Chapter 9

The Great Shakka Hall had never been more alive.

Golden chandeliers illuminated the towering pillars of Luminosus, while enchanted instruments filled the air with melodies that echoed through the palace corridors. Nobles from the ten kingdoms raised their jeweled cups in celebration of the successful Lumus Annua ritual.

The night had grown late, yet nobody wished to leave.

For the first time in years, the kingdoms celebrated beneath a sky free from ominous portents.

But beyond the music and laughter, the Luma Garden remained quiet.

Shaynna stood beside a marble fountain, watching moonlight ripple across the enchanted water. The reflection of her face trembled upon the surface.

Princess of Hydranas.

Daughter of Sanggrela Hetanani.

The titles still felt like they belonged to someone else.

How could the woman whom she had never seen have concealed such an extraordinary truth? Had Shaynna known she was an orphane and she had just have foster family adopting her? And why had nobody prepared her for the destiny now unfolding before her?

“Thinking about running away already?”

A man's voice interrupted her thoughts.

Shaynna turned sharply.

A young man stood beneath the archway of white roses, dressed in dark crimson ceremonial attire. Gold embroidery traced the edges of his coat, and a small flame flickered between his fingers before disappearing.

She immediately recognized the emblem of Agordom.

“My apology your grace, I am just ...processing my thoughts on it?” she asked.

He smiled faintly.

“Prince Jero. Son of King Lunagor of Agordom.”

Shaynna straightened, suddenly conscious that she stood before a prince.

“And you are?”

“Shaynna of Hydranas.”

“I know,” Jero replied. “You're the maiden everyone has been whispering about tonight.”

Her expression hardened.

“Then perhaps you should return to the celebration and continue whispering with them.”

Jero laughed softly.

“Perhaps. But the celebration is becoming tiresome, and you look as though the entire kingdom has been placed upon your shoulders.”

Shaynna glanced back at the fountain.

“Maybe it has.”

For once, Jero had no immediate answer.

He stepped closer to the water, leaving enough distance between them to respect her space.

“Then I suppose neither of us came here to celebrate.”

Shaynna studied him carefully.

For the first time that night, she wondered whether the Fire Prince might understand more than he was willing to admit.

.............

While Shaynna and Jero spoke beneath the moonlit trees, The Fire King of Agordom King Lunagor stood on the palace's eastern balcony, watching the celebration below.

He had come to Luminosus to honor his half-brother's ritual. He had expected ceremonial speeches, political conversations, and another long evening among the kingdoms' nobility.

He had not expected to hear the name Hetanani spoken with such reverence.

Nor had he expected the King of Light to remember the Sanggrela mothers as though their histories were bound to his own family.

When Levarro finally emerged onto the balcony, Lunagor turned toward him.

“Brother,” he began, forcing a casual smile. “May I ask you something?”

Levarro nodded.

“Of course.”

Lunagor's fingers tightened around the balcony railing.

“For twenty years, I believed the Sanggrela mothers had placed a barrier upon me,” Lunagor began, his voice heavy with carefully measured sorrow. "I never understood why they would interfere with the bloodlines of the kingdoms.”

He paused, lowering his gaze as though the memory wounded him.

“But I understood one thing, brother. I despised that prophecy long before those women ever disappeared. I opposed the ritual from the very beginning.”

Levarro's expression hardened.

“You opposed it because you feared what it would become.”

“Feared it?” Lunagor let out a bitter laugh. “I despised the very idea that eight maidens, born from eight different Sanggrela mothers, would one day be gathered to fulfill a prophecy that could reshape the balance of power in Avelia.That such ritual would invite chaos into our kingdoms. My King, It would destroy the order our ancestors had fought to establish.”

His voice grew firmer, carrying the indignation of a king who believed his objections had been ignored.

“And yet, despite my opposition, you continued it.”

Levarro remained silent.

“For twenty years,” Lunagor continued, “you allowed the ritual to proceed behind my back. You concealed the existence of those daughters, protected their bloodlines, and waited for the day they would be brought together. You let me believe the prophecy had died with their mothers.”

He stepped closer to his brother.

“Tell me, Levarro. Was preserving Luminosus as the capital of Avelia worth deceiving your own blood?”

The Light King did not answer immediately.

Lunagor watched him, concealing the satisfaction stirring beneath his manufactured outrage.

He had finally found the accusation he needed—not because Levarro was innocent of every deception, but because the Light King had indeed kept the ritual secret.

“You know what those daughters represent,” Levarro finally said. “Their existence is not merely a matter of prophecy. It concerns the future of all ten kingdoms.”

“No,” Lunagor countered. “It concerns the future of your kingdom.”

His eyes narrowed.

“As long as Luminosus remains the governing capital, your throne stands above the other nine. Your word carries the greatest authority. Your kingdom commands the grandest ceremonies, and every ruler must gather beneath your banners. What better way to preserve that supremacy than to control the very prophecy that could determine Avelia's future?”

“Luminosus was chosen to govern because the realm needed unity,” Levarro replied. “Not because I wished to enslave the other kingdoms beneath my authority.”

“Then why keep the ritual secret from me?”

For the first time, Lunagor allowed genuine anger to enter his voice.

“Was I not your brother? Was Agordom not entitled to know what you were preparing? You knew I opposed the ritual, yet you proceeded without my consent. You made certain that even I, another king of Avelia, would remain ignorant of the daughters' existence.”

He shook his head with apparent disbelief.

“You outsmarted me, Levarro. You allowed me to believe the eight mothers were gone and that their bloodlines would never threaten the balance of the kingdoms again. All the while, their daughters were growing up somewhere beyond my knowledge, waiting for the day you would summon them.”

Levarro's face grew solemn.

“I did what I believed necessary to protect Luminosus and Avelia. The ritual could not be abandoned simply because you opposed it.”

“And what of the mothers?” Lunagor demanded. “What happened to them?”

A heavy silence descended between the brothers.

For a fleeting instant, Lunagor remembered eight women whose lives had ended by his own hand.

He remembered why he had killed them.

It had never been about fathering children. He had never sought a relationship with those women, nor had they denied him the opportunity to have heirs. His hatred had always been directed at the ritual itself—the prophecy that threatened to create a force beyond the control of any king.

He had believed that by eliminating the mothers, he could extinguish the prophecy before their daughters could fulfill it.

He had believed that their deaths would end everything.

Instead, the daughters had survived.

And now, after twenty years, the prophecy stood before him in the form of eight young women whose powers had yet to awaken.

Lunagor buried the memory beneath an expression of grief.

“I thought they were dead,” he whispered. “I believed their disappearance meant the ritual had failed. I never imagined their daughters would still be alive.”

Levarro studied his brother, his face clouded by the same unanswered questions that had haunted him for two decades.

“Neither did I know who was responsible for their deaths,” the Light King admitted. “I searched for answers, but whoever took those women from us left no truth I could prove. I did not know whether they had been murdered because of the prophecy or because someone feared what their daughters might become.”

Lunagor lowered his head.

Inside, relief washed through him.

Levarro did not know.

The Light King had preserved the ritual, concealed the daughters, and protected their existence—but he had never discovered that the brother standing before him was the man who had slaughtered their mothers.

Lunagor raised his eyes again, allowing indignation to replace his grief.

“Then we have both been deceived,” he declared. “You kept the daughters' existence from me, and someone murdered their mothers without either of us knowing the truth.”

The accusation was carefully constructed. It transformed his own crime into a mystery and his opposition to the ritual into evidence of innocence.

“If the mothers were killed to prevent the prophecy,” Lunagor continued, “then their murderer understood the danger those daughters represented. Whoever committed such an act believed that killing eight women would be enough to silence destiny itself.”

He placed a hand upon his chest.

“I may have opposed your ritual, Levarro, but I never wished to see innocent women slaughtered.”

The lie emerged without hesitation.

Levarro looked at him, searching his brother's face for any sign of deception. He found only the fury of a king who believed he had been excluded from a decision that would determine the future of Avelia.

“Then help me discover the truth,” Levarro said. “The daughters deserve to know what happened to their mothers. And the mothers deserve justice.”

Lunagor extended his hand.

“Together, we shall find the murderer.”

Levarro accepted it.

For a moment, the two kings stood as brothers united by a tragedy neither appeared willing to forget.

But only one of them knew the truth.

Lunagor had not been denied children by the Sanggrela mothers. He had not been their lover, nor had he been the victim of any curse they had placed upon him. He had opposed the ritual, killed the women who made it possible, and spent twenty years believing that he had successfully buried their legacy.

Now, he stood beside the very king who had secretly preserved that legacy.

And the Light King believed him.

Beyond the balcony, music and celebration echoed through the Great Shakka Hall. The eight young Sanggrela successors stood at the beginning of their destiny, unaware that the murderer of their mothers had just promised to deliver justice on their behalf.

Lunagor turned toward the illuminated palace.

He had once believed that eliminating the mothers would preserve the balance of power and protect the supremacy of Agordom from a prophecy he despised.

Instead, Levarro had outmaneuvered him.

Luminosus remained the capital. The ritual had survived. The daughters were alive.

And the prophecy Lunagor had tried to destroy was no longer merely a secret hidden in the past.

It was standing inside his brother's palace, breathing, growing stronger, and waiting to discover the truth.

For twenty years, Lunagor had hidden the blood of eight mothers on his hands. Now, he would have to stand before their daughters and pretend to be the king who wanted their murderer brought to justice.

Lunagor’s fingers tightened on the stone railing. The night air carried the scent of lanterns and spiced wine, yet the taste in his mouth was iron and ash. He could picture the eight maidens turning in their ceremonial dance below, each unaware that the man who had ordered their mothers’ deaths now walked the same marble floors.

A slow, deliberate breath left him. Twenty years of silence had kept the secret buried. Tonight it lived again, walking among them in the shape of daughters whose power he had failed to extinguish. The crack in the Blood Gemstone had answered their awakening. If the fracture spread, every soul he had condemned might claw its way back through the gem’s light.

He straightened his cloak. When he descended, he would smile, raise his cup, and speak of justice. The lie had held for two decades; one more night would not break it.