The return to the Imperial Capital was unlike any entry Livius had made before. As the Spectral Carriage crossed the city limits, the very stones of the road seemed to thrum with a rhythmic, wet pulse. The white marble of the palace, once a symbol of cold, static power, was no longer white. It had taken on a bruised, fleshy hue. Thick, golden veins—looking more like arteries than architectural features—crept up the pillars and wrapped around the spires.The return to the Imperial Capital was unlike any entry Livius had made before. As the Spectral Carriage crossed the city limits, the very stones of the road seemed to thrum with a rhythmic, wet pulse. The white marble of the palace, once a symbol of cold, static power, was no longer white. It had taken on a bruised, fleshy hue. Thick, golden veins—looking more like arteries than architectural features—crept up the pillars and wrapped around the spires.
The Golden Throne was no longer just a seat; it was a heart.The Golden Throne was no longer just a seat; it was a heart.
"It's accelerating," Aethelgard whispered, her violet eyes reflecting the sickly glow of the palace walls. She sat opposite Livius, her silver hair shimmering in the dim interior of the carriage. "When you erased Aurelius's shadow, you didn't kill the parasite. You just removed the brain. Now, the body of the Argentine line is acting on pure, mindless instinct. It is trying to 'Digest' the city to rebuild itself.""It's accelerating," Aethelgard whispered, her violet eyes reflecting the sickly glow of the palace walls. She sat opposite Livius, her silver hair shimmering in the dim interior of the carriage. "When you erased Aurelius's shadow, you didn't kill the parasite. You just removed the brain. Now, the body of the Argentine line is acting on pure, mindless instinct. It is trying to 'Digest' the city to rebuild itself."
Livius looked out the window. He saw the citizens huddled in their homes, the "Nexus" agents standing guard on every corner.
The air smelled of cold pennies and the suffocating tang of a fresh-opened vein. He felt the pull of the throne—a gravitational hunger that wanted to drag his Silver-Gold blood back into the center of the rot.
"Cian," Livius said, his voice a sharp, clinical edge. "What is the status of the 'Shattered Zenith' entrance? Did the Guardian Family leave any records of the basement?""Cian," Livius said, his voice a sharp, clinical edge.
Cian looked up from a stack of blueprints, his fingers trembling. "There are no blueprints for the basement, Livius. Because according to the laws of physics, the basement shouldn't exist. The palace is built on a 'Fold in Space.' The only way to reach the Zenith is to pass through the Veil of Elara."
Livius paused at the mention of the name. A flash of a white forest and a gentle, starlit face crossed his mind. Elara. The name felt right. It felt like a key turning in a lock.
"My mother's veil," Livius murmured. "She didn't just die in the North Wing, did she? She became the seal."