A forgotten prophecy echoed through the halls of power in Narcéa, passed down like an undeniable curse.
It was said that if the prince did not forge the poison with his own hands, the kingdom would fall into chaos, and his blood would become a curse that would consume the crown.
Everyone believed it. Everyone, except the queen.
She knew those words had been altered, manipulated, rewritten by the priests… and by Xadran, the man who sought absolute power.
But even if she knew the truth… could she fight against the blind faith of an entire people?
The day the priests came to the throne room.
Their white robes seemed pure, but their hearts were blackened by gold and fear.
One of them, an old man with piercing eyes, spoke first:
— Your Majesty, we have received a divine message.
The priest hesitated, then proclaimed:
"The son of the throne will become the blade that pierces the heart of the kingdom."
He lifted his gaze to her.
— We must act to prevent this catastrophe.
— And what do you propose?
A silence.
Then the words fell, heavy and implacable:
— Your son must craft a poison and administer it to you himself.
That night, the queen summoned her son, Oris, to her chambers.
He entered warily, his dark eyes analyzing her face. He knew she was troubled.
— They have asked something of you.
It was not a question.
She nodded.
— They want you to make a poison.
His expression hardened.
— And you want me to do it?
— Yes.
He let out a bitter laugh.
— So you believe them?
— No.
She stepped closer, placing her hands on his cheeks.
— I believe in you.
He froze.
— Oris, they want to break you. They want to use you as a pawn. But I want you to be free.
He shook his head.
— Then why ask this of me?
She murmured:
— Because if we refuse, they will kill us both.
His gaze darkened.
— You want to drink this poison.
She slowly nodded.
— It is the only way.
He stepped back, breath unsteady.
— No.
She smiled.
— I believe in you, Oris. I believe you are the only one who can save us.
Then she handed him a black stone, smooth and cold.
— The sage hid it here. It is the key.
He clenched it in his hand, not understanding.
— If the prophecy is a lie… then why are you willing to die for it?
She pressed her forehead against his.
— I am not dying for the prophecy.
— Then for what?
She whispered:
— So that you can find the truth.
That night, Oris forged the poison that would change everything.
But Oris did not create an ordinary poison.
He crafted a unique elixir, an alchemy that defied natural laws: a suspended poison.
A brew that granted neither life nor death but an in-between state, a forced pause between existence and oblivion.
He refused to betray his nature. He was an alchemist of healing, not of destruction.
And so, he deceived the priests.
Xadran did not want to kill Oris outright. He wanted to reduce him to nothing.
To strip him of his title. To rob him of his victories. To stop him from healing.
A king without a crown, a warrior without a battle, an alchemist without a gift.
That was how you destroyed a man.
The palace was silent. Not a breath, not a sound, as if the walls themselves were holding their breath. Oris knelt in the shadows, his trembling hands pressed against the cold floor.
The queen was there, her body motionless, suspended between life and death. The poison had not destroyed her soul… but it had not saved her either.
He placed a hand on her chest. Her heart still beat, slowly, faintly.
He should have felt relief.
But there was only emptiness.
Something inside him had shattered.
Oris rose mechanically. His fingers searched for the familiar energy, the invisible current that allowed him to transmute matter, to shape alchemy as he always had.
But he felt nothing.
The alchemy of matter was now forbidden to him.
His gift, the force that had accompanied him since childhood, was now just a memory. His hands could no longer create. They could no longer heal.
Nothing.
The poison… he was paying the price.
A bitter laugh escaped his lips. So this is my punishment?
A hand that could no longer shape. An alchemist reduced to powerlessness.
He lifted his head.
Xadran had thought he had taken everything from him.
But he did not know that the alchemy of war obeyed no divine law.
Oris knelt again, his fingers brushing against the floor. He could no longer shape it, but he could still feel the world's vibrations.
He was not broken.
He was not finished.
He closed his eyes for a moment, then stood.
Oris could not leave his mother's body in Xadran's hands. So, before anyone could examine it, he made her disappear.
A heavy silence fell upon the palace. The priests whispered that the prophecy had been fulfilled, that the poison had claimed its due, and that the kingdom was finally saved from a grim fate.
But the truth was something else entirely.
Oris had never intended to kill his mother.
Officially, the queen was dead. Her coffin was sealed, the rites performed.
But in reality, she slept elsewhere, hidden from all eyes.