Queen Altheria Veyne paced the throne room floor, eyes weary and body tense. She hadn't slept a moment the previous night.
The presence had come and gone in a flash—so vast, so unfamiliar, yet vanishing too quickly to trace. She'd mobilized everything in her power to follow it. The Auraclad had been summoned—specifically their most attuned sensory mages. The Null Force had been deployed, their task clear: root out forbidden Essentia usage or any signs of anomalous resonance. Even the elders of House Myrren and House Caelwyn had been called for counsel.
But despite a sleepless night of searching and speculation, they'd found nothing.
Eventually, she had dismissed them all—empty-handed and restless.
Near the dais, the Lord of the Shadows sat beside the empty king's throne, his eyes watching her in silence. "Altheria, my dear," he said softly, "please. Sit. This pacing won't unravel what can't yet be unraveled."
She paused only for a moment. "I can't," she replied. "What if it was Julio's doing? What if the Bestial God has granted them a new power source? We've held the advantage against Seravine for years—what if she's changed the game?"
Julian—the Lord of the Shadows—hesitated, then asked carefully, "Altheria... when was the last time you slept soundly?"
The Queen froze. Her expression shifted, betrayal flickering through her eyes like lightning before a storm.
"Are you questioning my sanity, Julian?" Her voice was low, sharp.
He hesitated. Then sighed, standing. "No. Not your sanity. I'm saying you've given everything—to this kingdom, to the continent. You've held the weight of it all for too long without rest. As king-consort, I honor your leadership. But as your husband... I worry for you."
For a moment, Altheria stood silent—caught between indignation and affection.
Before she could respond, the doors to the throne room opened.
A royal knight stepped forward and bowed. "Forgive the interruption, Your Majesty. Lady Akeelah of House Caelwyn requests audience."
"Let her in," the Queen said curtly, irritation flickering in her tone. "And pray to the Goddess this is worth my time."
Moments later, Akeelah Caelwyn entered the chamber with poise and sharp eyes. She looked barely past twenty, her movements precise and professional. She bowed shallowly; the kind of bow nobles gave to equals—not gods.
"Your Majesty," she said, "I have news from the Julio Kingdom. As requested, I've analyzed last night's reports. Our agents confirm that during the dinner hour, Queen Seravine summoned her Council of Claws for an emergency summit. According to our spies, she categorized the matter as high threat. Furthermore, she has moved the Grove of Awakening trial forward scheduled for tomorrow."
Queen Veyne exhaled, her tension easing ever so slightly. "So... it wasn't Julio."
Julian, beside her, grew thoughtful. A moment ago, he'd doubted her entirely. But Akeelah's report echoed what Altheria had sensed. Seravine—bonded to a phoenix and a platinum-tier mage herself—was shaken too.
And he hadn't even sensed it.
That alone disturbed him.
Altheria, brows furrowed, said, "Tell House Dareth to reinforce border security. Have the Crystal Legion sweep the kingdom. I want eyes in every region, any fluctuation of mana reported immediately. Inform Commander Boris of the Null Force—they are to continue investigating without rest."
Akeelah bowed again. "As you will, Your Majesty. May the Goddess shine upon your house."
"And yours, Lady Caelwyn," Altheria murmured, already lost in thought.
—
Logan awoke three days later.
He was in his room. His own bed. That surprised him—but only a little. His family couldn't afford to keep him in a hospital. Likely, they'd scraped together enough to bring in old John—a bronze-core healer from the lower district. At best, he could cast one or two level-one spells.
And yet...
Logan sat up.
He felt... good.
Not healed. Not stable. Better. Like something inside had cleared. His muscles felt light. His thoughts were sharp. His skin almost hummed.
That couldn't be from John's healing.
He sat still for a moment, trying to remember what had happened.
"I was on my bed... wallowing like a fool," he muttered to himself. "Then a drop landed in my mouth..."
He frowned.
He'd thought it was a tear. But tears were salty. That drop had been cold—neutral. Almost... clean. Then the pain struck, black and sharp, and after that—
His eyes widened.
"The screen."
He remembered now.
A screen had appeared before he blacked out, glowing with strange glyphs and crisp lines. Something about fate. And a protocol.
"Did that actually happen... or was I hallucinating from the pain?"
Carefully, he closed his eyes and conjured the memory.
The screen. Its layout. The pale geometric pulse.
And then—it appeared.
Right in front of him.
Floating.
Logan leapt off the bed in shock, knocking his side table. A glass of water crashed to the floor and shattered.
Footsteps thundered down the hall.
The door burst open.
"Logan!" Julie cried, rushing in and pulling him into her arms. "You're awake! You scared us so much—three days—you weren't moving, and I—"
"I'm sorry, Mom," Logan said softly, guilt gnawing at his gut.
Julie wiped her tears. "It's not your fault. Old John said it was a strong reaction to the Essentia. Your body... must've rejected it violently."
Logan nodded, but the explanation didn't sit right. A rejection that violent should have killed him—or left him crippled.
He didn't feel broken.
He felt awakened.
He looked down at his trembling hands, still feeling the faint warmth of that strange drop.
What happened that night...?