The gazes froze.
The vast audience chamber, once filled with the whispers of nobility and the clatter of armor, was now empty.
Only the royal family remained, scattered within the silent immensity of the ivory sanctuary.
The hall seemed infinite.
Immense white pillars, carved from immaculate ivory, rose so high that they vanished into a celestial light suspended above them. This light bathed the entire hall in an almost surreal glow, as if the sky itself had been captured and locked within these sacred walls.
Every step, every breath, every heartbeat seemed to echo in this hallowed space.
And yet…
A heavy silence dominated everything.
A silence broken only when something appeared.
Without a sound.
Without warning.
Sarvador stepped out of the world itself.
He crossed neither door nor passage. Space simply seemed to fold around him, as if reality had decided to let him through.
When he appeared, his silhouette materialized slowly before the royal family.
Tall.
Still.
Imposing.
His black hair slid down his shoulders like a living shadow, and his eyes burned with an almost unbearable intensity.
He observed the hall.
Then his gaze settled on Nihraël.
For a few seconds, no one spoke.
Even the light seemed to hesitate.
Then Sarvador spoke. His voice was calm, but as it echoed through the hall, it seemed to multiply into a thousand invisible echoes.
« You want to know why I am here? »
He paused.
His eyes remained fixed on Nihraël.
A slight, almost amused smile formed on his face.
« What do you think? I have come to visit my family… of course. To see how the end of the war is unfolding. To see my brother… to see you… and to see how everything is… surprising. »
The sarcasm was so obvious that it did not even need to be hidden.
No one in that room was fooled.
Sarvador was not a family man.
He cared nothing for family, traditions, or decorum.
And yet… he was there.
Silence returned.
But Serenith could not bear it.
Her long white hair shimmered slightly as she took a step forward. She was tired of these unspoken words. Tired of this silent game.
Her voice rose in the hall.
Calm.
But sharp.
« Sarvador… I strongly doubt you came here for a simple reunion. »
She crossed her arms.
Her gaze hardened.
« But your presence is timely. After all… I am certain you came for this. »
She slowly turned her head.
Her gaze fell on Nihraël.
He was sitting a few steps below the royal throne. Calm. Indifferent. As if he were not even present in the room.
Serenith's gaze filled with cold anger.
« There is something we must talk about. All of us. Here. Now. »
Her voice grew harder.
« Someone's actions must be called into question. »
Nihraël did not move.
Not a muscle.
His eyes remained fixed on the void, as if he were observing something no one else could see.
This indifference only made Serenith's anger burn colder.
Sarvador observed the scene with quiet interest.
His gaze slid from Serenith to Nihraël.
Then he began to walk.
His footsteps echoed softly on the ivory steps. His hands were behind his back. His posture was relaxed. A curious smile lingered.
« Oh… tell me more. »
He looked up slightly at Serenith.
« I would be delighted to join this discussion. Perhaps even provide… a certain perspective. »
He continued to climb the steps slowly.
Then his gaze fell on Valther.
The warrior had not moved since the beginning. Standing near the king. Silent. His presence as straight as a blade.
Sarvador tilted his head slightly.
« Valther… what do you think? »
His eyes gleamed.
« Do you have something to say? »
Valther remained still for a few seconds.
Then he took a deep breath.
« I have nothing to say. »
A silence passed.
« It is not for me to judge. »
His gaze turned toward the king.
« His Majesty… and yourself… are far more qualified to decide what must be done. »
His words were honest.
And just.
But Serenith shot him a look heavy with reproach before turning immediately to the king.
« Izanori. »
Her voice vibrated with impatience.
« What are you going to do? »
She pointed at Nihraël.
« You must explain what happened out there. »
She paused.
« Though I doubt Sarvador is unaware of it already. »
Izanori sat on his throne of ivory and gold. His posture was upright. Majestic. His long white hair flowed over his shoulders like a river of light. When he looked up toward the ceiling, the light itself seemed to follow his movement.
Sarvador now stood a few steps from the throne.
He turned his head slightly toward his brother.
« Oh? »
His voice became slightly darker.
« What happened? »
His eyes slid toward Nihraël.
« What has he done… this time? »
Nihraël did not react.
His eyes remained fixed on the void.
As if none of this concerned him.
Izanori exhaled slowly.
Then he spoke.
« A massacre. »
The silence was immediate.
« Without distinction. »
His gaze settled on his son.
« A butchery. »
He tightened his fingers slightly on the armrest of the throne.
« Enemies. Allies. Civilians. »
His voice grew deeper.
« He made no difference. »
The words fell like stones.
« Entire cities destroyed. Villages burned. Thousands dead. »
He stared at Sarvador.
« This was not a war. »
A terrible silence followed.
« It was a massacre. »
Sarvador remained silent for a few seconds.
Then… he smiled.
No surprise. No shock. Only quiet curiosity.
He looked at Nihraël. Analyzing him.
« I see. »
Then he asked, his voice almost casual:
« So… Nihraël. »
His eyes burned.
« What have you learned? From all of this. From these massacres. »
He tilted his head slightly.
« What lesson have you drawn from this war? »
Then he added calmly:
« Do you feel… stronger? »
A slight smile stretched his lips.
« Because for now… I see nothing more. Nothing less. »
Nihraël stood up.
Slowly.
His gaze met Sarvador's.
For a second…
It was like looking into a mirror.
The same face.
The same abyssal gaze.
But something was different. Something invisible.
Nihraël answered. His voice was calm. Cold.
« I have learned many things. »
He descended a step.
« And yes… I have become stronger. »
A silence.
Then he added:
« Regret these massacres? »
His gaze grew even darker.
« No. »
The tension rose immediately in the hall.
« War is war. And for me… it is only a means to become stronger. »
The provocation was clear.
Valther clenched his jaw. Serenith trembled with anger. The king's gaze grew harder.
But Sarvador…
Sarvador seemed amused.
Until something changed.
His gaze turned colder.
« You say you have become stronger. »
His voice became razor-sharp.
« Are you seeking to defy me? »
A frozen silence invaded the room.
« Are you seeking death… Nihraël? »
His eyes now burned with a terrible intensity.
« Did the war give you wings? »
He took a step toward him.
Reality seemed to vibrate slightly.
« You have accomplished nothing yet. »
His voice became glacial.
« We speak of massacres. But you only kill the weak. »
A heavy silence.
« I have never seen you kill anyone strong. »
Nihraël's energy exploded.
The air around him twisted. The light retreated. His eyes turned black. A terrifying murderous intent surged from him.
But before it could go any further—
Izanori stood up.
He did not shout. He made no sudden movement.
But an overwhelming wave of light flooded the room.
Nihraël's energy was swept away.
Like a flame blown out by a storm.
The prince looked up.
His father was watching him.
A single look was enough.
And despite all his power…
Nihraël was forced to bow.
The king had spoken.
Without saying a word.
The words Sarvador had spoken had not truly provoked Nihraël's anger. Not exactly. What he felt was different — deeper, more searing. A dull irritation. A wounded pride.
How dare he speak to him like that?
For a moment, the thought crossed his mind to show him. To truly show him what he was capable of. If he wanted to see strength… then he would see it.
But Izanori's presence imposed itself like an invisible wall. The crushing weight of the king filled the audience hall. The light itself seemed to obey his will.
Nihraël knew he could go no further.
Not here.
Not in the Ivory Isles.
So, without responding further, he looked away.
And disappeared.
Not like a shadow dissolving into darkness. Not like a flame being extinguished.
He disappeared like a truth one chooses to ignore.
Silence fell back over the hall.
Izanori observed the empty space his son had just abandoned. There was nothing to say. Nihraël had always been this way — present like a threat, absent like a regret.
Finally, he turned his eyes toward Sarvador.
« What do you think? »
Sarvador shrugged slightly.
« What do you want me to think? »
A pause.
« He follows his path. And his path is not a peaceful one. »
« The Seal, » said Izanori. It was not quite a question.
« His condition worsens with time. »
« Yes and no. »
Sarvador descended a few steps, his hands still behind his back. His gaze drifted toward the place where Nihraël had stood moments before.
« The Seal can have an influence. But it does not explain everything. »
A pause.
« He is this way… because that is who he is. »
His voice dropped slightly.
« I myself wore the Seal. And yet… I did not become like him. »
Those words settled heavily in the air.
« The Seal does not create a nature. It only reveals what already exists. »
Valther clenched his jaw.
He had commanded the armies. He had seen the devastation left in the prince's wake. In the beginning, Nihraël had been sent to the front accompanied by elite squads — seasoned warriors capable of surviving the worst combat. But often, Nihraël came back alone.
Not because his companions had fallen facing the enemy.
Valther had always known that.
« He is losing control of the Seal, » he said at last. « You know it as well as I do. »
Sarvador listened without responding.
« On the battlefield, I have had to intervene myself to stop him. More than once. »
He met Sarvador's gaze.
« If the Seal is not responsible… then why? »
Sarvador considered this for a moment. Something in his expression shifted — not concern exactly, but a genuine curiosity, almost unusual for him.
« Because he is unstable. And because the Seal… seems to be feeding on him. »
He looked up slightly.
« I have never seen this before. Not once. »
He turned toward Valther.
« That is, in fact, why I have decided to stay. »
The silence that followed was different from the ones before. Heavier. Charged with something no one wanted to put into words.
Sarvador… staying.
Serenith pressed her fingers together almost imperceptibly. It was neither relief nor threat — it was both at once, and that ambivalence was worse than either.
« Nihraël could become… interesting, » Sarvador added, with that smile that never promised anything reassuring.
Izanori did not respond immediately.
He was thinking of his son. Of that empty space in the middle of the hall. Of the way Nihraël always disappeared — not just physically, but from every conversation, every moment, as if his presence had never been entirely real.
A thousand years of war drawing to its end.
And yet the most difficult problem he had ever faced had no battlefield. No designated enemy. No possible strategy.
It bore his son's name.
« The banquet will take place tomorrow, » said Serenith softly, as if trying to pull everyone back toward something tangible. « Everything is already prepared. »
Izanori nodded slowly.
The celebration of victory. An ancient tradition. They would honor the soldiers who had returned alive and pay tribute to those who would never return.
Thousands. Millions. Perhaps more.
Too many of his subjects had died young. Too many lives had been broken by a war that had lasted a thousand years.
He felt no pride tonight.
Only the weight of everything that had been lost to arrive here.
Far from the throne room, in a deserted corridor where the light did not quite reach, Nihraël had stopped.
He did not move.
Sarvador's words still echoed.
I have never seen you kill anyone strong.
He was not angry.
Anger would have been too simple.
What he felt was harder to name — something between certainty and doubt, between wounded pride and a truth he was not yet ready to face directly.
He raised his eyes toward the ivory ceiling.
The light shone there, perfect, unchanging, indifferent.
As always.
He left without a sound.
But this time…
His steps were just a little less certain.