Chapter 22 – The Shadow Behind the Throne

The air in the chamber turned dense, charged with a power unlike anything Elara had ever felt. It wasn’t magic in the way she had known it—raw and wild like a storm. This was something older, colder… deliberate.

Vesper pulled Elara behind him instinctively, his body taut like a predator ready to strike.

From the darkness, a figure stepped forward.

A man—no, something far worse.

Tall and draped in obsidian robes, his presence alone seemed to distort the air around him. His skin was pale, almost ashen, but his eyes—black as the void itself—shimmered with the weight of centuries.

Elara’s breath caught in her throat. Who was he?

The figure smiled, slow and knowing. “You have done something remarkable, Princess,” he murmured, his voice silken with amusement. “I have waited a long time for this.”

Vesper’s jaw clenched. “Who are you?”

The man tilted his head. “A necessary part of your fate.”

He stepped closer, unfazed by Vesper’s lethal presence.

Elara felt it then—a distant memory surfacing, whispers of the past clawing at her mind. She had read of such a being in the deepest corners of the royal archives, a force spoken of only in hushed tones.

A shadow that had existed long before the first kings.

“The Harbinger,” she whispered, her heart pounding.

Vesper went still. The name alone carried the weight of ancient fear.

The Harbinger’s smile widened. “Ah, so you do know me.”

Elara forced herself to stand taller, to ignore the growing unease curling in her stomach. “What do you want?”

The Harbinger chuckled, the sound sending a chill down her spine. “You already know the answer.” His dark gaze flickered toward Vesper. “The prophecy was merely the first chain.”

Vesper’s hands fisted at his sides. “And the second?”

The Harbinger’s expression darkened, a flicker of something almost like hunger in his gaze. “You broke the ritual, Princess, but fate does not unravel so easily.”

He took another step forward, and the chamber trembled.

“The kingdom’s fate was never tied to just one sacrifice.”

Elara’s stomach twisted. “What are you saying?”

The Harbinger’s black eyes gleamed.

“You freed him, Princess. Now, something must take his place.”

And as the weight of his words settled over them, the last remaining rune on the floor burned with crimson light—the mark of an unfinished curse.

Elara’s pulse pounded in her ears.

She had saved Vesper.

But at what cost?

Elara’s breath came fast, uneven. The chamber felt colder now, as if the very walls were pulling away from reality. She could feel the weight of the Harbinger’s gaze, pressing down like an unseen force—ancient, unyielding.

Vesper took a single step forward, his body radiating defiance. “If you think we’ll kneel to you, you’re mistaken.”

The Harbinger chuckled, the sound low and unsettling, like wind rattling through bones. “Kneel?” He tilted his head. “You misunderstand, heir of Moretti.”

A pulse of dark energy crackled around him, shifting the air like ripples on a blackened sea. “You were never meant to kneel. You were meant to fall.”

Elara sensed it a moment too late.

The rune on the floor flared brighter, blinding red light searing through the chamber. The ground beneath them shook violently, a deep groan vibrating through the very foundation of the palace.

And then—a fissure split the floor wide open.

Elara barely had time to react before the ground beneath her gave way.

She felt the sharp pull of gravity as she fell, the world spinning in a blur of stone and shadows. She reached out instinctively—and Vesper caught her wrist.

His grip was iron-strong, unwavering.

For a heartbeat, she thought they were safe.

But then the Harbinger moved.

With a mere flick of his wrist, an invisible force yanked Vesper backwards.

His fingers slipped from Elara’s grasp.

“No!” Her scream tore through the chamber as she plummeted into the darkness.

Vesper’s roar echoed after her. “ELARA!”

And then—silence.

A crushing, deafening silence as the world around her went black.

—

Somewhere Else…

Elara’s body hit solid ground, the impact jarring, unforgiving. The air here was different—thick, damp, filled with whispers she couldn’t understand.

She groaned, pushing herself up onto shaking arms. Where was she?

A faint glow illuminated the space around her—not firelight, not magic, but something colder, more unnatural.

Shadows danced along the stone walls, shifting and twisting as if they were alive. The floor beneath her was carved with unfamiliar symbols, each one pulsing faintly.

And then—a voice.

Not the Harbinger. Someone else.

“It’s been a long time, Princess.”

Elara stiffened, her pulse hammering in her throat. The voice was familiar.

Too familiar.

Slowly, she turned.

And there, standing in the dim, eerie glow—was the last person she ever expected to see.

Elara’s breath came fast and uneven, her pulse hammering in her throat. The chamber had changed. The air was thick, the torches flickering wildly as if disturbed by an unseen force. Something ancient had awakened.

Vesper’s grip on his sword tightened. He had faced death before, but never like this. The Harbinger was more than just a relic of forgotten magic—he was power itself, woven into the very fabric of the kingdom’s darkest history.

“You were never meant to kneel. You were meant to fall.”

The Harbinger’s voice rang out, deep and final.

A deafening crack tore through the ground beneath them.

The palace trembled, dust cascading from the high ceilings. The rune circle beneath them flared, blood-red and pulsing. Elara gasped as the symbols twisted and shifted, forming an intricate pattern she had never seen before.

A warning. A seal breaking.

And then—the floor beneath her gave way.

She reached out instinctively, fingers clawing at empty air—and Vesper lunged.

Their hands met. His grip was unrelenting, strong. For a fleeting second, she thought they had won against fate.

Then, a force ripped through the room, invisible but devastating.

Vesper’s grip slipped.

He was yanked backward—thrown against the stone walls. The impact was brutal, knocking the air from his lungs.

Elara’s scream tore through the air as she plummeted. Cold shadows swallowed her whole.

Her last sight before the darkness consumed her was Vesper struggling against the Harbinger’s power, his roar of rage echoing after her.

And then—silence.

Somewhere Else…

Elara woke to whispers.

Not the kind carried by the wind. These whispers had voices.

She gasped, her body slamming into hard stone. The fall should have killed her. But something had broken her descent—or someone.

The air was thick with magic unlike any she had ever felt. It hummed against her skin, threading through her veins like an unshakable presence.

Slowly, she pushed herself up, her limbs aching from the impact. The room was not a prison, but it felt like one.

The stone walls shimmered with faint blue light, ancient runes carved deep into their surface. It was cold, but not from the air—it was the magic itself.

Then she heard it.

The voice.

“It’s been a long time, Princess.”

Elara froze, the sound sending an ice-cold chill down her spine.

No.

That voice was one she had buried long ago. One that should have never resurfaced.

She turned slowly.

And there, standing in the eerie blue glow, was a figure she had thought dead.

A ghost from her past.

Her breath caught.

“You?”

A smirk curled across the figure’s lips. “Miss me?”