Chapter 208: The Human Who Stopped Resisting

[Border of Zahryssar — Beneath the Rainstorm — Continuation]

The storm showed no mercy.

Rain crashed violently across the desert roads while thunder roared above the gigantic serpent gates of Zahryssar.

Raviel and Zyvera remained standing calmly before the northern carriage. Rainwater dripped endlessly from their dark cloaks.

Yet strangely, neither looked uncomfortable beneath the brutal weather and inside the storm’s shadows. Duke Aren Veyrhold stared at them coldly and carefully like a predator deciding whether the strangers before him were dangerous enough to kill.

Then finally his voice cut sharply through the rain. "What exactly do you want?"

The northern knights immediately tightened their grip upon their swords.

"Speak clearly." Duke Aren’s grey eyes narrowed further. "...I possess no time to entertain roadside thieves."

For several seconds only the storm answered.

"Why am I pissed off hearing roadside thieves...we are professionals," Zyvera said.

"Shhh..." Raveil shushed her.

Then Raviel smirked faintly and beautifully shamelessly, staring at Duke Aren. "...So this is where the Malika inherited his anger from."

Beside him Zyvera immediately elbowed him hard as she whispered nervously. "Stop provoking the terrifying duke. I wish to survive tonight."

"I am being respectful," Raviel whispered back. "You are smiling too much."

Meanwhile, Duke Aren’s expression only darkened further because somehow the siblings standing before him felt suspiciously fearless.

Then slowly Raviel stepped forward through the rain, hands visible and unarmed. Though somehow that only made him look more dangerous.

"We possess no harmful intentions toward the Malika." The storm winds howled violently around them, and Raviel tilted his head slightly. "In truth...we came because we wish to help you."

Duke Aren’s eyes narrowed instantly. "Help?"

"To prevent the Malika from being handed to another serpent."

Silence crashed heavily afterward; the Northern Knights visibly stiffened, and Duke Aren stared at the two siblings for several long seconds, suspiciously and coldly.

Then finally he spoke as his voice lowered dangerously.

"And why exactly should I trust either of you? I do not know who you are."

Lightning split across the heavens violently.

BOOOOOOOOMMMMMMM!!!

And Raviel remained strangely calm; then softly he answered, "...we never intended to help anyone originally."

Zyvera blinked slowly beside him as she whispered, "You were definitely not supposed to say that part first."

Raviel ignored her completely, and his smile faded slightly afterward. "But...I despise watching people being forced into cages they never chose."

Duke Aren remained silent, listening carefully now as Raviel’s eyes gleamed faintly beneath the storm.

"And besides...someone once paid us generously." A faint smirk returned, and his voice softened strangely. "And perhaps...I would like to prove to Lord Urzan that I can become a good serpent sometimes too."

Zyvera stared at him afterward, clearly disturbed. "...why are you suddenly sounding emotional?"

"Be quiet."

Meanwhile, Duke Aren watched the siblings carefully, and immediately he understood something important: they absolutely could not be trusted.

But strangely they also did not seem loyal to Slyvarakh, which made them useful and dangerously useful. Then finally the duke spoke again.

"...how exactly do you intend to help me?"

Immediately Raviel’s smile widened beautifully, like a thief finally discussing his favorite subject . "Oh...that part is simple."

The storm winds roared louder around them.

"We are thieves, and thieves..." Raviel’s eyes gleamed wickedly. "...know every hidden path into Zahryssar."

Zyvera proudly crossed her arms afterward.

"There is not a single tunnel, forgotten route, hidden gate, underground passage, priest tunnel, or smuggling road we do not know."

Then proudly she added, "We have robbed almost every noble house in this empire."

The northern knights visibly stared at them in horror. Meanwhile, Raviel sighed tiredly. "You truly should not confess crimes so proudly."

"You also confessed first."

"That is entirely different."

Duke Aren remained silent for several moments beneath the rain, thinking, calculating, and watching the siblings carefully.

And slowly...very slowly...something dangerous awakened inside his eyes with hope because, perhaps for the very first time since arriving at Zahryssar, he had finally found a way back to his son.

And somewhere beyond the storm inside the empire swallowing Levin alive, fate had already begun quietly moving against Prince Slyvarakh.

***

[The Next Day — Sarytharn Capital of Zahryssar]

The empire no longer looked like a kingdom in mourning. It looked like a kingdom preparing for celebration. Throughout Zahryssar the black mourning banners had already begun disappearing.

In their place massive imperial flags fluttered across towers, bridges, and palace walls beneath the storm-dark skies.

Golden lanterns illuminated the streets. Silver serpent symbols decorated every road leading toward the palace, and countless servants rushed endlessly through the capital carrying ceremonial silks, sacred oils, jeweled crowns, and offerings for the coronation rites.

Meanwhile, the enormous palace of Zahryssar had transformed overnight. Silver curtains hung from the balconies. Crystal serpent lamps glowed throughout the royal halls. The throne chamber itself had been redecorated entirely for the ascension ceremony.

Even the imperial gardens, which yesterday carried funeral incense, now smelled of ceremonial flowers once more.

And somehow that made the atmosphere feel horrifying because Emperor Zeramet’s funeral smoke had not even fully faded from the palace skies yet.

And already—Zahryssar was preparing another king.

Meanwhile, throughout the capital streets, serpents whispered endlessly among themselves.

"Everything changed too quickly..."

"The Malik’s funeral rites only ended yesterday..."

"And now the coronation begins?"

"Silence."

Another serpent immediately whispered nervously.

"Do not speak recklessly. The Crown Prince already holds authority."

"But still..." A noblewoman glanced uneasily toward the palace. "...does this not feel wrong?"

Even the merchants beneath the marketplace arches whispered cautiously.

"It has not even been one full day...and yet the empire celebrates already?"

"I heard Malika has not left his residence since the funeral."

"They say he still wears the dead emperor’s robes."

"And Prince Slyvarakh?"

A dangerous silence followed.

Then quietly someone answered, "...they say he already walks the palace like a crowned emperor."

***

[Meanwhile inside Silthara Palace]

The servants moved carefully through the decorated halls. Yet despite the beautiful preparations, fear still lingered everywhere because the palace itself felt divided.

Half the empire mourned Zeramet. The other half already bowed toward Slyvarakh, and trapped between both sides stood the grieving Malika.

And deep within the palace corridors Slyvarakh slowly walked through the decorated halls. Silver ceremonial robes trailing behind him elegantly.

The servants immediately lowered their heads deeply as he passed, and seeing the palace finally prepared for his ascension, Slyvarakh smiled softly, beautifully, and dangerously.

Because after years of waiting, the throne of Zahryssar finally stood within reach again.

[Silthara Palace — Malika’s Private Residency — Continuation]

Deep within the decorated palace corridors—

Slyvarakh walked slowly beneath silver lantern lights.

His ceremonial robes dragged elegantly behind him while the palace servants immediately lowered their heads deeply as he passed.

And seeing Silthara Palace finally prepared for his ascension, Slyvarakh smiled softly, beautifully, and dangerously. Because after years of exile...after years of being denied the throne...the empire of Zahryssar was finally returning to him.

Meanwhile, the deeper he walked toward the Malika’s residency, the quieter the palace became. As though even the servants feared breathing too loudly there.

Then finally he entered the private courtyard, and immediately his silver eyes landed upon Levin.

Levin sat silently upon the lower diwan beneath the rain-covered pavilion, still dressed entirely in mourning black, still barefoot, and still wearing the broken silver marriage earrings.

And before him the once-beautiful flower garden had completely died beneath the endless storms.

Levin simply stared at the dead flowers, blue eyes empty and lifeless, like someone whose soul had already been buried beside the emperor.

Nearby Varesh and Raevahn immediately noticed Slyvarakh’s arrival; both hesitated briefly. Then bowed not loyally but necessarily.

And seeing that Slyvarakh smirked faintly as his voice lowered softly.

"...how refreshing to watch serpents finally remember their place...before I am forced to remind them myself."

Neither captain answered.

Because now within mere hours Slyvarakh would officially ascend the throne and everyone understood that resisting him openly had become nearly impossible.

Then slowly Slyvarakh stepped closer toward Levin, and immediately his eyes landed upon the untouched breakfast still resting beside the diwan.

Cold tea, unmoved food.

Everything abandoned.

Instantly something dark flickered inside his eyes.

"Why is the Malika not prepared yet?" His voice came colder and sharper now.

Immediately—

Raevahn stepped forward carefully and lowered his head deeply. "Your Highness the Malika is still unwell. I humbly request...that Your Highness allow the Malika peace for at least one more day."

For several moments Slyvarakh said nothing; he only stared at the captain coldly. Then suddenly he smiled, softly and almost kindly, which somehow felt even more dangerous.

"...how considerate."

Then slowly his gaze shifted back toward Levin, toward the black mourning robes draped around his body and toward the swollen abdomen hidden beneath the silk.

And finally, toward the broken marriage earrings.

"...very well. I shall permit my bride one final day of mourning." His silver eyes darkened faintly afterward, and a dangerous smile spread slowly across his face. "After all...tonight he becomes mine officially."

Silence.

Levin did not react, did not flinch, and did not even look angry. It felt as though he was no longer fully present within the world around him.

And somehow that emotionless emptiness irritated Slyvarakh far more than resistance ever could.

Then suddenly he spoke again.

"Leave us."

The captains visibly hesitated, but eventually they bowed and obeyed. The attendants followed shortly after. Until finally only silence remained inside the rain-covered courtyard.

Slyvarakh slowly seated himself upon the opposite divan facing Levin directly, studying him carefully and openly, and beneath that gaze there was no longer merely obsession.

There was desire too, dark, possessive, and hungry.

Then softly Slyvarakh spoke:

"I understand grief."

Rainwater echoed softly across the pavilion roof.

"Losing someone precious leaves wounds even time cannot heal."

Levin remained motionless, still staring toward the dead garden. Then slowly Slyvarakh leaned slightly closer, and his silver eyes lowered toward Levin’s abdomen.

"But my dear...you cannot continue clinging to a corpse forever."

Levin’s fingers twitched faintly over his stomach and Slyvarakh’s gaze darkened further as his next words echoed heavily between them.

"You carry the child of a dead emperor and whether you accept it or not..." He smiled faintly. "...that child shall soon live beneath my authority."

Silence.

Then finally Slyvarakh’s voice lowered dangerously as his silver eyes gleamed wickedly beneath the lantern light.

"So do not test my patience endlessly, my dear, because if necessary...I can make both your life and your child’s life unbearable."

The storm outside roared violently afterward.

BOOOOOOOMMMMM!!!

Yet even then Levin did not look afraid; slowly...very slowly he finally turned his head toward Slyvarakh, and beneath the black mourning veil his blue eyes looked utterly dead and empty.

Then suddenly Levin smiled.

A small painful smile is enough to feel horrifying, and quietly almost emotionlessly he asked, "...how would you prefer me prepared tonight?"

Slyvarakh went still.

Levin’s dead eyes locked directly with his as faint trembling breath escaped him.

"Should I wait naked upon the bed for you...Malik?"

Silence crashed violently afterward because there was no seduction inside Levin’s voice.

No surrender, no shame, only exhaustion, only grief, and only the horrifying emptiness of someone too broken to resist anymore.

And for the very first time since returning to Zahryssar, even Slyvarakh felt something inside his chest tighten strangely.

Not guilt but something dangerously close to realizing:

he might already be destroying the very thing he desired most.

Yet instead of stopping, Slyvarakh only smiled wider. A darker smile and a far more dangerous one.

"...how fascinating." His voice lowered softly, almost amused. "To witness a human break this beautifully..."

The storm outside roared violently against the palace walls, but beneath the pavilion, the silence between them felt even colder.

Levin remained motionless upon the lower diwan. Dead blue eyes staring toward him without resistance, without hatred, and without fear.

And somehow that emptiness only deepened Slyvarakh’s obsession further.

Slowly he leaned closer, close enough to smell the fading pheromones of Zeramet and close enough to see how exhausted Malika truly was.

Then gently...far too gently, Slyvarakh lifted Levin’s cold, trembling hand into his own.

And before Levin could pull away, Slyvarakh lowered his head, pressing a slow kiss against the back of Levin’s hand.

"...wait for me tonight." His silver eyes lifted afterward, dark with possession and dark with hunger. "...my dear."

And in that moment—

Levin felt only disgust, only violation, and only the horrifying feeling of watching someone wear affection like a weapon.

Yet even then Levin did not pull his hand away or resist because grief had exhausted even anger inside him.

Slyvarakh slowly released his hand again, still smiling and still looking entirely pleased with himself. Then he rose from the diwan elegantly. Silver ceremonial robes dragging across the wet marble floors behind him, and as he turned toward the courtyard exit, he softly murmured:

"...being Malik truly is the greatest blessing."

The rain continued falling afterward, cold and merciless.

And behind him Levin remained sitting silently beside the dead flowers.