They left daylight behind as they surged forward. After a while, the distant cave opening disappeared as they took their first right turn. Thus, they were forced to illuminate their torches and lamps as darkness engulfed them. Relying on the free services of the humans and werewolves earned the rest a glare, yet no one protested, as though Modyr’s stirring speech of unity had gotten under their skin.

Given their close proximity, they were forced to huddle together since the cave’s width only allowed three people to walk side by side, and no one had the nerve to stray further—survival mattered more than their dislike for one another, after all.

Clythia’s gaze latched onto the lanterns carried by the humans. Encased within was an unwavering glow that one wouldn’t expect of fire. Because of the engravings concealing most part of the lantern, Clythia hadn’t noticed the immobility of the light when they were in the forest near the ocean.

She squinted, trying to make out the blue of the flame, yet the creamy light was stationary, like the glowing orb she had seen in Modyr’s palace, like the orb she and her companions had summoned underwater while fighting the Charybdis.

“I didn’t realize magic was at your fingertips,” she said to Kay.

“Not everything is achieved by magic, Witch Queen.” The human king’s last remark was flanked by a sneer.

“Enlighten me,” Clythia smirked at him, studying the frame of his strong jaw.

“It’s electricity.” It was Morven who answered. “Think of it as an invisible force that can cause objects to move and change them into light, heat, or motion.”

Their path took another left turn, and except for the murmurs going on and the sounds of their footsteps on the muddy ground, the cave was quiet, which in itself was unsettling. The stillness of the atmosphere revealed that no one had walked this path in centuries, and they were either fools or brave not to change their minds and turn back.

Fuck you, Tiyus.

“Like a hybrid of elemental and bead magic in some sort of way,” Clythia and almost everyone turned to look at Afia, who immediately bit her lip and lowered her golden eyes.

It wasn’t forbidden to be part of the conversation when the rulers were engaged, but it was frowned upon, an unwritten rule that had been kept so far in their journey until now. That earned Afia gazes ranging from apprehension to curiosity.

Morven gave her an encouraging smile. Afia looked up, casting a weak grin at him before immediately averting her gaze, noticing that eyes were on her, including Clythia’s.

“It’s like lightning.” Kay’s gaze landed on Clythia. “Using natural means, you harness the force for heat or light, or come up with any creative way that could help you.”

“You have this... electricity too?” Clythia asked Morven, the outlandish word rolling off her tongue distastefully .

The vampire scoffed. “I wish. Vampires are traditionalists. They don’t react well to change.”

“That’s wise,” Clythia said. “Besides, your lot thrives in darkness and cold; why bother deciphering heat and light?”

Morven shook his head. “You would be their ideal queen. Too bad you’re just a witch.”

“Indeed,” Clythia smirked. “Too bad I don’t drink human blood for eternal youth.”

The looks that rippled across the three human faces when she reminded them they were walking with a predator sent a wave of satisfaction through her. Morven and Kay gave her identical stares of loathing, well aware of what she was doing. She stared back at them with pure innocence.

“Thank the gods you came alone,” Clythia said to the vampire, his blue eyes starkly bright against the dancing orange flame his servant was holding. “Alliances are obviously forbidden, so how did you both end up with this knowledge?”

Clythia was wondering the same. Kay was well adept at navigating the alien ship of the vampire king, and Morven knew how the lamps designed by the humans worked. What else was going on between the two? Clythia didn’t like the idea of two rulers bonding behind their backs. Nothing good would come out of it.

“The laws of nature are constant in the universe,” Morven said in a bored tone, slightly irritated by the insinuation. “I’ve learned it elsewhere.”

Elsewhere, as in the skies, the translation wasn’t lost on everyone. The vampire liked to brag about his adventures, mentioning the ‘skies’ at every opportunity.

“What about you?” Clythia indicated to Kay, whose dark eyes were fixed on her, his expression too deeply buried to be read.

“From the brains of my kingdom,” Kay grinned, as though recalling a memory. He didn’t elaborate further, and no one pressed him to do so either.

“I don’t like this,” Vina whispered in her ear. “If they have such sorcery in their arsenal, what else are they hiding?”

“It’s not sorcery,” the vampire’s voice came.

“Cursed ears,” Vina shot Morven a glare.

“I can hear that too,” he gave her a grin.

“Then don’t,” Vina seethed. “Show some manners.”

The vampire chuckled and shook his head. Clythia didn’t know she would swell with pride because of Vina’s uptightness, but here she was, shooting her an approving grin, admiring the nerve the woman possessed to scold one of the most powerful beings in Zyvern.

For what felt like an eternity, they trudged forward, twisting and turning, the slope of the land sometimes inclining up and down. The chill and dampness increased as they found themselves deeper and further. Stalactites dangled from above while stalagmites rose from the ground, causing them to occasionally duck, jump, and step on even ground.

“I am tired,” Kay complained.

“You really are lazy,” the faerie king gave him a look, “for someone who doesn’t rely on magic.”

Modyr was the only one not engaged in conversation or showing any interest, eyes ahead and leading the pack. Until now.

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

The human king chuckled and shook his head. “You are all delusional.”

“Don't worry, Kay. An hour and we will let you rest.” No kindness was in Modyr's words only mockery, his guards tossing snickers at Kay as well.

After an hour, they perched down. The cave was wider than before, giving them enough space to form their own circles and semicircles. The werewolves and Morven were one group, while Kay, the humans, and Modyr huddled together near the sorcerers. Somehow, Modyr had taken a place at Clythia’s right, preventing the sorcerers from forming an exclusive circle.

Clythia’s servants served meals from their rings, with tables and plates set, offering steaming sauces and beef with bread. Some murmured and spat curses at them. For the right price, they could have dined with them too, but apparently, their egos got the better of them.

The humans were each eating corn. The werewolves and Morven were munching on fruits and vegetables they had picked up from the faerie king’s palace.

“Would you be kind enough to share?” Modyr asked, mischief dancing in his eyes.

“I don’t share food; it’s not customary for a queen,” Clythia said in rather unqueenlike mumbling due to the bread and chunk of meat occupying her mouth. “Unless you provide payment.”

“Is that so?” he cooed. “But I have already paid upfront, by letting you and your companions dine in my palace.”

Clythia had to give him credit; at least he made it business-like, as it should be, the opposite of what Glythia would say. She was more comfortable trading hand-in-hand than trading in sympathy or kindness or whatnot.

She stopped chewing, not glancing at Modyr, her peripheral vision well aware of his cocky interest. She motioned for one of her servants to serve him. Seconds later, he was munching on grains and vegetables and sipping a glass of wine.

Modyr leaned closer, his breath a soft caress against her ear. “Until I exact each plate you and your companions consumed, I would be the mite of your grains and vegetables.”

Of course.

“More like a pig,” Clythia snorted. “Not even trash piles up like the food on your plate.”

The faerie’s laughter boomed above the murmurs, his voice ricocheting off the walls. “You are a delight, you know that?”

For three days and nights, they pressed forward, resting little and walking a lot. Kay, as expected, was complaining about why they insisted on rushing to their doom and why they couldn’t sleep for more than a few hours. Nonetheless, with the unprecedented inevitability, almost everyone yearned to feel the touch of the sun’s rays and inhale fresh air before they were thrown to whatever Stormia was going to dish out.

A stone’s throw away, a door as tall as the cavern’s ceiling and twice as broad as a palace gate blocked their path. The door was made of bronze, and its rusty pungency stung Clythia’s nose.

Their movement halted as Modyr gave it a blunt push, since it had no latch, lock, or knob. It was just a slab of bronze in the shape of a door. There were symbols carved on the casing frames, letters of a strange language.

“Morven, do you recognize this?” the faerie king asked, still throwing his weight against the door and grunting in frustration before giving up.

The vampire leaned closer, his finger trailing on the frame. “This is the language of the old world. Lucky for you, I can read it.”

No one was surprised; Morven was more ancient than the Sovereign’s era after all. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say he had seen it all.

His index finger trailed down the first letter. “Turn back now, heed this final call. Lest you wish to lose it all.” He moved to the other side, reading the remaining symbols. “Lest you tread where predators reign and find your powers stripped and slain. If you desire to avoid that course, share your heart’s greatest remorse.”

Before any of them could decipher what the writing meant or decide what they should do, the door slid to the side with a groan. Light poured in, and the breeze grew until it was a full-blown gust of wind slamming into them.

They only had to put one foot after the other twice, and they would be out in the open, on the seamless chalky sand of Stormia, with the bright sun and a clear blue sky above their heads.

Glee surged through Clythia. By the looks of it, everyone was flushed with relief. But a sharp push from Glythia stopped one of his werewolves from sprinting out. “Wait, we can’t step out without knowing what the warning means.”

“Can’t we figure that out after we’re out?” a brunette female werewolf asked, disappointment dripping from her tone.

“That would be unwise,” Modyr said. “If we step outside, we will lose our powers—most of us, at least.” He glanced at the human king.

“How do you know that?” Clythia furrowed her brows.

“I am a faerie,” Modyr shrugged. “Splitting the hair of words comes naturally to me.” His eyes swept over his guards. “Us.”

Clythia wasn’t sure about the “naturally” part; it was habitual or cultural at best. Like a vampire’s preference for sleeping in a coffin, though they were capable of snoring to oblivion in bed. Or like werewolves moving in a pack as if they would die if they didn’t—which was untrue.

It made her wonder if Modyr could decipher the words of the seer too. However, that was delicate territory she should be careful to tread on. The faerie king would probe her with more unnecessary questions she wasn’t ready to answer. Yet if she was careful, she could get the meaning behind those words without raising alarm, and thankfully he didn’t possess the power of discerning the truth anymore.

“What does ‘the heart’s remorse’ mean?” The Prime peered down at the faerie. The werewolf hadn’t intended to be intimidating, but considering his bulky size and intense gaze, it looked like it.

Glythia had the figure of a bully tyrant, and yet Clythia had humiliated him in front of everyone. He might be one of those people who traded in sympathy, but she wasn’t foolish enough to lower her guard. The werewolf would definitely come for her and her companions who had bullied his.

“Regret, vulnerability,” Modyr shrugged, inclining his chin up at the werewolf king. “Whoever carved this—possibly the Sovereign—was an annoying prick philosopher.”

Very annoying. Glythia had revealed that the Sovereign hated her free rein of power, used it sparingly, chose to be humble, and stooped to everyone’s level. The reason why they were in this shithole in the first place. And considering the warning, it seemed the Sovereign was intent on teaching similar lessons to others too.

Humility. Remorse. Potato. Po-tah-to. They all meant one thing for Clythia.

Vulnerability.

“The Sovereign does have a twisted philosophy of life,” Kay said, voicing Clythia's opinion.

“Twisted?” Glythia cocked his head at Kay. “You mean honorable.”

“It depends on your point of view, I suppose,” the human king cast the werewolf a bored look.

“We will have plenty of time for you to squabble over that,” Morven flashed them an irritated grin. “Hopefully, if we don’t die first. Let’s get on with our bearing our hearts plan, hmm?”

“Sentimental people shouldn’t exercise power,” Modyr huffed, ignoring the vampire’s request. “They make life more difficult than it already is.”

“What if it isn’t the Sovereign?” Afia asked, displeased by his comment. “It could be one of your ancestors.”

The faerie king huffed out a chuckle. “Believe me, faeries are anything but cheesy.”

“Time is of the essence,” Clythia cut in. “Let’s just get the hell out of here.”

“Anyone willing to step outside and see what happens?” Modyr’s eyes roved over them and landed on Kay. The human king’s eyebrow perked, predicting what was going to come out of the faerie’s mouth from the looks of it. “You have no power, why don’t you test the waters?”

“No,” Kay said in a commanding tone. “Power can come in different shapes and forms. Power doesn’t equal magic. I am not going to risk whatever the Sovereign had in mind.”

“So it is a riddle after all,” Morven said with a bemused look at Modyr.

“It is a warning, alright, that much is clear.” The faerie king flailed his arms. “But yes, power could have many interpretations.”

“My greatest remorse in life is,” Glythia began, snapping their attention to his quivering frame. Quivering not in the physical sense, but rather from an internal war, as though every moment of his life had led him to this singular moment. “Being a king.”

Gasps and murmurs broke out among the werewolves, eyeing their king, their Prime, with disbelief and shock at his revelation. His gaze was down, and he didn’t look up as he stepped out of the cave.

He transformed into a wolf, not as gigantic as his astral form but jarring nonetheless. If Clythia stepped onto the sand of Stormia and lost her power, she was certain those big paws of his would dig into her flesh and crush her bones, and when those snouts opened, the canine teeth would crush her to pulp and dust.

What was she thinking, crossing him?

She needed to think fast, what was her greatest remorse? That was a tough question for her because Clythia's emotions boiled down to rage or boredom and the only exception was the candle of happiness lit by Clen every now and then. But remorse...