The cold moon hung like a silver tear in the ink-black sky above Arkanveil Academy. Whispers of wind ran through the courtyard trees, and under the ancient stars, Rael stood motionless on the observatory tower, where the night often felt timeless.
Behind him, the chamber door creaked softly.
Ilyara entered—silent, pale, and trembling.
She had been distant for days. She had smiled, but it was hollow. She had spoken, but her voice was always carefully measured. Rael had noticed. The others had noticed. But none dared press the fragile silence that wrapped around her like armor.
Rael turned slowly. "You've been avoiding me."
Her eyes shone with unshed tears. "Because if I stay near you, I might not be able to do what I must."
His brows furrowed. "What you must?"
She stepped into the moonlight, and the silver glow revealed something strange. Her pupils shimmered faintly, a broken halo of golden glyphs circling the edges—remnants of a spell buried deep in her soul.
"I remember," she whispered. "I remember everything."
Rael's breath caught. "Everything…?"
She nodded.
And then she fell to her knees.
"I was Seraphyne," she choked out, her hands clutching her chest. "Your lover. Your Queen. The one who… ended your life."
Silence blanketed the space between them, heavy and absolute. Even the wind halted in reverence of the moment.
Rael did not speak. His gaze held neither rage nor shock—but something far deeper. A quiet sorrow. A knowing pain.
Ilyara trembled. "I didn't want to. I never did. But I was bound. The throne… it cursed us both."
She raised her palm, and a ghostly illusion appeared between them—the Imperial Throne—not just a seat of power, but a weapon forged by an ancient god of dominion. The throne granted absolute authority—but only through balance, which demanded one soul to ascend, and another to fall.
"You were never betrayed by me," she said through her tears. "You were betrayed by the throne itself. By the ones who feared your mercy... and my love for you."
Rael knelt beside her. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"
"I couldn't," she sobbed. "A fragment of the curse silenced me. It was only after our bond deepened again… after we touched the old magic… that I began to remember."
"And now?"
"I must leave," she said, rising slowly, her face streaked with tears. "I can't stay. I can't look at you every day, knowing what I did—knowing that I broke the man I loved in the name of duty."
Rael reached for her hand. "Ilyara—"
But she vanished in a blink of black starlight.
And with her, silence returned.
---
Three nights passed. No sign. No trail. The allied noble heirs searched, but in vain.
Until Rael, standing alone on the balcony of the eastern tower, closed his eyes and murmured:
"I know where you've gone."
---
In the dead of night, beneath the shattered sky of a forgotten realm, Rael stepped through a hidden gateway—one woven in time itself. His surroundings shimmered with magic older than kingdoms. Floating islands of stone. Rivers of light. This was no place of the world. It was beyond.
There, in a glade still and untouched, she stood—atop the very cliff where, centuries ago, Seraphyne had killed the Emperor of Dragons.
Ilyara stood near the edge, wind howling around her, and tears falling freely. "This is where it ended, Rael. Let it end again."
But he was already behind her, voice calm yet thunderous. "No. It will not end here."
She turned, startled. "How—?"
"I built this place," he said softly. "In a different life. A sanctuary where the world could never reach me. The dimensional barrier kept it frozen in time. And it has waited… for us."
Behind them, the Throne of the Dragon Sovereign shimmered into view, veiled in layers of ancient wards. Its jagged obsidian wings spread like shadows behind it. The very throne that had once ended his reign.
And now… it trembled.
Rael stepped forward. "For centuries, it slept. Waiting for one who could return—not to rule through power, but through penance."
He raised his hand, and the runes embedded into the throne flared awake, blazing crimson and silver.
"I am not here to be a king again," he said. "I am here to rewrite the laws that bound me… and redeem the heart that once bled for the world."
He extended his arm, and from the throne, a storm of darkness and flame surged into his grasp. Slowly, it forged itself into a blade—a sacred black sword etched with curses older than language.
It pulsed like a heartbeat.
"Virex Nocturne," he whispered. "The sword of death, curse, and defiance."
Thunder rumbled. Lightning cracked open the heavens.
All around him, ancient tombs stirred. Doors opened. From the mists of time, his Imperial Knights emerged—silent, glorious, each clad in spectral armor, kneeling in reverence.
"Your Majesty," they said as one, voices like echoes of a long-forgotten world. "We have waited for your command."
Rael turned to Ilyara, and extended his hand—not in blame, but in forgiveness.
"We do not rewrite fate by dying for our guilt. We change it… by living."
She took his hand.
And in that moment, the Emperor of Dragons was reborn.