Lost in his thoughts, Lucian suddenly spoke, the question slipping out before he could restrain it. "Uncle… do you think that I—"
"Answer my question first, Lucian."
Malakar cut him off before he could finish. His tone remained calm, yet there was an unmistakable firmness beneath it. He removed his hand from Lucian's shoulder, though his gaze remained fixed upon him, unwavering.
"And tell me this…" he added quietly, "you are aware of Omiyash, are you not? Because if you are not… then you do not truly understand your own condition."
He paused briefly, then spoke with deliberate clarity.
"And in that case… I will have no choice but to speak directly with your father and your mother."
Lucian reacted immediately, raising both hands as though to stop him. His breathing had not yet fully steadied, and a faint tremor lingered in his voice. "No… Uncle… you cannot tell them…" he said quickly, almost stumbling over his own words. "If they find out… this could become a serious problem…"
His gaze dropped for a moment before he forced himself to continue. "You know… I never had any Omiyash within me since childhood. There was only the blood of the family… nothing more. But suddenly—at Sylvian—something began to change within me. Something that had never been there before. I do not know how… and I do not know what it is…"
His fingers unconsciously tightened again against the fabric of his shirt.
"But this… it is not because of that Evil Spirit," he added quickly, almost as if trying to extinguish the suspicion before it could take form. "I have told no one… precisely so that no one would begin to doubt me. I do not even know whether this is corruption… or Omiyash… but I am certain of one thing—it is not the corruption of that Evil Spirit. You must believe me, Uncle."
He paused, gathering his thoughts, his voice lowering slightly. "Since the moment that spirit separated from my body… I have felt something strange. At first, it was faint—so faint that I had to focus to even notice it. But the moment I arrived here…" he lifted his head slightly, meeting Malakar's gaze, "…it began to grow."
His voice softened further. "Earlier… in my chamber… it intensified to the point that I lost consciousness. Later, it subsided again. But just now… it surged once more… so strongly that…" he faltered, searching for words, "…I thought I would collapse again."
He drew in a slow breath, steadying himself. "I do not know what this is… or how it happened… but this is what I have been experiencing."
Malakar studied him in silence for several moments before turning his gaze slightly aside, as though assembling the pieces within his mind.
"If all of this began at Sylvian…" he said at last, his voice calm yet heavy with thought, "then I can at least conclude this much—the Dark Omiyash within you… is your own. It does not belong to any external entity. However…" his eyes returned to Lucian, "…it is unstable. As though it has been forced awake."
Lucian froze.
For a fleeting instant, a strange spark of relief appeared within him—so it is truly Omiyash… and it is mine—but that relief faltered just as quickly, replaced by unease as he realized how painful… how overwhelming it was.
Malakar continued, unconcerned with Lucian's shifting expression. "I have heard that the Evil Spirit took control of your body for a short time. It is possible that this event triggered the awakening of your Omiyash."
He paused, then added quietly, "That may be a good thing… or a very dangerous one."
Lucian immediately looked at him. "Good… or dangerous? What do you mean by that, Uncle?"
Instead of answering directly, Malakar raised his hand before him.
"Look carefully."
Lucian's gaze followed—and in the next instant, his expression hardened.
The flesh of Malakar's hand began to decay before his eyes. It split slowly, as though rotting from within. Darkened blood seeped through the ruptured skin, the flesh breaking apart like crumbling matter, revealing bone beneath—bone that itself began to dissolve. The sight was grotesque, unbearable.
A sickening sensation rose in Lucian's stomach, forcing him to turn his gaze away.
"Uncle… there are people here… what are you doing…?" His voice faltered.
"Look at me, Lucian," Malakar said, his voice heavier now.
"No… I cannot…" Lucian shook his head immediately, his breathing uneven. "This… this is repulsive…"
Malakar did not force him. Remaining in that state, he spoke calmly, "What you find strange… that is Omiyash. This is what happens when your emotions slip beyond your control."
As he spoke, his hand began to return to normal.
"We of the Dark Families are born with Dark Omiyash. From childhood, we become accustomed to it—to that strange sensation, to living alongside it, to understanding it… and to making it a part of ourselves."
His gaze fixed on Lucian once more.
"But you… you have never learned this. You are experiencing it suddenly. That is why it feels overwhelming."
Lucian remained silent.
"It is not something taught through books," Malakar continued. "It is learned through life… from childhood. Something you were never taught. Something no one ever explained to you."
He paused briefly, his tone growing more serious.
"And remember this—Omiyash is most unstable when it is influenced by your emotions. If it spirals beyond control, your soul may separate from it… forming an independent existence. A persona… that seeks to destroy you… and claim your body for itself."
The color drained from Lucian's face.
"That is why…" Malakar said clearly, "this is no trivial matter. You must inform your parents. They must seal your Dark Omiyash before it becomes something far worse."
At those words, Lucian could no longer hold himself together. He turned slightly to the side and retched, his body still weak from the strain. After a moment, he forced himself upright again, steadying his breath.
"I… did not understand everything…" he said quietly.
Malakar exhaled slowly, his hand now fully restored. He signaled to a nearby servant. "Clean this. It appears the Prince has had more wine than he should."
The servant bowed and hurried away to attend to it.
Malakar steadied Lucian, ensuring he stood properly. "Are you stable now?" he asked, then took a cup of water from another servant and handed it to him. "Drink."
Lucian obeyed. Gradually, his breathing settled. He adjusted his attire, regaining some measure of composure.
Malakar released his grip. "After the gathering concludes… I will speak with your father. The Elders of Sylvian are present as well—we will understand everything soon. We must determine how your Omiyash was awakened… for such a thing has never occurred without cause."
"No—" Lucian interrupted at once. "Father will not understand… do not tell him. He will think it is the Evil Spirit… what was the point of hiding it all this time then, Uncle…"
Malakar ignored the protest entirely.
"I have merely suppressed your Dark Omiyash for the time being," he said plainly. "It is not gone. Therefore, I must speak with them. And we must also decide whether it is wise for you to undergo tomorrow's ritual."
Lucian's eyes widened slightly. "You… know about that as well?"
Malakar gave a small nod, offering no further explanation.
For a few moments, he simply observed Lucian. Then, in a calmer tone, he said, "For now, it is subdued… but only until tomorrow. So behave normally. Enjoy the evening… and retire early."
He turned, then paused briefly, glancing back.
"And remember this, Lucian… no matter what happens—do not dwell on it. Do not allow dark or painful thoughts to take root. And if you hear anything… any voice that feels unnatural… ignore it. Do not respond."
A brief silence followed.
"It is unlikely… but caution is wiser."
With that, he turned and walked away, disappearing into the gathering without another glance.
Lucian remained by the pillar, standing in stillness. To any onlooker, he appeared perfectly composed; yet within him, the truth was far from calm—unease, dread, and a storm of unanswered thoughts turned endlessly beneath that quiet exterior. If his mother were to learn of this… the one who understood him above all, who cherished him beyond measure—what then? Perhaps Lyra would be kept unaware… and perhaps that would be for the better.
But his father—King Alaric Ravencrest… to persuade him that his son was untouched by corruption would be no easy feat. He was a man who had spent his life standing against darkness itself—if he were to believe that his own blood had been claimed by it… then what fate would follow?
And his mother… to whom he had already given his word that all was well—what would become of her trust?
Lost within these thoughts, Lucian raised a hand and pressed it lightly against his face, before allowing his weight to rest fully against the pillar. He drew in a slow, measured breath, as though attempting to steady the turmoil within his chest.
Across the Grand Hall, the atmosphere had shifted entirely. Servants had arranged round tables throughout the chamber, each adorned with dark cloth threaded in fine gold, while nobles and royals alike had begun to partake in their evening fare and wine. The air carried the faint chime of crystal goblets, the murmur of restrained conversation, and the distant notes of music drifting like a quiet current through the hall.
Amidst the gathering, a young maiden seated at one of the tables cast her gaze about time and again, as though in search of someone. Her eyes first settled upon Queen Seraphina, who stood among King Aurelius and the assembled royalty—her lips curved in a smile, though it bore the weight of formality more than warmth. Then her attention turned to Lyra, who stood beside Mr. Jasper Sterling.
She searched the hall once more… yet the one she sought was nowhere to be seen.
Meanwhile, Lucian had regained a measure of composure. The strain within him had lessened—if only slightly. Straightening his attire, he turned and began to make his way toward the great doors of the hall. The place had begun to feel stifling—too many gazes, too many presences pressing upon him at once.
Then, from behind him, a voice called out—
"So, here you stand, Prince Lucian. I had been awaiting the moment of our meeting."
Lucian turned, a flicker of irritation crossing his features—why, it seemed, did every path lead them to him? His gaze fell upon the man before him. For a brief instant, recognition eluded him… and then it returned.
The First Prince of the Valerius Kingdom—Cassian Valerius.
For a fleeting moment, Lucian felt the urge to press his hand to his brow, yet he restrained himself. Instead, he stepped forward with measured grace and extended his hand.
"Prince Cassian… the honour is mine. I trust you have fared well."
A faint, crooked smile touched Cassian's lips—one that held little respect and far more derision. He accepted the offered hand, yet the gesture bore the weight of challenge rather than courtesy. Their hands met, their gazes locking in silent contest—there was no warmth between them, no civility… only a quiet tension, sharp and unspoken.
After a brief moment, Cassian withdrew his hand with a slight force and muttered beneath his breath—
"To be made to clasp hands with a prince so lacking… it is a disgrace."
Though his voice was low, the disdain within it was unmistakable.
Lucian kept that faint, habitual smile upon his lips, his anger buried deep beneath a composed exterior. "Do you truly believe so?" he replied in a calm, measured tone.
Cassian cast him a sidelong glance as he wiped his hand with a cloth, his expression laced with disdain. "I had thought you would lack the courage to stand among those of true stature… yet it seems I was mistaken. You are not merely weak… but shameless as well."
A low laugh escaped him as he raised his goblet slightly. "You would agree with that yourself, would you not… Lucian?"
Lucian merely watched him in silence. There was far too much turmoil within his own mind for these provocations to take root as they once might have. For a fleeting moment, an old thought crossed his mind—how convenient it would have been if someone, as before, had intervened and spared him from this exchange.
Cassian spoke again, his tone turning sharper, more deliberate. "I have heard… that a mere sip of wine was enough to make you lose your composure. It would seem even the simplest indulgence proves too much for you to endure." His words were crafted to provoke, to draw forth a reaction—to make a spectacle before the watching eyes of the hall.
Yet Lucian's expression did not falter.
That stillness… that refusal to respond… began to irritate Cassian. The tension in his face grew visible; his jaw tightened, his gaze hardened—and then, he stepped beyond restraint.
"You are… remarkably shameless," he said, his voice lowering into something heavier, edged with hostility. "To stand there, after such humiliation, and listen in silence—like a hound awaiting command… what became of the pride of Ravencrest?" A wide, dangerous smile spread across his face as he stepped closer, leaning just enough to meet Lucian's gaze. "Does it anger you? Will you act… or is this all you are?"
He drew back slightly, his tone dripping with mockery. "Or perhaps… you would rather run to your mother and weep?"
Lucian's fist tightened at his side, though his face betrayed nothing. He met Cassian's gaze directly, his voice as calm as ever.
"Prince Cassian… your talent for mockery is most refined. And your attire…" his eyes moved briefly over Cassian's garments, "is no less remarkable—one might almost mistake you for a performer upon a stage. Perhaps such a calling would suit you well… I have heard your kingdom holds great fondness for spectacles."
Cassian's movement halted mid-gesture. His eyes widened slightly, disbelief flashing across his features.
"What did you say?"
He leaned forward, his voice dropping into something sharp and dangerous. "Repeat it."
But Lucian said nothing.
The words rested at the edge of his tongue, yet he held them back—bound not by fear, but by the fragile ties that lay between their kingdoms.
Cassian's irritation flared into open anger. "What is it?" he pressed, his voice rising, edged with impatience. "Has your courage abandoned you now?"
The intensity in his blue eyes deepened, like cracks forming beneath a frozen surface, his temper threatening to break through entirely.
Just then, a hand came to rest upon Cassian's shoulder.
"Prince Cassian… what is the meaning of this?"
Both of them recognized the voice at once.
Cassian turned, and in that very instant, the anger upon his face vanished as though it had never existed. "King Wilhelm Dravenor… my lord… I was unaware of your presence."
A calm, almost ethereal smile rested upon Wilhelm's face. "And what discourse were the two of you engaged in?" His gaze shifted—settling directly upon Lucian.
Lucian met that gaze… but offered no reply.
Wilhelm's smile deepened faintly before he turned his attention back to Cassian. "It would seem Prince Lucian has no wish to enlighten me… perhaps you might?"
"Nothing of consequence, my lord… we were merely conversing," Cassian answered without delay.
Wilhelm straightened, receiving the answer in silence, before turning once more toward Lucian. With measured grace, he spoke in a composed, regal tone, "Prince Lucian, I ought to present myself properly. I am Wilhelm Dravenor—the head of the House of Dravenor, one of the seven sovereign houses that stand beneath the Divine Crown. It is… a pleasure to make your acquaintance."
Lucian regarded him without so much as a blink, his voice calm, unwavering. "I am already aware of who you are. You belong to House Dravenor… a blood house."
For the briefest of moments, Wilhelm's smile stilled. His fingers tightened ever so slightly—subtle, yet unmistakable. It was a direct strike.
He recovered almost instantly.
"Indeed," he replied, his tone smooth, composed. "We are not of the Celestial Blood… yet we have proven that such distinction is not required to attain power. Though, of course…" a faint smile returned to his lips, "…comparisons with those of your standing are of an entirely different nature."
Lucian slipped his hands into his coat pockets, his expression unchanged. "You have my gratitude for your generous words. To hear such praise from a king… is most gratifying."
Wilhelm inclined his head slightly, maintaining that same composed gaze upon Lucian. "I must take my leave. Gatherings such as these are rare—where all stand assembled… particularly those whom others come merely to behold." His eyes drifted briefly toward Cassian before he turned and departed.
Cassian cast Lucian one last crooked glance before following after him.
Lucian watched them go… then exhaled slowly, as though a weight had lifted from his chest. "At last…" he murmured under his breath. He turned, making his way toward the great doors—yet in the very next moment, his expression shifted. His hand clenched into a fist.
"One day… I will silence them all."
---
Within the hall, Cassian followed close behind Wilhelm. "My lord… have I erred in some manner?" he asked, more than once, his voice edged with unease.
Wilhelm came to an abrupt halt.
The calm upon his face had faded.
He stepped slightly aside, away from the gathering, where a servant stood waiting with a silver salver bearing wine. With a mere gesture, he signaled for a goblet to be prepared.
Cassian began again, "Have I—"
Wilhelm turned.
This time, his voice carried a restrained fury, cold and deliberate. "I sent you to provoke him… not to ignite a blaze." He accepted the goblet. "Had I not intervened… do you understand what might have followed?" His gaze hardened. "You would have been the one to suffer for it."
His tone grew colder still.
"Do not forget who he is… nor the house to which he belongs. Had my name been drawn into such a matter, the Divine King would not have stood with us… but with his own blood."
Wilhelm drained the goblet in a single measured motion before returning it to the servant.
"You will leave this place at once," he said flatly. "You have already spoiled what little amusement remained."
The servant refilled the goblet without a word and placed it once more into his lord's hand.
Cassian fell silent. Words rose within him, yet none found their way to his lips. His fists clenched at his sides before he lowered his head and withdrew without another sound.
Wilhelm took a slow sip of wine, his gaze lingering upon Cassian's retreating figure. Then, in a quieter voice, he spoke to the servant beside him—
"In any case… the ties between the Divine Kingdom and Valerius shall not endure for long. It would be unwise to concern oneself with men of such standing… would it not?"