The grand doors of the Royal Palace creaked open under Tannin Raet’s firm push, his every step exuding an unspoken authority. The air within was heavy with the scent of blood and burnt wood, remnants of the chaos that had spilt across the battlefield. Golden chandeliers hung precariously, their candles extinguished, while shattered glass littered the floor like discarded jewels. The echoes of distant screams and the muffled clash of steel outside underscored the weight of the moment.
Behind him, Sullivan emerged, dragging the limp form of Crown Prince Edward Remington like a battered rag doll. The prince’s face, once regal and proud, was now bloodied and swollen, his body devoid of resistance. Sullivan set him down unceremoniously, his expression grim. He tied the makeshift gag tightly, ensuring Edward could neither speak nor resist, then added a Soul Shackle for good measure.
“Crude,” Sullivan muttered under his breath, glancing at the unconscious Edward. “To think such an important contract could fall apart the moment its wielder collapses.” He looked up at Tannin, whose piercing blue eyes were scanning the room with calculated precision. “We’re treading in unfamiliar territory. Breaking that contract without unintended consequences might be... problematic.”
Tannin nodded, his voice low but assured. “It’s a gamble, but Kalreet’s cooperation and my bloodline ease the odds. The collar’s disappearance when this guy fell unconscious is proof enough that the contract is flawed—likely an experiment abandoned by the Fire Sage himself.” He paused, his gaze distant for a moment. “A failed technique of a legend is still leagues above what most could hope to achieve.”
The thought hung heavy between them. The mythical and long-forgotten Fire Sage laid the groundwork for modern beast-control methods. If this crude contract was among his earlier works, one could only imagine the heights of mastery he reached later. And yet, the idea of tampering with such ancient magic felt like walking on thin ice.
Still, Tannin’s bloodline could prove to be the key to resolving the issue as the Remington Clan was established by one of Fire Sage’s descendants far in the future, at least according to the Clan’s historical records.
A strange silence settled between the two as they contemplated the issue.
Tannin led the way deeper into the heart of the royal residence. The once-grand halls, adorned with tapestries depicting the Remington lineage, now stood as hollow monuments to a family in ruins. Sullivan followed, dragging Edward behind him.
“What’s your plan for the bird?” Sullivan asked, breaking the silence.
Tannin didn’t look back. “First, ensure its loyalty. The gryphon is formidable, but its trust is fragile. The blood I offered was a step, but the true test will come with time.” His tone darkened. “If Edward dies, we risk losing control entirely. Kalreet may become untethered, returning to its cycle of banishment and summoning—or worse, it might go berserk.”
Sullivan frowned, his hand tightening on Edward’s collar. “Then we keep him alive. At least until we understand more about the contract.”
Soon, they reached the throne room, its massive double doors were strangely left ajar. Inside, the throne sat empty, its golden sheen dulled by the flickering light of torches. Tannin stepped inside, his gaze sweeping over the room.
Both Sullivan and Tannin had dark satisfaction growing in their heart as they looked at the desolate room.
They continued sauntering leisurely, making their way towards the King’s bed chambers. Tannin seemed strangely acquainted with the structure of the Palace.
Soon, they were met with a group of knights being led by a Tier 2 Soulweaver who seemed to be guarding the King’s chambers.
The group of knights stationed outside the King’s chambers stiffened at the sight of Tannin and Sullivan. Their eyes darted between the battered Crown Prince slumped at Sullivan’s feet and the two men, whose calm composure only heightened the tension. The leader of the group, a Tier 2 Soulweaver with glowing spirit essence circling his arm, took a step forward, his expression a mix of caution and resolve.
“Halt! Lay down your arms!” he barked, though his voice wavered ever so slightly.
Tannin didn’t break stride, his piercing blue eyes locking onto the Soulweaver with a predatory gleam. “Fuck off,” he replied smoothly and elegantly raised his hand with a deliberate slowness that sent a chill through the knights.
But Tannin merely clenched his fingers into a fist.
The world seemed to pause for a heartbeat, a moment of eerie stillness that preceded a devastating shift. A ripple of ethereal energy radiated outward from Tannin’s hand, invisible but suffocating. The knights froze mid-stride, their weapons clattering to the floor.The Soulweaver staggered, his glowing essence flaring wildly as he clawed at his chest. Panic turned to terror as the invisible force ripped through him, silencing his scream before it could fully form.
The Soul Reaver technique struck with merciless precision, obliterating their souls in an instant. One by one, the knights and their leader crumpled to the ground, their bodies untouched yet lifeless as empty shells.
Sullivan exhaled through his nose, mildly impressed. “Not bad,” he muttered, stepping over the fallen knights with casual indifference.
Tannin lowered his hand, his expression unreadable. “No time for theatrics,” he said simply, pushing open the ornate double doors the knights had so valiantly tried to protect.
Inside, the air felt different—thick and oppressive, as though the room itself was aware of the darkness that lingered within. At the centre was a grand bed, and upon it lay a man with greying hair and hollow cheeks. He appeared frail, his regal attire hanging loosely on his withered frame. His neck twitched as he struggled to turn his head toward the intruders, but his body responded only with spasms and convulsions.
Nearby, a woman sat calmly on a high-backed chair, her posture unnervingly composed. Her crimson dress shimmered faintly in the dim light, each shift of fabric betraying an unsettling grace. Her dark hair framed her pale face, and her lips curved into a warm smile as her sharp eyes settled on Tannin and Sullivan.
“Welcome,” she said, her voice lilting like a melody yet dripping with an underlying malice. “I wondered how long it would take for someone interesting to find us.”
Tannin’s gaze lingered on her for a few seconds. He nodded and replied calmly, “And here we are.”
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Although his usual air of calm remained unbroken, his voice contained some unspoken and deep emotion behind it.
Sullivan stood beside him, his grip tightening on Edward’s collar as he surveyed the peculiar scene.
As Tannin advanced into the room, his imposing figure loomed closer to the seated woman. Sullivan remained at the threshold, dragging Edward’s limp body just inside the room, his sharp gaze sweeping the space for any unexpected threats.
The man on the bed, King Leifstein Remington, twitched violently. His hollow cheeks quivered as froth bubbled at the corners of his mouth. His eyes, dull yet frantic, locked onto the woman. There was something almost primal in his reaction—a desperate, silent plea. His body convulsed harder as though trying to warn her of the danger that approached her.
But Tannin’s pace didn’t falter. The oppressive air seemed to bend around him, his presence commanding and deliberate. He stopped before the woman, and without a word, he wrapped his arms around her in a firm embrace.
The woman, seated and poised, responded in kind, rising to meet his gesture. Her crimson dress shimmered faintly as she returned the hug, her hands tightly clung to his back as if his mere presence reassured her.
Leifstein’s body jerked violently. His frothing turned to a wet, strangled gurgle as his pupils shrank to pinpoints. His limbs flailed briefly, his cracked lips trembling as if to form words that refused to come.
The woman broke the embrace, her face lit with a serene yet chilling smile. Turning toward the convulsing King, she clicked her tongue in irritation.
“Ugh, what is all that racket?” she snapped, her voice dripping with disdain. With surprising force, she strode toward him and delivered a brutal slap across his face. The sharp crack echoed through the chamber. Blood dripped from Leifstein’s lips, staining the pristine sheets.
“Really,” she continued, exasperated, “what the hell are you making all that noise for?” She paused, her sharp eyes narrowing as a thought seemed to occur to her. A cruel smile tugged at her lips. “Ah... you must think I’m your wife. What was her name again? Marika, or something like that?”
Leifstein’s pupils dilated in horror. His breathing quickened to shallow gasps, wracking his frail body. His hands, though trembling, gripped the sheets tightly, his knuckles white.
The woman’s delicate fingers brushed her own face, a small, almost absentminded gesture. Then, with a sudden, malicious laugh, she leaned in close, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, though her words were loud enough to ring in the otherwise silent room.
“Don’t you recognize me, Uncle?” Her tone turned mocking, almost sing-song. “Don’t you recognize your niece? Noor Raet. The one you sold out. The one you left to rot.” She straightened, gesturing casually to her body with a wave of her hand. “I’ve been wearing your lovely Marika’s skin for months now. Disgusting, really, but effective.” Her nose wrinkled as though the memory was particularly unpleasant.
Leifstein’s body seized violently, his breath hitching in panicked gulps. His wide eyes darted between Noor and Tannin, the realisation of his predicament sinking in like a lead weight.
“Ah, don’t look at me like that,” Noor said, her voice laced with mock sympathy. She cupped Leifstein’s face roughly, her nails digging into his sallow cheeks. “I had to. You weren’t exactly going to invite me to your little party, were you?” Her smile widened, revealing unnaturally sharp teeth.
Noor’s sharp laughter filled the chamber as she turned toward Tannin, gesturing with a casual wave. “Oh, and look who’s here. Uncle Leifstein, you remember my dear brother, Tannin, don’t you? You must have thought he was long dead, buried in some forgotten field of your lies. Well, tonight seems to be full of surprises for you.”
At her words, Tannin reached up, pulling away the mask that concealed his face. The room seemed to grow heavier as Sullivan followed suit, unveiling his sharp, unforgiving features.
Leifstein’s eyes widened in sheer disbelief, his body recoiling violently despite the confines of the bed. His breathing turned ragged, his face contorting in pure terror as he took in their faces.
Noor stepped closer, a cruel smirk tugging at her lips. “Ah, that look,” she murmured, feigning a wistful tone. “It’s priceless. You know, I’ve spent years wondering who I hate more—you, or dear Adham Raet. Two uncles, both cut from the same rotten cloth. Though you, Uncle Leifstein... you’re more of a pathetic lapdog, eating scraps from his table and wagging your tail for his approval.”
Her voice dropped, a venomous edge creeping into her tone. “But you... you dragged our family to ruin. You betrayed Grandfather. And you killed him in cold blood.”
Leifstein’s lips trembled, his mouth opening and closing as though he wished to deny her accusations, but no sound came out.
Noor let the silence stretch, savouring his helplessness before continuing, her voice dark and low. “Adham, though... well, he’s always been a madman. Back then, when they came for us, they killed Father and Mother before my eyes.” Her smile faltered for a fleeting second, replaced by a flash of raw, painful memory. “Tannin was far away, fighting a war on Adham’s orders, and I... I was captured. Imprisoned. They didn’t kill me outright. No, that would’ve been too merciful. Instead, they starved me.”
Tannin’s fists clenched, his jaw tightening as the weight of her words hit him like a physical blow. Sullivan remained motionless, though his gaze hardened, his knuckles white as they gripped the hilt of the Starfire Blade.
Noor’s voice wavered but pressed on, her lips curling into a bitter smile. “They opened the cell after a month. By then, I could barely stand. They dragged me out, and what did I find? A table overflowing with food. I thought I was dreaming.” She let out a hollow laugh, one devoid of mirth. “I ate until I couldn’t breathe, until I thought I’d burst. And then... they took me to Adham.”
Her next words were spoken slowly, each syllable weighted with venom. “He gave me a choice. The same one he gave to those who dared defy him. I could die, slowly and painfully or... I could be owned.”
"Leifstein’s lips quivered as though forming words, but all that escaped was a strangled whimper. “Noor... please…” he croaked, his voice thin and broken.
Noor ignored him, her voice rising, her breaths shallow and strained. “I thought hard about it, I really did. But one emotion burned in me—an unrelenting desire to outlast both of you. To see everything you built crumble before my eyes.” She paused, inhaling sharply. “So, I said yes. I became his plaything. His slave. Night after night.”
Her words hung in the air like a blade. She tilted her head, her expression unreadable as she added, “And I learned something in those years. Perhaps beauty is its own sin. My beauty became a curse.”
Tannin’s head bowed, his entire frame taut with suppressed rage. Sullivan’s grip on the Starfire Blade tightened further, his expression unreadable but his silence deafening. They remained silent, letting her speak. She had waited, suffered, and endured more than anyone should. Now was her time to release the storm within.
Noor let out a shaky exhale, her voice softening to a whisper. “When Kie and Sullivan raised hell in Elyrion, I escaped. And do you know the first thing I did, Uncle?” Her smile returned, cruel and sharp. “I took my nails to my face. I tore it apart until the sin of beauty could no longer haunt me.”
Leifstein choked on a sob, his body convulsing violently. Noor stepped closer, her eyes glinting with savage satisfaction. “But today... today, everything has come full circle. All my suffering, all my pain, has led to this moment. And look at you now.” She laughed harshly. “Convulsing like a dog. Done in by Kie’s medicine. You didn’t see this coming, did you?”
Her hand glowed faintly, Spirit energy coiling around her fingers like a viper. She leaned in close, her voice dripping with malice. “Goodbye, Uncle.”
With a sudden, vicious motion, her Spirit-infused hand plunged into Leifstein’s severely weakened chest. Flesh tore. Bone gave way. Leifstein’s final gasp cut through the silence along with the wet, sickening sound of flesh tearing filling the air. Slowly, deliberately, she pulled it free, and held his heart aloft.
Leifstein’s lifeless body slumped onto the bed, his dull, unseeing eyes frozen in horror. Noor stared at the heart in her hand, her smile sharp but her eyes glinting with something deeper—something broken. Then, without a word, she dropped it to the floor, the final act of her vengeance complete.