The last rays of the setting sun shone through the stained glass windows on the western side of the throne room, dyeing it into vibrant colours. A crimson carpet stretched from the doors all the way to the steps which the throne was sat atop of.

The Vermillion Throne was atop the half a dozen or so steps. Sunlight glinted off the crystalline throne that towered above them, forcing them to avert their gazes momentarily.

At the foot of the steps leading to the Vermillion Throne, a man kneeled, facing down. His brown hair was messy and unkempt, his clothes tattered and worn out.

The woman sitting on the throne slowly stood up, her black hair falling behind her like a waterfall of ink. Her red lips curled up with a compassionate smile, and her green eyes glimmered as she slowly walked down the steps. “I was worried,” she said as she approached them. She reached out, gently caressing his cheek. “Ilya rushed out, to find you. I couldn’t.”

The lump that had formed in his throat melted away. He let out a sigh of relief. “She saved my life,” he sighed. “Again.”

“Heh, this time you were really in trouble.” Ilya chuckled before her gaze focused behind their mother. “Who is he?” She tilted her head towards the kneeling man.

The Empress shot a glance over her shoulder. “As I have told you many times, you may get up. No amount of kneeling and begging will make me consider your request.”

The man visibly flinched. He stood up, turned around, then as his gaze locked with Midhir, they both gasped. “Midhir?” He exclaimed.

“Lonan?” Midhir scowled. “What are you-“ he stopped. “What request?” His gaze jumped between his mother and Lonan. “What’s going on?” His eyes narrowed, and his jaw tightened.

Lonan shook his head quickly. “I’ve been trying to convince her Majesty to allow me to attempt to find the source of the mist in the thirteenth district. After everything I saw and learned in Bareon, I think I know how to stop it, maybe even push it away from our world.” His voice rose with each word he spoke. He stumbled forward, his bloodshot eyes wide open as he pleaded. He visibly trembled as he moved. “You understand, don’t you? You were in Bareon – you used that altar to save the city. I can do the same here, I can reverse whatever happened fifteen years ago, before I-“ He coughed into his palm. His jaw tightened for a split second, and his eyes narrowed before he quickly raised his gaze, and wiped his hand against his tattered cloak. “Before we lose this war.”

Midhir felt his chest tighten. Lonan was different, the calm, collected historian was gone, all that remained was a desperate husk of the man, begging and pleading for something that should be impossible.

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“I already told you,” His mother sighed. “I can not and will not allow anyone to interfere with the mist and the thirteenth district. Now leave, before I have the guards remove you.”

“Mother,” He cleared his throat. “Lonan is a distinguished historian – perhaps we could show some grace, and allow him a night’s stay so he can rest, and recollect himself.” He could only hope she would allow it.

Her eyes narrowed for a split second. “Very well. Ilya, would you arrange things for this… gentleman’s stay?”

The young woman nodded. “Of course. Sir Lonan, please follow me.” She gently pulled the man’s arm, leading him out of the throne room. The ornate doors slammed close behind them.

Midhir let out a sigh once Lonan and Ilya left the throne room. His thoughts were a mess. Seeing Lonan like this, here, now… he wouldn’t have dreamt of it. And the state of the man, he couldn’t help but feel pity against him.

“You didn’t come to see me for this Lonan person.” His mother’s voice grew cold as she folded her arms, and narrowed her eyes. “Speak freely son. I worry, especially since what you went through in Bareon.”

Midhir shook his head. “I didn’t expect to see Lonan. We need to talk about him too, but that can wait.” He glanced towards the closed doors. “I hope,” he added with a sigh. “I already told you much of what happened, with the altar and all, mother.”

She turned around and slowly walked towards the Vermillion Throne. Midhir followed her as he continued.

“I continue to see things. Visions. I saw something from Olisar. Lady Larna Cathain – she bit her own wrist and tried to tear the veil apart.”

His mother stopped mid step, and her sharp gaze met with his. “That did happen.” She coldly affirmed.

Midhir nodded. “I don’t know what to make of it. After that, the visions seemed to stop for a while. But then, as we were passing the bridge, it happened again.”

His mother raised her eyebrows. “What did you see?”

Midhir hesitated. “A man with blonde hair, like Ilya’s. And a woman in red.” He pressed his finger against his scarred palm, the dull pain reminding him of the ritual he unwillingly took part in. “And a starless sky.” He scowled. “What is Leviathan?”

The Empress’ eyes widened for a split second. Her lips formed a thin line as she turned around and climbed the steps leading to the Vermillion Throne. She sat down, placed her hands on the armrests, and gripped the crystalline throne.

“Did your vision tell you about Leviathan?”

Midhir furrowed his brows. She knew. “Yes.” She knew, but she wasn’t going to tell him. Why?

“Did you see Leviathan?”

Midhir scowled. “No. Not that I know of.” He stepped on the first step. “What is Leviathan, Mother? And who is the Crimson Witch?”

The Empress leaned back, her gaze fixed on him. The silence stretched until he finally let out a sigh. “Fine, you won’t tell me.” He bit his lip. “You have your reasons, I’m sure.”

His mother almost seemed apologetic as she sighed. “I wish had all the answers, son.”

Lies. But why? She wasn’t like their father, she was smart, she knew information was power. There was a reason she wasn’t telling him – he just didn’t know what it was.

“A creature came out of the tear in the veil.” He raised his chin. “Ilya couldn’t kill it. We sent it back through and healed the tear. It… spoke.”

This time, the Empress seemed stunned. Blood drained from her face, and her eyes widened. Her fingers clenched around the armrests, turning her knuckles white. “What did it say?”

“That someone betrayed them.” He breathed out. “That the Envoy betrayed them.”

A single thought remained at the forefront of his mind; how did she know that he understood the creature?