"She doesn't need to break you. She only needs you to doubt yourself once."
—Elyndra
No bells. No alarms.
No sound at all.
That was the first sign something was wrong.
Kael stood atop the eastern balcony of the Imperial Spire, staring into the stars, hands behind his back. Behind him, the court slumbered. His enemies licked their wounds. The Oathbroken was sealed in an endless loop of anti-time.
Everything was perfect.
So why did the stars blink?
One by one, constellations faded—not with clouds, but with deliberate intention.
As if someone was editing the sky.
Then he felt it.
Not an attack. A pull.
Something ancient, warm, and deeply familiar brushing against his soul.
Come home, Kael.
And the world vanished.
He awoke in a room that should not exist.
A nursery.
Walls painted with celestial beasts, soft lullabies echoing from unseen instruments, and a single cradle beneath a canopy of midnight silk.
Kael was not a child.
He stood as he was—fully grown, armored, alert.
But the cradle rocked.
And from its shadows, a woman's voice cooed.
"You always hated lullabies. Even in your earliest years, your mind resisted sedation."
The shadows shifted.
She stepped forward.
The Queen of the Abyss. His mother.
Not in her terrifying form—not as the devourer of realms or the goddess of obsession—but simply…
…a woman.
Beautiful. Ageless. Gentle.
And her eyes—those void-filled eyes—glowed not with hunger, but affection.
Kael said nothing.
She approached the cradle and looked inside.
"You don't remember," she whispered. "Because I made you forget."
The dream twisted—not into a nightmare, but into childhood.
Kael blinked—and he was a boy. Six years old. Sitting beside a lake made of molten stars, legs swinging, laughter in his throat.
She was beside him.
Telling stories. Running her fingers through his hair. Feeding him fruit that shimmered with impossible colors.
It felt real.
The warmth. The smells. The joy.
And that was what terrified him.
Because Kael's true childhood was cold stone, empty halls, and silence.
This—this was manufactured.
"Why show me this now?" he asked, even as the boy version of himself laughed and played.
Her voice was a song.
"Because even you, my brilliant son, must have one weakness. And if it's not ambition... or lust... or pain... it must be longing."
She turned toward him.
"You buried your humanity, Kael. I kept it safe."
The child faded.
Only the man remained.
"I need nothing buried," Kael said.
"Don't you?" she asked softly. "Then why do you feel when you look at her?"
Selene.
Elyndra.
Seraphina.
His mother's voice became a whisper in his ear.
"You touch power... but you still yearn for understanding."
Kael's core burned.
"You think affection can distract me?"
"No," she said gently. "I think memory can wound you deeper than any sword ever could."
She offered no threat. No blades. No armies.
Only a door.
"Step through, Kael," she said. "And see who you would have been... if I raised you."
He didn't move.
But the dream bent around him.
He was pulled forward.
The door opened.
And Kael saw himself—another version—kneeling beside a dying Seraphina.
Crying.
Begging.
"I'll give it all up," the other Kael wept. "The throne. The power. Just don't take her from me—"
She died in his arms.
The other Kael broke.
"Is that what you want me to become?" the real Kael asked coldly.
"No," his mother said, standing behind him. "I want you to understand why you can never allow it to happen."
He turned on her.
"This isn't memory. It's construction."
"Yes," she admitted. "But the emotions are real. And real emotions lead to real cracks, my son."
Kael's eyes glowed.
The Sovereign Runes blazed across his skin.
He summoned his will.
He rewrote the dream.
The nursery cracked. The lake burned away. The false child vanished.
The Queen sighed as everything shattered.
"You're too strong now for dreams," she murmured. "I expected this."
Kael stood before her.
"And still you tried."
"Of course," she said. "Because one day you won't need me to attack your enemies."
Her eyes narrowed.
"One day, you'll become the enemy of your own soul. And when that day comes…"
She leaned closer.
"…you'll beg for the comfort I'm offering now."
Kael snapped awake.
The stars had returned. The palace untouched. Only an obsidian feather lay on his chest—her mark, her signature.
Selene stood in the doorway, brows furrowed.
"You were… gone. Not just unconscious. Gone, Kael."
"How long?" he asked.
"Six hours."
He said nothing.
He held the feather for a moment.
Then crushed it in his palm.
Later that night, Kael met Elyndra in the library.
She was already reading the prophecy.
"The Queen doesn't just want to win," she said. "She wants to haunt you. She'll never try to overpower your strength. Only your foundations."
Kael didn't respond.
Elyndra looked up. Her expression unusually soft.
"She showed you something, didn't she?"
He nodded once.
"And was it beautiful?" she asked.
He looked away.
"That's the danger," Elyndra whispered. "Not lies. Not threats. But beauty that might have been real."
Kael walked away without answering.
But Elyndra's final words lingered like a blade in the dark:
"She's not trying to make you surrender. She's trying to make you doubt the version of yourself that never needed her."
To be continued...