The council chamber loomed ahead, its towering iron doors etched with ancient battles long faded into myth. Arian paused briefly at the threshold, fingers brushing the hilt of his sword. Today, words would be sharper than steel.
Inside, the air was thick with incense and the colder scent of aged stone. Nobles clustered in small groups, their hushed conversations rising and falling like the distant murmur of waves. Banners of Solthar's great houses hung from the walls—House Malric's crimson lion, House Voss's black wolf, and House Valen's silver crescent—each a silent claim to power.
Emperor Caelan sat upon the high seat, a carved throne of dark iron and red velvet. His presence commanded silence. Yet, his gaze held a weight that pressed upon every soul present, demanding obedience.
Arian strode forward, every step deliberate. Whispers rippled through the room.
"The wounded prince returns with fire in his eyes."
"A boy playing at war."
He ignored them. Only the Emperor mattered now.
Lucien lounged near the Emperor's right hand, a thin smile playing on his lips. His serpentine gaze tracked Arian's approach.
The Emperor's voice rumbled through the hall. "My lords, we face enemies within and beyond our borders. Yet here we stand, divided. My son brings warnings of shadows creeping into our midst. Speak, Arian."
Arian met every gaze unflinching. "The Hollow is not a myth. They move among us, poisoning Solthar from within. The petty feuds between our houses are their weapons. While we squabble, they sharpen blades for our throats. We must remain vigilant."
Duke Halric of House Voss scoffed. "And what would you have us do, Prince? Chase ghosts while our rivals carve up the realm?"
Arian's eyes remained steady. "No. But we must fortify our defenses and root out the Hollow quietly. Open conflict among us will only hasten our downfall."
The Emperor's gaze lingered on Arian for a moment before giving a slight nod. "You speak wisely. See to it that our defenses are strengthened. This council is adjourned."
As the nobles dispersed, Arian felt a quiet presence beside him. Seris.
Later that evening, the two sat in a secluded corner of the royal gardens, the moon casting pale light over the dewy grass. Arian's expression was grim, his thoughts spiraling.
"They won't listen, not truly," he muttered. "They see a prince, not a threat. If the Hollow strikes, we'll be unprepared."
Seris leaned back against the marble bench, her silver hair shimmering. "Then we act in the shadows, as they do. We gather strength where they can't see."
Arian's gaze flickered. "Strength... I need to be more than I am now. Faster, stronger. I need to move where they can't predict."
Seris studied him for a moment before drawing a thin dagger from her belt. She spun it between her fingers, the blade catching the moonlight. "In Arvalis, my family guards a technique. The Infinity Void Footsteps. It allows the user to move through the air, slipping through space for a breath of a moment. Like vanishing between heartbeats."
Arian raised a brow. "Sounds impossible."
A slow smile tugged at her lips. "So does survival. Yet here we are. I can teach you—if you can keep up."
Arian's smirk returned. "Try me."
And so, beneath the shadowed moon, a new alliance was forged. In hidden courtyards and silent halls, Seris guided Arian through the first steps of the Infinity Void Footsteps, his body straining to grasp the delicate balance of movement and stillness.
Each misstep was met with Seris's sharp correction, but slowly, something within Arian began to shift. His footing grew lighter, his reflexes sharper. Where once there was only brute strength, now a hint of finesse emerged.
But beyond technique, something else was growing—a bond forged in shared defiance, in whispered plans and stolen moments of trust. They moved not as prince and princess, but as two souls standing against the dark.
Far beyond the walls, the Hollow watched. And waited.