The cave was dark, but the light from the altar seemed to illuminate the surroundings in an almost spectral way, reflecting off the silver scales of the dragon egg. The air was heavy, and silence now filled the space, interrupted only by the groans of pain from Lilith, collapsed on the ground, her body convulsing as the magic of the rune punished her.

Aemon, still trapped by the restraining magic, watched with a mix of shock and hesitation. He felt a deep conflict. Lilith was a threat—powerful, ambitious, and dangerous—but she was also an ally, someone who had guided him to this point and, in a way, shared his fate. He couldn't ignore her years of planning, the efforts invested in something far greater than both of them. And, despite the anger he felt at that moment, he still harbored a strange affection for her, albeit a complicated one.

Lilith's screams struck him, her fierce eyes now swollen with pain, her sweat-soaked skin glistening under the faint magical light that still surrounded the area. The magic of the slavery mark was consuming her energy with every attempt to move, every act of rage or violence against him. Prince realized that this could end her, but… that wasn't what he wanted. There was something greater at play, something she had, in some way, helped him see. And despite everything, he knew she was destined for something beyond that suffering.

"How do I stop this?" Aemon's voice broke the silence, sounding strong and commanding, but there was genuine concern behind it. He no longer wanted to see her in agony.

Lilith screamed, the sound almost guttural, animalistic. Her eyes, swollen with pain, met Aemon's. There was a mixture of rage and desperation in them, but also a plea. "Say... 'Stop'," she managed to force the words through gritted teeth, as if every syllable was torture. "Just... say... it."

Aemon hesitated for a brief moment, feeling the weight of the decision. He could leave her there, destroyed by her own magic, or he could... free her. The choice wasn't simple, but something in his instinct guided him. He took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving hers.

"Stop."

Immediately, the magic ceased. Lilith stopped convulsing, though her breathing remained labored and heavy. Relief flooded her body, but she still seemed weakened, collapsed on the ground as if the weight of the world had crushed her.

Aemon rose slowly, his own strength returning as the restraining magic dissipated. He walked over to Lilith, his steps echoing in the vast chamber. He looked down at her, grunting, almost like an animal, saliva dripping from her lips as she struggled to recover.

Aemon should have felt satisfaction seeing her in this state. She had manipulated him, challenged him, betrayed him, and now she was broken. But instead, a different emotion surfaced in his chest—a sense of duty, of destiny. He knew, deep in his soul, that Lilith was not meant to perish here, in some forgotten cave. Like him, she was part of something larger.

"You always said we were destined for something great," Aemon spoke, his voice soft but laden with significant weight. He knelt beside Lilith, gently lifting her body and placing her in his lap. She was fragile now, her muscles trembling with exhaustion, but there was an undeniable strength in her, a flame that still burned.

Lilith, barely able to keep her eyes open for long, opened her eyelids slightly and looked at him, surprised. She hadn't expected Aemon to help her, not after everything.

"I won't abandon you here, Lilith," Aemon said, his gaze now penetrating, locking onto hers. "If there's one thing I believe in your words... it's that you were made for something greater. Just like me. I won't let this cave be your tomb."

Lilith tried to respond, but the words failed her, her throat dry and her body too weak to offer any resistance. She just watched, stunned, as Aemon rose with her in his arms, holding her firmly.

He looked at the dragon egg, now cracked, revealing its silver scales. The light emerging from the cracks illuminated the room with an almost supernatural glow. Prince approached the egg and, with renewed determination, turned to Lilith, who was still in his arms.

"Take the egg, Lilith," his voice was calm but firm. "We're going to Volcrist. We've wasted enough time, and Cedric won't wait for us. We can't let him crown himself while we're here."

Lilith, still dazed, looked at the egg. Her trembling fingers slowly extended towards it. There was something magical in the touch, something that had rejected her before, but now, with Aemon by her side, the egg's reluctance seemed to fade. Lilith held it carefully, its heat almost pulsing, and she felt a connection, however distant.

With the egg secured, Aemon looked towards the entrance of the cave, resolute.

"Let's go. We still have a battle to fight."

And with that, he set off, carrying Lilith in his arms, the night still dark, but the path ahead clear in his mind. They were destined for more than that place could offer, and together, they would head to Volcrist—for whatever the future held for them.

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The Great Hall of Volcrist Castle was filled to the brim. Crimson and gold drapes adorned the walls, the flickering torchlight casting shimmering reflections on the faces of the attendees. A solemn silence hung in the air, broken only by the whispering of the restless nobility. The long-awaited — or feared, by some — moment had finally arrived. Cedric was about to be crowned, and the tension was palpable.

In the center, under an imposing stone arch, Cedric stood tall, dressed in royal regalia, his tunic embroidered with the emblems of Volcrist. His eyes gleamed with a mix of triumph and anxiety, though his lips curled into a confident smile. Beside him, Lady Seraphine, resplendent in her emerald green silk gown, watched with satisfaction, savoring every second of this moment of glory.

— Everything went as we planned, — Seraphine murmured, her eyes shining with pride as she gazed at Cedric. — This is our moment.

Cedric nodded slightly, but his mind was fixed on the crown that would soon grace his head. It was the pinnacle of his ambition, the ultimate prize. Nothing else mattered.

On the opposite side of the hall, standing a bit farther from the main scene, Fianna and Edric watched in silence, their expressions reflecting a mixture of discomfort and uncertainty. They knew this moment would change Volcrist forever, but a sense of looming darkness weighed heavily on both of them.

— We're about to enter a dark era for Volcrist, — Fianna whispered, her eyes fixed on Cedric as the bishops slowly approached, carrying the royal crown. Her voice was low, meant only for Edric to hear.

Edric, always calm and rational, glanced at the princess with a grave expression. — I agree. Something is beyond our control. This isn't how it was meant to be.

Fianna cast a quick glance at Thorne, who stood close to the throne, his features unreadable. Though always loyal and steadfast, Thorne, too, seemed to sense the impending storm. His silence spoke louder than any words could have.

The eldest bishop, in his long white and gold robe, walked slowly, holding the crown with reverence. It was an ancient piece, forged by the first kings of Volcrist, a symbol of power that carried the weight of centuries of history. Beside the bishop, the other priests chanted hymns in an archaic language, invoking the gods' blessing for the new king.

— Cedric of Volcrist, — the bishop began, his voice echoing through the hall. — By divine right, you have been chosen to lead this kingdom. With this crown, which bears the weight of your predecessors, do you accept the responsibility to govern, protect, and expand Volcrist?

Cedric raised his chin, his voice firm and resolute. — I accept. By the blood of kings, I swear to rule with justice and strength, and to lead Volcrist into a new era of glory.

The bishop smiled faintly and, with almost ceremonial care, raised the crown above Cedric's head. The hall held its breath. When the crown finally rested on his brow, an absolute silence fell over the room, as though even time had paused.

Lady Seraphine, now visibly emotional, smiled as she watched the symbol of power settle on her husband's head. To her, this was not just Cedric's coronation, but the beginning of a reign she believed to be the pinnacle of her ascent.

Fianna and Edric, on the opposite side, did not share the same enthusiasm. As the crowd began to applaud and the nobles bowed their heads in respect, the two exchanged a somber glance.

— There's no turning back now, — Edric muttered. — Whatever Aemon is planning, he's already too late.

Fianna nodded. — And Volcrist... Volcrist will never be the same.

Cedric stood, raising his hand to quiet the applause. — People of Volcrist, today begins a new era. An era of power, prosperity, and strength. Under my command, we will take this kingdom to heights we never imagined. But for that, I need your loyalty. Together, we will build a future brighter than the past ever could have been.

As the people cheered, a growing sound from outside the castle intensified. The noise of protests echoed through the walls, cries in favor of Aemon and against Cedric's coronation. Fianna turned her face to Edric, her dark eyes reflecting the rising anxiety.

— They know something is wrong. The people feel it, — Fianna's words were barely audible amid the increasing clamor. — Aemon... he still lives in their hearts.

Edric pressed his lips together, watching Cedric smile triumphantly. — But Cedric doesn't seem to notice... or he simply doesn't care.

The king was dead, lying in his chambers, in secret. Though Cedric's coronation had been officially completed, it began unraveling before his very eyes long before he could truly don the mantle of royalty. Outside, chaos had already overtaken the streets of Volcrist. A rival army had invaded the city, and the banners of the Dominions fluttered under the cloudy sky as the sound of marching and weapons reverberated through the air.

Cedric, still standing in the hall with the newly placed crown on his head, was paralyzed. The crowd that had cheered him moments ago now whispered in panic. Volcrist's soldiers began raising alarms, rushing frantically across the room. The heavy doors of the hall burst open violently, and the terrified screams of the people outside echoed through the corridors.

Seraphine, beside Cedric, clutched his arm, her eyes wide with worry.

— Cedric... what's happening?

Before he could respond, Volcrist's great gates were shattered, and a group of enemy leaders, mounted on imposing horses and surrounded by their armies, advanced through the courtyard. Any who tried to resist or block their path were mercilessly cut down. It was a slaughter.

At the center, astride a black horse, was the leader of the Dominion coalition, the man who commanded the invading forces. His eyes were cold, his expression one of absolute disdain for Cedric's coronation. Beside him were the other leaders who had conspired for this moment, including Lady Cerys and Lord Dravenmoor, each with their own sinister interests.

With a signal, they made their way into the hall, where Cedric and Seraphine awaited them with what little dignity remained.

The first to speak was Lord Dravenmoor, his voice icy, dripping with contempt:

— A coronation... what a pathetic spectacle. Cedric, son of Volcrist, you are not worthy of this crown. This throne does not belong to you.

Cedric, still speechless, looked around as if seeking an unlikely solution, his eyes wide with panic and disbelief. Seraphine, who had once worn a confident smile, now gazed at him desperately, as if their grand plans had been shattered in an instant.