silence as Avelyn began.
She traced her fingers over the first words, her voice steady but soft as she read aloud:
"Earlier today I had been looking over the balcony on the western side of my room..."
Her voice trailed off as the words seemed to nearly come alive. Suddenly the world around them faded, replaced by vivid scenes of a long forgotten age.
The city sprawled out before Sereyna, a breathtaking panorama of golden light and unparalleled grandeur. The setting sun bathed everything in a warm glow, igniting the white stone buildings in hues of amber and crimson. Towers rose like sentinels from the city's heart, their pointed roofs capped with ornate gilding that caught the dying sunlight, scattering it like shards of fire.
In the center of the city stood a massive cathedral, its towering spires reaching heavenward as if to touch the very gods themselves. The walls were adorned with intricate carvings of mythical beasts, floral motifs, and heroic scenes. Every detail seemed painstakingly crafted, telling the tale of a proud and unshaken civilization. Its towering stained-glass windows cast fractured rainbows upon the cobblestones below, even as dusk crept closer.
The buildings closest to the tower were carved from brilliant white stone, the material porous yet durable, radiating an ethereal beauty that seemed timeless. Their roofs, clad in red slate, added vibrant contrast to the sea of alabaster walls. These were homes of the nobles, grand and symmetrical, each with expansive courtyards lined with neatly trimmed hedges and fountains that sang softly in the evening breeze.
Farther from the city's core, the structures became denser, yet no less refined. The streets twisted and turned like veins, their cobblestones polished smooth by the passage of countless feet. Lush greenery wove its way through the urban sprawl, with flowering vines cascading from balconies and trees arching over narrow pathways. Bridges arched elegantly over the wide river that coursed through the city's heart, their carvings of celestial figures and abstract patterns a testament to the kingdom's artistry.
The river itself was a lifeline, its surface glimmering with the reflection of lanterns hung along its banks. Barges and small boats drifted lazily, carrying goods from distant lands and filling the air with the smell of spices, leather, and freshly baked bread. Beyond the bridges and markets, the walls of the city rose high and imposing, their surfaces a blend of stone and enchantment, ensuring that no foe could ever breach this bastion of splendor.
The voices of the people could be faintly heard from Sereyna's vantage point—merchants calling out their wares, children laughing, and the low hum of evening prayer drifting from the cathedral. This city was alive, a masterpiece of human ambition and divine blessing, its every stone whispering of an age untouched by despair.
Sereyna stood on her balcony, the highest point of her tower at the castle's edge. The wind toyed with her dark locks as she gazed over the sprawling city below. Its grandeur stretched far beyond the horizon, a labyrinth of stone walls and shimmering rooftops under the fading light of dusk. The faint hum of life from the streets below reached her ears, a stark contrast to the stillness that surrounded her lofty perch.
For a moment, she allowed herself to feel untethered, free from the looming shadow of duty. Then, a sharp knock at her chamber door shattered the fragile calm.
"One moment," she called out hastily, brushing off her wistful thoughts. She turned and crossed the cold stone floor, her steps echoing faintly. Opening the door, she found herself face-to-face with a familiar servant.
The woman stood with a poised air, dressed in a modest traditional gown that concealed her form, save for her hands, which bore faint marks of toil. Her hair, streaked with silver, was tied back in a neat bun. Though her face was soft, years of service had etched fine lines across her brow and mouth. Her deep-set eyes, however, betrayed a weariness that Sereyna could not help but notice.
"Your father requests your presence," the servant announced, her voice even and practiced, though her hands fidgeted with the hem of her dress. "He insists tonight's dinner is to be of the utmost formality. Do dress appropriately, my lady."
Sereyna tilted her head, a flicker of curiosity in her expression. "Ah, of course. It must be about Zorya. She had another premonition, didn't she?" Her words were quick, probing as she tried to piece together the context.
The servant hesitated, her eyes darting to the floor. "Yes, my lady. You are correct," she replied cautiously. "Though I have not been told much, it does concern Zorya."
Sereyna's lips curved into a faint smile, though there was little warmth in it. "Zorya," she murmured, as if testing the name on her tongue. "A peculiar woman, indeed." She let the silence linger, watching as the servant shifted uncomfortably. Just as the woman turned to leave, Sereyna spoke again.
"Wait." Her voice was softer now, almost conspiratorial. "Tell me—what do you think of Zorya? I can't be the only one who finds her… unsettling."
The servant froze mid-step, her shoulders tightening. She glanced up and down the dimly lit hallway beyond the door, as though expecting shadows to spring to life. When she finally turned back to Sereyna, her voice dropped to a whisper.
"None of us trust her," she admitted, her hands clasping together as though to steady herself. "We—the servants—find her strange beyond words. It's not just her mannerisms, my lady. It's the way she looks at people, like she sees something we cannot. Something dark. And she…" The woman hesitated, her voice trembling. "She shows no compassion. None at all."
For the briefest moment, Sereyna caught a flicker of genuine fear in the servant's expression. Her lips quivered as if she wanted to say more but feared the consequences of her words. Sereyna could see the strain in the woman's shoulders, the way her breathing quickened ever so slightly.
Before Sereyna could press her further, the servant stepped back, bowing her head low. "I mustn't linger, my lady. If you'll excuse me…" She hurried into the hallway, her retreating footsteps muffled by the thick stone. Sereyna closed the door behind her, dismissing the conversation with a lingering sense of unease.
The servant, however, found herself frozen mid-step as she backed straight into a figure looming in the dim corridor. A chill ran through her as she turned slowly, her breath catching in her throat. Standing before her was Zorya, draped in the flowing black and silver robes of an Oracle. The intricate patterns shimmered faintly in the flickering torchlight, giving her an almost ethereal presence.
Zorya towered over the servant, her tall, slender frame cutting an imposing silhouette. Though her face was obscured by a dark, sheer veil, her piercing gaze burned through the fabric. The servant's knees weakened as she cowered, her hands trembling uncontrollably.
"My lady, I—I meant nothing of what I said," the servant stammered, her words tumbling over themselves. Her heart pounded so furiously it felt as though the sound would betray her. "You have to believe me, I swear it! I meant nothing at all!"
Zorya tilted her head ever so slightly, the movement slow and deliberate, like a predator observing its prey. A faint scoff escaped her lips, cold and mirthless. "Swear?" she repeated, her voice smooth yet laced with a venomous undertone. She stepped closer, her presence suffocating, as the servant instinctively shrank back. "Tell me, dear one, who or what are you swearing upon?"
The servant's voice faltered. "I—I suppose… on myself," she whispered, unable to look up. Her sweaty palms clenched at her dress, her entire body trembling.
"How curious," Zorya mused, her tone dripping with mockery. "So, you stake your own life on your innocence. How very noble of you." She circled the servant slowly, her movements unnervingly fluid, like a shadow gliding across the stone. "But do you know what that means?"
The servant dared not answer, her breathing shallow and uneven.
"It means," Zorya continued, her voice now a hushed murmur, "you've already judged yourself guilty. You whispered in secret to the princess, looked over your shoulder as though expecting a ghost, and spoke your 'honest' opinion of me. Tell me, child, why would you hide if your heart was clean of malice?"
The servant dropped to her knees, her trembling hands pressed together as if in prayer. "Please, my lady," she begged, her voice cracking. "I—I didn't mean it! I—"
"Enough." Zorya's voice cut through the air like a blade. The servant flinched as if struck, her sobs stifled. "Do you think so lowly of me? That I wouldn't notice? That I wouldn't hear?"
The servant clutched at her chest, the weight of Zorya's words crushing her. The air around her seemed to grow colder, and the shadows of the hallway deepened.
"Stand," Zorya commanded, her voice as calm as it was unrelenting. "You swear on your life, and so your life is now bound to the truth of your words. Speak again, and be certain the gods hear you."
But the servant couldn't move. Her body betrayed her, rooted to the spot in terror, and she dared not even raise her gaze toward Zorya's veiled face.
Zorya leaned in closer, her voice now a whisper just above the servant's ear. "Pray that your tongue does not betray you further," she said, her words like frost. "For the gods are not as merciful as I."
With that, Zorya straightened, her presence looming for a moment longer before she continued her slow, deliberate steps toward Sereyna's door. Her movements were almost soundless, as if she barely touched the ground, yet the weight of her approach pressed into the air like an unseen force.
Behind her, the servant remained crumpled on the cold stone floor, her breathing ragged and uneven. She clutched her chest, shaking as though her very soul had been scraped raw.
Inside the room, Sereyna stood frozen, her ear pressed against the wooden door. She had listened to every word, every moment of the exchange. What had begun as curiosity had quickly turned to dread, and her heart now raced with the same fear that had consumed the servant. She had known Zorya to be unsettling, peculiar even—but this? The malice in Zorya's voice, the cold, calculated cruelty—it was beyond anything Sereyna had anticipated.
When the sound of Zorya's nearing footsteps reached her ears, a cold sweat broke across Sereyna's brow. The air in the chamber felt heavier, as though it had thickened with something unseen but potent. Her pulse thundered in her ears, yet she couldn't bring herself to move away from the door.
A sharp knock cut through the silence, startling her.
"Princess Sereyna," Zorya called, her voice smooth but with a faint edge that sent a shiver down Sereyna's spine. "May I enter?"
Sereyna hesitated, glancing quickly at her reflection in the glass of the balcony door. Her face betrayed her unease, but she forced herself to breathe deeply, steadying her nerves. "Of course, Lady Zorya," she replied, her voice measured, though it carried a hint of trepidation.
The door opened slowly, revealing Zorya's tall, commanding figure. The dim light of the chamber seemed to recoil from her presence, casting strange, wavering shadows across the walls. The veil over her face obscured her features, but Sereyna could feel the weight of her gaze as if it pierced through fabric and flesh alike.
Zorya stepped inside, her robes flowing like liquid darkness. She closed the door behind her with a soft click, her movements deliberate, calculated. "I apologize for the intrusion," she began, her tone polite but carrying an undercurrent of something far more sinister. "But I felt it necessary to speak with you directly."
"Necessary?" Sereyna echoed, folding her hands before her to hide their trembling.
Zorya tilted her head slightly, a subtle but unnerving gesture. "Your servant is… unwell," she said, her voice almost casual. "I fear she let her tongue wander into places it does not belong. You must forgive her. The weak often fear what they cannot comprehend."
Sereyna swallowed, choosing her words carefully. "She meant no harm, I'm sure. The servants… they are prone to superstition."
Zorya's lips curved beneath her veil, the faintest hint of a smile that felt more like a threat. "Superstition," she repeated softly, letting the word linger. "How quaint. And yet, superstition often carries a kernel of truth, buried beneath the rubble of fear and ignorance."
The room seemed to darken as she spoke, the shadows deepening unnaturally. Sereyna felt a chill creep up her spine, though she refused to step back.
"You see, Princess," Zorya continued, taking a slow step closer, "fear is a powerful thing. It reveals truths people hide even from themselves. And in fear, one can see the shape of what lies beneath." She paused, tilting her head again, as if studying Sereyna. "Do you fear me, I wonder?"
Sereyna held her ground, though her voice wavered. "I do not fear you, Lady Zorya. I respect your… abilities. Your insight."
Zorya let out a soft, humorless laugh. "Respect? Insight? Such diplomatic words. But the void knows no diplomacy, Princess. Only truth. And truth is rarely as kind as we wish it to be."
Sereyna's breath caught at the mention of the void, though she tried to mask her reaction. The void was a thing of whispered legends, spoken of only in hushed tones and half-believed warnings. And yet, hearing Zorya speak of it felt as though those whispers had taken form and walked into her room.
Zorya leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a near-whisper. "The void sees all, Princess. It whispers to me in ways you could not imagine, and it is never wrong. Perhaps one day, you will see it too. Or perhaps, it will see you first."
Before Sereyna could respond, Zorya straightened and turned toward the door. Her parting words were calm, yet they carried the weight of a storm. "Do dress well for dinner, Princess. Tonight, the threads of fate are thinner than they have ever been. One must tread carefully, lest they fall through."
With that, she slipped through the door, leaving Sereyna standing alone in the dim light of her chamber. The air felt heavy, charged with an energy that seemed to linger even after Zorya's departure. For a moment, Sereyna could do nothing but stare at the closed door, her mind racing with questions and a growing sense of unease.
Far below, the city lights flickered like stars trapped in shadow, unaware of the forces beginning to stir within the castle walls.