Silence fell for a moment not an ordinary silence, but one so heavy it felt poured onto their souls. Veytan lifted his head and looked up at the ceiling of the grand hall, his eyes gleaming with a dark crimson glow, as though ready to consume everything in sight. Then, in a voice that seemed to rise from a deep, ancient well, he spoke
"If it weren't for his betrayal, Britania would have won the war. If it weren't for him, the glory of the Empire would have expanded reaching every corner of the world... But that wretch chose treachery, simply out of fear. He was envious, spiteful… terrified of me. Your beloved prince he coveted the throne for himself. That's why he sided with the Severians, trading them Britain's rule for their support."
He rose suddenly, his steps toward the fireplace dragging a shadow longer than his form. He lifted his right hand and pointed at a faint carving etched above the stone mantle an ancient sigil nearly erased by the dust of years, but it began to shimmer with each word he uttered.
"He knew... he knew death would never be my end. He knew my power couldn't be destroyed. So he didn't kill me. He chose instead to bury me beneath my own castle, sealing me with a curse that can only be undone at a cost."
He turned, his gaze locking onto Emilia.
"A seal cursed with his blood… and the blood of his descendants. And it requires one who is Gifted... And now here you are the first Gifted born of Norin's bloodline to set foot in this place."
He took a step forward. Musa made a move, but froze in place when the entire room trembled with Veytan's approach, as if the very walls feared provoking him.
"He knew I would return, but only when one of his own allowed it. The seal cannot be broken by force. It requires intention... acceptance. That's why I haven't killed you, Emilia. That's why I need your blood willingly given."
Time stopped for Emilia. The world around her muffled into silence, as if it had stepped back, leaving her alone to face the truth. Her eyes widened, but she saw nothing nothing but the crimson flare in Veytan's gaze. All she could hear was the echo of his words spiraling in her mind.
'No... this isn't possible…' The thought repeated in her head like a desperate mantra, a final shield against collapse. Her heart pounded wildly, more a quake than a beat, every pulse a brutal reminder that her body was still here yet her mind refused to believe any of it.
"No... Impossible! You're lying! Norin would never do that! What throne could he have claimed? We were all scattered after you lost the war... And it was Severia who ruled Britain after that, not Norin... Besides, Norin was the first victim of the mansion's curse how could he be the one who cast it?"
Veytan's laughter erupted suddenly harsh, hoarse, as if it came from something not entirely human. It wasn't mere amusement, but a brutal slap of scorn that dripped with contempt and mockery. His laughter rose in waves, as though mocking their fear, their ignorance, their weakness.
There was something unhinged in that laughter, the tone of a man watching a tragic farce whose ending he had known for centuries, yet still couldn't resist watching play out. It was not the laugh of joy, but of someone who had long since lost all hope someone for whom mockery was the last shred of sanity.
Each chuckle was a needle in the nerves of those around him. Every convulsion of his shaking frame carried the weight of a history steeped in pain and madness, as though laughter was the only thing left to prove his mind hadn't completely shattered… or perhaps that there was nothing left to break.
"How ironic," he said, with a venomous grin. "And you call yourself a bearer of knowledge? You truly are? Yet you can't see the truths buried beneath your feet? Did that nosy bastard teach you nothing? Or perhaps even he doesn't know? Meanwhile, a wretch sealed in this place for centuries can see what all of you cannot."
Veytan's eye widened suddenly, veins bulging beneath his pale skin, his body radiating fury with every inch. "The ruling bloodline of Britain... is Tersian, my dear. The spawn of that treacherous Norin are the ones ruling now. He abandoned his family, forged a fake identity, and ruled Britain in secret under the name Mikael Valeros the First. I can feel everything because his cursed blood is still linked to mine, and to this seal that binds me."
Inside Emilia's mind, everything was crumbling quietly, violently. The words Veytan had spoken echoed in her head, but her mind refused to let them in, refused to believe them. 'Norin? A traitor? Mikael the First? Tersians still rule?' The mere thought tore apart everything she had believed since childhood. It felt like her own memory was betraying her that the books she'd read, the stories she was raised on, were all nothing but ornate lies.
Her eyes stared blankly at a nonexistent point in the air, clinging to silence like a last breath of logic in a world unraveling. Her mind screamed, No... it can't be... this isn't true, but her heart knew otherwise. With every added truth, the space where her soul used to live shrank as if reality itself was choking her from the inside, shredding her certainty piece by piece.
Beside her, Musa was caught in a different kind of shock. He wasn't in denial he was lost. His eyes wandered, his mouth slightly open, as if he wanted to ask something but couldn't form the words. Each sentence hit him like a flash of light that left no trace behind. He didn't understand or perhaps he simply couldn't process what he was hearing. His brain rejected the data, unable to form a coherent picture from the scattered fragments.
Each of them was drowning in their own storm Emilia in sharp, aching denial, and Musa in a mental fog with no ground to stand on.
Veytan's laughter died abruptly, replaced by a cold, silent gaze, burning with ancient embers of anger and disappointment. He stepped forward slowly, each movement weighed down by an unseen force, as if the very earth recoiled beneath his steps. He stopped before Emilia, whose eyes remained fixed on him, her body frozen on the chair like a statue molded from fear.
Then he spoke, his voice low and heavy with dread:
"Still don't believe me, do you?"
Musa flinched, half-rising, ready to protect her even though he knew it would be useless. But Veytan made no move to harm her. He didn't strike. He simply… raised a single finger, and tapped her forehead gently with the tip of his nail.
"Since you're of the knowledge-bearers," he said with a crooked, unreadable smile, "perhaps this way will work."
Then silence.
Suddenly, everything changed in Emilia's eyes.
Her pupils dilated in an instant, her breathing quickened. The world around her vanished. Her mind became a screen, forced to display images beyond her control visions pouring in like a flood, consuming every corner of her awareness.
A storm of locked memories began to surge.
Dark clouds cloaked the sky, a pale moon barely illuminating a battlefield scarred by thousands of marching feet. Atop a hill stood Veytan, regal and imposing, leading his army. His long black hair whipped in the wind, streaked with white at the temples. His crimson eyes pulsed with arcane energy. Handsome, yet cloaked in a terrifying enigma. His armor shimmered in silver and shadow, with glowing violet sigils etched into his skin.
Across the field, the enemy lined up in perfect formation. At their head stood a man with golden hair that glowed like fire in the night Norin. His green eyes radiated a power not of this world, and a divine glow surrounded his white cloak, making him look like a god among men.
Norin stepped forward alone to the center. Moments later, Veytan met him. Only a few feet separated them. Veytan looked at him, still in disbelief.
Veytan, voice torn with rage: "Norin... I still can't believe you did it. You betrayed your blood. You betrayed your family."
Norin, calm and resolute: "Betrayed who? The man who went mad in pursuit of a power no mortal should wield? The one who sought to crush all realms to prove his might? Britain needs no more tyrants... It needs a true king."
Veytan, bitter and pained: "So that's what this is about? The crown? Power? I never thought you could stoop so low."
Norin, raising a hand glowing like the sun: "I wanted to save what little remained of our nation. But you… you became something else. Something that must be buried."
Veytan, fury cracking through his grief: "Then come bury me if you can, traitor!"
The battle erupts.
They clash like gods.
Veytan vanishes in a blink and reappears behind Norin, unleashing razor-sharp blood blades from his palms. Norin forms a radiant shield that incinerates them mid-air.
Veytan slams his hand into the ground, summoning a vortex of shadow and illusion. Phantom limbs lash out toward Norin, but he strikes the ground with a sunlit staff, splitting it open, then hurls a spear of blazing light that explodes where Veytan stood only to find he was a shadow, now behind him, gripping Norin's throat.
Veytan, whispering with madness: "I would've made you a god… but you chose to be a dog for our enemies."
Norin, with a sad smile: "Better a loyal dog than a fallen devil."
Light erupts from Norin, flinging Veytan away. He forms a sword of solar fire, bringing it down. Veytan blocks with a shield of frozen blood and dark magic.
Their blows shake the field light and blood colliding in waves of devastation. Soldiers retreat in terror as their titanic powers clash.
Veytan creates an illusory double that distracts Norin from behind while he prepares a lethal strike. But at the critical moment, Norin's troops intervene from behind firing luminous arrows that pierce Veytan's defense for a breath.
Norin seizes the moment driving a burning spear into Veytan's chest. Light explodes inside him, and Veytan collapses, blood boiling from within.
Veytan, gasping, broken:
"Traitor... to the very end..."
He falls. Eyes still locked on Norin.
The vision fades slowly, painfully as tears gather in Emilia's eyes, unaware they've begun to fall.