[Silthara Palace — Malika’s Private Courtyard — Night]

The coronation drums still echoed throughout the empire.

BOOM.

BOOM.

BOOM.

Like the heartbeat of a kingdom celebrating the rise of a false king. Meanwhile far beneath the palace itself, inside forgotten underground passages buried beneath the western dungeon, Raviel and Zyvera stood before an enormous ancient stone gate.

Golden serpent symbols glowed faintly across the walls. Ancient protection spells crawled like living veins over the stone surface.

Raviel stared down at the old map spread across his hands; rainwater still dripped faintly from his dark cloak.

"...I suppose we finally found it."

Beside him, Zyvera leaned closer immediately, her eyes widening slightly. "The secret tunnel leading toward Silthara Palace?"

Raviel slowly lifted his gaze toward the sealed passage ahead. Then softly he murmured, "...looks like it."

The underground air remained cold and heavy around them. As though the ancient tunnel itself disliked outsiders approaching. Zyvera stepped closer curiously but the exact moment her fingers neared the glowing barrier—

BZZZZZZTTTT!!!

A violent magical shock erupted instantly.

"AH—!"

She jumped backward immediately while clutching her hand.

Raviel’s expression darkened slightly afterward as his golden eyes narrowed toward the glowing barrier.

"...Right, how could I forget...Only imperials may cross the protection spell."

Zyvera frowned while rubbing her injured fingers. "But our messenger bird crossed this tunnel before."

Raviel nodded once. "Yes."

Then quietly he explained, "Because the bird was neither serpent nor human nor any creature capable of taking human form."

The spell barrier flickered faintly again before them, cold, ancient, and merciless. Zyvera folded her arms irritably afterward.

"...wonderful. So after traveling through half the cursed desert..." She gestured dramatically toward the glowing wall. "...we are defeated by a glowing rock."

"It is not a rock."

"It looks like a rock."

Raviel ignored her completely. Instead, he rubbed his forehead tiredly while staring at the barrier intensely, and his voice lowered seriously now.

"Whatever happens...we must think quickly."

The coronation drums echoed faintly even down there.

BOOM.

BOOM.

BOOM.

And somehow the sound only worsened the tension.

"The Duke cannot remain hidden near Zahryssar’s borders forever." Raviel’s eyes darkened faintly. "If we fail tonight...we return with nothing."

Silence spread briefly afterward.

Then suddenly Zyvera muttered under her breath: "I told you from the beginning..."

Raviel glanced toward her immediately.

"We should have minded our own business." She kicked a loose stone irritably across the tunnel floor. "It is not like the Malika will hand us noble titles and golden palaces afterward."

For several moments Raviel said nothing. Then finally his expression softened strangely and painfully.

"...you do not understand grief yet, Zyvera."

Immediately she froze, and for the first time that night she avoided looking directly into his eyes. Because she knew exactly what grief he meant and exactly who he remembered.

Quietly, almost awkwardly, she spoke again: "...this is why I told you not to involve yourself with the Malika."

Raviel remained silent, and she lowered her gaze. "I knew...meeting him again would remind you of him."

For several long seconds the tunnel became completely silent except for the distant storm above. Then suddenly Raviel sighed softly, and despite everything, he reached over and ruffled her hair gently.

"You think far too much."

Zyvera immediately frowned. "You think far too little."

"That is why we balance each other beautifully."

"That is not beautiful. That is exhausting."

A faint laugh escaped Raviel afterward, small and tired. Then slowly his expression darkened once more as he turned back toward the glowing barrier.

"There must be a way inside."

The magical wall continued flickering before them ominously. Meanwhile, far above the tunnels inside Silthara Palace, the newly crowned Malik prepared to claim Levin as his consort officially.

Unaware that beneath his empire thieves, beasts, traitors, and loyalists were already moving desperately to steal the Malika away from Zahryssar.

***

[Coronation Hall — Same Time]

The celebration of Zahryssar continued beneath silver lantern light.

Music echoed across the enormous throne hall while dancers adorned in jeweled silk moved gracefully before the nobles of the empire. Silver goblets clinked softly.

Nobles whispered, and throughout the palace, the coronation drums still echoed like the heartbeat of a cursed kingdom.

BOOM.

BOOM.

BOOM.

Meanwhile, upon the imperial throne Slyvarakh sat lazily beneath the towering serpent pillars of Zahryssar. One leg crossed elegantly over the other.

The sacred crown rested perfectly upon his silver hair, and in one hand, he slowly swirled dark wine inside a silver goblet. His silver eyes watched the celebration below with quiet amusement.

Because tonight everything finally belonged to him. The throne, the empire, the palace, and soon the consort too.

Then slowly his gaze shifted toward Sarash standing silently beside the throne platform.

"Sarash."

Immediately Sarash lowered his head. "Yes, Malik."

Slyvarakh took another slow sip of wine. Then lazily, almost casually, he spoke as his silver eyes darkened faintly afterward.

"Send word to the Malika’s palace servants. The imperial chambers are to be prepared beautifully tonight." A dangerous smile slowly appeared across his lips as he rested his chin lazily against one hand.

"After all...my consort must already be growing impatient waiting for me."

The nearby servants visibly lowered their heads further in discomfort. Even several nobles awkwardly avoided looking toward the throne afterward because everyone understood exactly what Slyvarakh implied.

Meanwhile, Sarash’s expression stiffened faintly, almost invisibly. Then quietly and carefully he spoke: 𝑓𝘳𝘦𝑒𝑤𝑒𝘣𝘯ℴ𝘷𝘦𝓁.𝑐𝑜𝑚

"...I beg the Malik’s forgiveness beforehand..."

Slyvarakh glanced toward him immediately and coldly.

"But the Malika is still carrying a child." Sarash lowered his head further as a dangerous hesitation followed. "And...the mate mark of Malik Zeramet has not yet disappeared."

Silence spread briefly across the throne platform.

"Malika’s condition remains fragile." Sarash’s voice lowered carefully. "...forcing intimacy now may harm him."

The celebration music below continued echoing softly. Yet somehow the atmosphere around the throne suddenly felt colder.

Because slowly...very slowly...Slyvarakh’s expression darkened. Then finally he turned his silver eyes fully toward Sarash and smiled.

A terribly calm smile.

"I do not recall asking for advice." Sarash’s fingers clenched tightly beneath his robes, and Slyvarakh continued softly, "You forget your place far too often lately."

The rotten pressure of his pheromones spread faintly across the throne platform afterward. Enough to make nearby servants tremble instantly, and his voice lowered, colder now.

"When I choose to touch my consort...is not a matter requiring your permission."

Sarash immediately lowered himself into a deeper bow. "...forgive my insolence, Malik."

For several moments Slyvarakh simply stared at him. Then finally he waved one hand dismissively. "Do as I ordered."

Sarash swallowed quietly. "Yes...Malik."

And just like that he turned and walked away from the throne hall. Though beneath the flowing sleeves of his robes, his fists remained trembling tightly.

Because somewhere inside the palace Levin was already breaking apart, and tonight—the new Malik intended to claim what grief had left behind.

Meanwhile upon the throne, Slyvarakh leaned back lazily once more, another slow sip of wine touching his lips.

Then softly and almost dreamily he murmured to himself, "...what a beautiful night."

Outside the palace, thunder roared violently again. Yet far beneath the celebration, through hidden tunnels beneath Zahryssar, the rebellion continued moving silently toward the Malika.

***

[Malika’s Residency — Emperor’s Chamber — Later]

Outside, the storm still devoured Zahryssar. Thunder roared endlessly across Silthara Palace while silver coronation lanterns flickered beneath violent winds.

Inside the imperial chamber once belonging to Zeramet, everything had already been redecorated. Fresh flowers covered the room. Golden candles burned softly. Perfumed incense drifted across the air, and the enormous imperial bed had been prepared beautifully.

Too beautiful for possession.

Levin sat silently beside the large window overlooking the storm. Still dressed entirely in black, one trembling hand resting protectively against his swollen stomach. The silver marriage earrings hanging from his ears reflected the candlelight faintly.

Broken and cracked. Yet still worn proudly Then suddenly the chamber doors burst open quietly.

"Malika—!" Iru rushed inside desperately wearing the robe Lady Arinaya had provided.

Meanwhile, in tiny dragon form Lyresaph sat upon Asha as she hurried through the chamber behind him. The attendants outside noticed them immediately.

Yet strangely, none of them stopped them; some deliberately looked away and others pretended blindness entirely. Because somewhere deep inside even the palace servants understood, tonight felt wrong.

Iru rushed directly toward Levin afterward, and the moment Levin looked toward them, a small smile appeared upon his face, soft, tired, and painfully gentle.

"...oh." His voice sounded distant. "...did he release you already?"

The moment Iru saw Levin’s dead blue eyes closely, his chest tightened violently because the Malika no longer looked like someone alive. He looked like someone quietly preparing himself for sacrifice.

Immediately Iru dropped beside Levin’s legs and bowed desperately.

"Malika..." His voice trembled. "...please come with us."

Levin remained silent.

"We must leave now."

Outside thunder exploded violently again.

BOOOOOOOOOMMMMM!!!

"The new Malik may arrive at any moment..." Iru’s eyes filled desperately. "...please, Malika...let us run away."

But quietly Levin interrupted him.

"...and where exactly should I go?"

Silence.

Iru visibly froze. Levin slowly turned his gaze back toward the storm outside the window, watching endless rain drown Zahryssar, and his voice came out hollow now.

"If I flee toward Thalryn... Slyvarakh will eventually attack the north." The candles flickered softly around the chamber.

"And Thalryn..." A painful breath escaped him. "...cannot survive a war for at least another decade."

His hand tightened faintly against his stomach afterward.

"So tell me, Iru..." His dead eyes lowered slightly. "...where should a widower carrying a child go?"

Iru’s breathing shook instantly afterward as his voice cracked painfully. "Malika...do not tell me...you truly intend to surrender yourself and submit to...?"

He could barely finish the words because even speaking them aloud felt horrifying. Levin finally closed his eyes briefly and softly...almost exhausted...he answered:

"...I must. Otherwise..." Levin’s trembling fingers rested protectively over the child inside him. "...my child... and Thalryn will pay the price for my refusal."

Immediately Lyresaph leaped softly onto Levin’s lap afterward. Tiny claws carefully avoided his stomach. Then gently the small dragon nudged against Levin’s abdomen.

Once.

Twice.

And when Levin looked down, Lyresaph stared directly into his eyes as though reminding him silently:

’I still exist. He still exists too.’

Iru immediately raised his head desperately as his voice echoed emotionally through the chamber. "Lyresaph is still alive, Malika! That means Malik Zeramet still lives somewhere!"

The storm roared louder outside.

"We can still find him if we escape now!" Iru’s eyes filled with tears. "Please, Malika... You are a warrior, and warriors are not allowed to surrender like this."

For several moments Levin said nothing. Then quietly and almost brokenly he whispered: "...I no longer possess the strength to continue fighting."

The confession hurt the chamber more than any scream could. Levin lowered his eyes toward his stomach.

"In thirty nights...the egg will be delivered." His voice weakened further afterward. "So before then...I must at least secure a safe roof for my child."

Silence.

Then suddenly another voice echoed quietly from the chamber entrance, cold, sharp, and painfully real.

"And do you truly believe...this palace is a safe roof?"

Everyone froze instantly.

Iru turned sharply. Asha growled lowly. Even Lyresaph lifted his head alertly, and there, standing beneath the candlelit doorway, was Sarash.

A sword rested within his hand, and his eyes looked darker than ever before, like someone who had finally chosen a side.