Chapter 13:

  "The Kingdom of Light"

  Arc 2: Chapter 3

  POV: "???"

  The silence that followed was absolute, crushing. Hundreds of eyes—soldiers with weapons raised, mages with contained energies, citizens with expressions of terror and fascination—fixed on her. The declaration was so monumental, so heretical in its hope, that it seemed unbelievable.

  Luka stared at her, his eyes flashing with the icy fury of duty clashing with an impossible spark of recognition. The anger dissolved, leaving only the void of shock. His jaw trembled.

  And then, without ceremony, without hesitation, the mighty Luka Graymon, third greatest warrior of the generation, heir of the Mages, knelt. His right knee touched the stone with a dull thud that echoed in everyone's heart.

  It was like a divine sign.

  The soldiers behind him, seeing the steel pillar of their leader bow before the girl who had invoked the prophecy's name as fact, understood.

  One by one, like a wave of reverence and terror, the entire guard knelt. And then the citizens. The sound of knees, armor, and resignation hitting the ground echoed along the walls like a silent roar.

  Raphadun, arriving behind Luna, exhausted and panting, saw the scene and collapsed. Silent tears washed the dirt from his face, the fatigue and emotion finally bringing him down on the sacred ground of home.

  Empty merely observed, motionless like a statue amid the sea of kneeling people, his expression hidden, but his gaze fixed on Luna, assessing, protecting.

  It was then that the soldiers, recovering the protocol buried beneath reverence, advanced on him. Two of them grabbed his arms with brute force.

  "You're under arrest, curse," one growled, hatred an old habit.

  Empty did not resist. He allowed himself to be shackled with cold metal cuffs and suppressing runes, his eyes still fixed on Luna, a silent promise in his gaze.

  As he was led away, a memory invaded Luna's mind.

  Not from the ruins or the battle. But from a gray plain, months ago. She, Raphadun, and Empty sitting around a fire so weak it barely warmed their bones. Raphadun explaining, drawing on the ground with a stick:

  "When we arrive, they'll see us as heroes or threats. Empty…" he looked at the silent figure. "He'll be seen as a threat. We have to be prepared. It's the plan."

  Empty had merely nodded, accepting his role in the "plan" without fully understanding, but trusting. Always trusting.

  A day passed.

  Luna awoke in a bed that was a brutal, almost violent contrast to everything she had known. The ceiling was high, adorned with golden frescoes narrating the history of Light as an ordered epic. Sunlight entered through colored stained glass, projecting luminous fantasies on the floor. She curled up like a child again, following her mother's dresses through corridors that smelled of wax and flowers.

  The door opened softly, without noise.

  Bruce Darking was there. He did not enter fully, remaining on the threshold, his powerful figure filling the doorway like a barrier between two worlds. His emerald eyes watched her, and in them Luna saw something rare and terrible: a crack in the granite armor. Pain.

  "Raphadun is already awake…" Bruce's voice was softer than the roar she remembered, laden with raw and contained emotion, like a river beneath a layer of ice. "You… are really alive. Your father… succeeded, after all."

  Luna sat up on the bed. The reality of return hit her like a tide.

  Raphadun burst into the room, still pale but with eyes shining like two green stars, and ran to hug his sister. Bruce watched the scene, a complex expression—pride, pain, guilt—crossing his face like a cloud.

  Theodora then appeared behind him, along with Alfredo Lighting, Alice's younger brother. Grandfather and great-uncle did not get along. Bruce was brute force personified; Alfredo, the century's greatest technical duelist, whose blade was said to cut light. The debate over who would win was a national pastime. But at that moment, hatred was a luxury.

  The old lady crossed the room with trembling steps that defied age and enveloped the grandchildren in an embrace that was pure desperation, relief, and a joy so deep it hurt.

  "My grandchildren! I… lived to see you alive… Your grandfather would be so proud…"

  Bruce closed his eyes for a brief instant. When he opened them again, the commander's mask had returned, but his voice still betrayed the wound.

  "My dishonor… in knowing I let you suffer in that place, after what happened to my son…"

  Luna freed herself from the embrace and approached her grandfather. She placed a hand on his arm, feeling the steel cord of muscle beneath the thin tunic.

  "Don't worry, Grandpa. We're here. Now we just have to continue our work."

  Under the touch and serene words of his granddaughter, the rigidity in Bruce seemed to yield a little. He nodded once, deeply, as if sealing a pact.

  "No need to kneel, Bruce," Theodora said, her voice firm, regaining the Matriarch's composure.

  He straightened, and when he raised his head again, his eyes were already those of the kingdom's most feared warrior, capable of freezing anyone's blood in the room.

  "Is it true," he asked, his voice now a low, controlled roar, laden with ancestral skepticism, "that you defeated the Pursuer?"

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  Before Luna could answer, Aldert Fingard, of Exploration, slammed his fist on the table.

  "This is impossible!" his voice was rough with decades of bitter skepticism. "Generations of our best explorers only managed to flee from him. How could a teenager, a teleporter, and… that thing in prison do what entire armies could not?"

  Luna did not lower her eyes. She rose, and though shorter than everyone, her presence seemed to fill them, a green and golden flame at the room's center.

  "We brought the charred lead mask of his head," she declared, her voice clear, firm, leaving no room for doubt. "It's recognizable. We can display it."

  The silence that followed was more eloquent than any shouting. Even Aldert seemed to shrink, not before a threat, but before the cold authority of an incontestable fact.

  "We do not doubt you, my queen," Bruce said, casting a look at Aldert that made the ancient explorer recoil in his chair as if pushed. His eyes then returned to Luna, and in them she saw something new: a gleam of genuine respect, admiration earned through iron and fire.

  Luna, however, frowned. "Not just me… Empty and Raphadun too… Wait, where is he? Where is Empty?" her voice lost some of its commander's firmness, gaining the tone of a friend's concern.

  "He is imprisoned," Bruce replied, his expression impenetrable as the walls. "They think he is a curse. Should we really release him?"

  The look Bruce gave her was a pure test. A gaze that made generals stutter.

  Luna, however, did not waver.

  "He is not. Release him. If not for him, I wouldn't even be alive."

  Bruce studied her face for a long moment. He saw the Light in her, not just the hereditary power, but the strength of character forged in hell, tempered by loss and polished by loyalty.

  Without a word, he made an almost imperceptible gesture with his head toward a guard at the door.

  "You command, queen," he said, and for the first time, Luna heard genuine submission, not from hierarchy, but from recognition, in her grandfather's voice. "I feel the Light in you."

  Luna did not waste time. She found Raphadun in the corridor. The two embraced again, and this time the tears that fell were not of pain, but of absolute relief and a shared, intimate triumph.

  "We did it!" Luna cried, burying her face in her brother's shoulder, smelling soap and home.

  "Yes…" Raphadun sobbed, holding her with the strength of one who almost lost everything. "Now let's go release Empty."

  The cell was more a reinforced guard room than a dungeon, but it was still a prison. When the door opened, Empty sat on the floor in his usual patient position, as if time had not passed.

  The three embraced—a strange, awkward gesture between Empty's cold, irregular armor and the thin, warm bodies of the siblings, but full of a meaning words could never carry.

  Luka watched the scene from outside, his face now serious, contemplative. He approached and, to everyone's surprise, inclined his head not only to Luna and Raphadun, but also to Empty.

  "I apologize for the misunderstanding, warrior," Luka said, his voice grave, respectful, the voice of a leader recognizing a peer. "The city was on alert."

  Empty merely nodded in his habitual gesture, but his eyes gleamed a little brighter.

  Luna then turned to the others. "Can you leave me alone with him, everyone?"

  "Of course," Raphadun said, taking Empty's arm with contagious excitement. "Come on, Empty! I'll show you everything this city has!"

  As Empty was gently pulled outside by Raphadun, Luna stayed behind, watching the imposing figure of Luka approach. The citizens and soldiers around whispered, impressed by the great mage's relaxed confidence.

  "Long time no see, Luka," Luna said, a small, almost nostalgic smile touching her lips.

  Luka stopped before her. And then, to the shock of everyone around, the powerful warrior's eyes filled with tears. Thick, silent tears rolled freely down his face, tracing clean paths through the day's dust. He did not try to hide them.

  "Hey, tough warriors don't cry," Luna murmured, her laugh soft, understanding, and her own eye welled up.

  Luka wiped his face with the back of his hand, a pathetic and human attempt to compose himself.

  "I'm not crying! Luna… Everyone thought you were dead. That the Light too…" his voice failed, broken by emotion.

  "I'm here," she interrupted, her smile widening, transforming into a pure beacon of determination that dried her tears and seemed to promise to dry his. "And I will be the queen."

  Meanwhile, Raphadun guided Empty through the main streets, a river of life and noise.

  The noise was overwhelming, a glorious cacophony. The rhythmic clink of blacksmiths, the dense buzz of markets, clear children's laughter, lively debates in loud voices. For Empty, whose world had been silence, cutting wind, and monsters' guttural grunts, it was a sensory avalanche. He walked slowly, his head turning side to side behind the mask, trying to process each new sound, each new smell (roasted meat, exotic flowers, sweat, animal dung, fresh bread).

  People, in turn, stopped. Some with open curiosity, others with undisguised fear, many with frank hostility at seeing the dark, non-human, foreign figure among them.

  The sounds around him changed in tone. Empty didn't understand words, but he understood that those noises weren't like those of Raphadun or Luna.

  Raphadun noticed the invisible discomfort of his friend.

  "Hey," he said, touching Empty's arm with a familiarity that made some spectators shudder. "No need to be like that. I know it must be hard, all this noise… but I promise you'll get used to it."

  He then noticed the heavy looks on himself too. "Damn… They're staring at me too…" he murmured, a little intimidated, remembering he was also a stranger, a ghost returning. Then his expression firmed. He turned his attention back to Empty. "Hey, ignore them. They've never seen anyone like you in their lives. They'll get used to it."

  Empty, catching Raphadun's intent of comfort like a ray of sun, narrowed his eyes in a silent smile behind the mask.

  Moving forward, a new sound dominated a side street: the metallic and choreographed echo of blows and animated voices from an open training arena. Raphadun, curious, pulled Empty in that direction.

  Inside, two men seemed to be in the middle of training—or a poorly disguised street fight.

  One was Flávio. Black skin, short brown hair, and dark eyes shining with disproportionate enthusiasm for the situation. His "uniform" was an eccentric combination: a tattered explorer's cloak over poorly fitted light armor. He lacked the physical structure of an elite warrior, but his posture was determined, almost desperate.

  On the other side, cornered and visibly uncomfortable, was Fencer. A thin young man with thin-rimmed glasses and straight black hair reaching his neck. He tried, unsuccessfully, to hide a deep, brutal scar running from his forehead, across his right eye (which seemed closed and inactive, a dark window), to his cheekbone, with his bangs. And with rags to hide his right mechanical arm. He wore simple scientist clothes, stained with grease and sweat.

  Flávio, seeing Raphadun and Empty, interrupted the confrontation as if turned off. His face lit up like a beacon.

  "Hello, Raphadun!" his voice was loud, friendly, without a trace of ceremony. "It's an honor to see one of the great saviors in front of me! Accept my strength for you! I'm a soldier, at your disposal!"

  He then turned to Empty, without a hint of hesitation or fear. "And this is my quiet brother, Fencer. It's you… Empty, right? Nice to meet you! Hahaha!"

  Fencer approached with timid, dragging steps, avoiding direct eye contact.

  "Hi," he murmured, his voice soft, almost gone. "I'm just a scientist."

  Empty nodded in his habitual greeting.

  Suddenly, a group of children ran past the street, pointing at Flávio.

  "Look, it's Flavio, the weakest warrior! Hahaha!" one shouted before disappearing into the crowd like a school of fish.

  Flávio turned red with anger and shame, gesturing at the void. "Get out, kids! If you want me to be strong, put your faith in me!"

  Raphadun couldn't help but smile. The simplicity, the lack of malice, was a refreshing relief after the oppressive complexity of the court.

  "What's your power, Flavio?" he asked, genuinely interested.

  Flávio scratched the back of his neck. His smile faded—just a little, but enough to notice.

  "It's just... my power is kinda stupid."

  "Stupid how?"

  He laughed, awkwardly. Looked at his own hands.

  "The more people believe in me, the stronger I get."

  Raphadun blinked.

  "That's... genius."

  "It's crap." Flávio pointed at the boys. "No one believes in me. Not even my ex-wife. Not even my daughter, poor thing, she thinks I'm a hero, but she's a kid, so it doesn't count."

  He shrugged.

  "So I stay weak."

  The smile returned, but now it was different. Less of a joke, more of an acceptance.

  Raphadun laughed along, a light and genuine laugh that seemed strange and wonderful after so long. "You're quite a character, then," he said, shaking his head with a mix of amusement and pity.

  And beside him, Empty watched the interaction. His shoulders shook slightly, almost imperceptibly, in a silent and shared laugh.