Chapter 86: Where It All Fell Apart

Chapter 86: Where It All Fell Apart Henndar’s fury burned low and steady, like coals beneath ash. It wasn’t Kesha he was angry with. Not truly. But she was in the way now, standing firm in front of the one decision he couldn’t hesitate with. Any more delay would only weaken him further. "Kesha. Step aside." His voice wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be. The weight in it was enough to hush the air. There was no anger in the tone. Only resolve — cold and final. A King’s authority dressed in a father’s grief. He wished it didn’t have to sound so final, but what could he do when things were running out of control as such? Inside, his mind raced. Maybe this wasn’t necessary, or there was another path. But no voice came. He was the king. And kings did not get to grieve aloud. Kings had to be precise and make the worst decisions for the best. His hand curled into a fist at his side, then relaxed. He didn’t show any pain or regret. It could be that he was doing his best to hide his pain, and it could also be that he didn’t feel any emotions. Perhaps he was just insensitive, but he was able to hide it all under the guise of a loving father. The Deceiver. He offered no explanations, no speeches. Just a silent prayer to the people who once loved him as more than a symbol. Kesha didn’t move. Not a blink. Not a breath wasted. Her silence was louder than defiance. She no longer cared about the weight of judgment, or the spectacle she was making. She couldn’t—not when Aramith was on the floor behind her, alone and doomed. She loved him. Not in the way one loves a prince, or even a lover. But in the way that defied titles and borders and consequences. How could she step aside now? That would mean letting him die. She squared her shoulders. "Please, Aramith. Just beg him. He’s not so insensitive." But her plea fell on deaf ears and a stubborn heart. She thought of transforming into her beast form, then escaping with Aramith. She could then convince him to come back and beg, but the idea was snuffed out. There was no way she would be able to escape. And what would it mean if she used her power to force a King’s decision when she declared she represented her empire in this? Henndar exhaled slowly, gaze heavy. Of course, she wouldn’t yield. That’s what made this harder. Without a word, he gave the signal. From the far shadows, a figure detached—another cloaked in black, silent and merciless. The movement was so clean, so swift, it looked like the darkness had come alive. In one fluid strike, the figure snatched Kesha back, arms pinned in a practiced hold. She thrashed, kicking and clawing, a feral sound tearing from her throat—but she was dragged away with the efficiency of someone used to ending riots, not debates. "No!" she cried out, finally breaking. "Please—" But her voice choked. Her feet scraped the floor. Her heart screamed with everything she couldn’t say. As she was pulled from the scene, she turned her face away—not out of weakness, but because she couldn’t bear to watch. Henndar raised his hand. And when the weapon was raised by the cloaked one behind him, he shook his head. He would do it himself. Gold lines began to swirl above him, slowly sketching themselves into the air — not drawn, but written into existence. Each line glowed faintly, pulsing like veins fed by some ancient heartbeat. They curved and looped with impossible precision, carving runes mid-air that shimmered like liquid logic. The marks converged, twisting into the form of a long barrel — not of metal, but of pure power. The weapon was almost entirely transparent, as if made of frozen light or crystallized energy. Only the lines of pure Youm — radiant and gold- held its shape together, anchoring it to reality. They shimmered faintly with a rhythm. A low hum stirred in the chamber. This was the first time any of them had seen such a thing, but instead of awe or curiosity, all they felt was fear. And the question of how he could manifest energy in that form. Power gathered, silent but immense. Light coiled into the barrel like a solar stream being condensed, and arcs of lightning forked and flickered from Henndar’s fingertips into the weapon. The gold lines swallowed the energy hungrily, and the hum deepened. Fear rippled through Aramith’s chest. His hands trembled slightly, but he didn’t step back. He stood tall. He still had faith. His father wouldn’t go through with it. He couldn’t. But he was wrong. The boy hadn’t understood that before him was the king, not his father. "You can still step aside," Henndar said. The words were dry, distant, as if they cost him more than they gave. "You’ll live. But your title will be revoked. You will be banished for your insubordination." It was a mercy. It was a threat. It was both. Aramith didn’t hesitate. His voice was soft. Measured. But it hit the room like a sword drop. "I won’t back down... Father." Henndar flinched. The word cracked something. That one word, simple and cruel. It was as if Aramith wanted him to feel guilty. "Father...," he muttered. It sounded so distant. Henndar dropped his hand. BOOM. The air ignited. The blast was deafening. The lightning exploded in all directions—raw, white, final. It struck Aramith square in the chest, and the shockwave lashed toward Lynnor like a cyclone of twisted twigs, but Henndar’s fingers flicked in the last instant, casting a translucent shield that absorbed the worst of it. Smoke swirled across the floor. The scent of scorched stone and burned cloth filled the air. Silence fell heavy in the room. "He... killed them?" someone whispered. The words were barely audible, like a curse that didn’t want to be spoken aloud. Even Serephene’s bone mask tilted, unsettled. Her fingers twitched at her side. Henndar stared into the haze. His expression was carved from stone, but his eyes narrowed, just enough to reveal something gnawed at his instinct. Something wasn’t right. Time slowed. Not literally, not yet. But to Aramith, the moment stretched. He watched the bolt race toward him, saw its shape, its twisting edges. It looked like justice. It looked like death. Final He didn’t cry. He didn’t run. He accepted it. Then the voices returned. Not from the outside—but within. You’re not dead. I won’t die! Something inside him ignited. His eyes turned black. Whatever happened next, he was no longer aware. He crossed his arms in front of his chest. Darkness surged. It poured from his skin, thick and evil, enveloping him and Lynnor. It didn’t block the attack—it swallowed what could have killed them. The energy vanished into the void, consumed. Power rippled beneath his flesh, and his bones cracked, shifted. Muscle split and stretched. Fur bloomed. Light burst from sigils carved deep into his skin. The boy vanished. And a creature of darkness emerged. The smoke parted, and a massive black wolf stood where Aramith had once been. Taller than a man. Covered in pulsing runes. Its eyes—glowing, intelligent, and wrong—fixed on Henndar. It growled. And the sound wasn’t just sound—it was memory. The forest. The teeth. The unspeakable power hiding in Aramith’s shadow. "He’s alive?!" "How?!" "No one survives that!" Even Henndar stepped back, ever so slightly. Kesha gasped, her voice caught in her throat. Aramith... she saw him. Felt him. But she also felt something else. The edges of another presence, wild and hungry, wearing his skin, consuming him. Henndar’s frown darkened. This was no ordinary defense. This wasn’t the darkness he had sealed away. This... was new.