Chapter 22:

  "An Affront to the Queen"

  Arc 3: Chapter 1

  POV: "???"

  The green flash that tore across the horizon was not a firework. It was a pulse of reality being altered, a silence in the form of light that, for an instant, outshone the stars and painted the world emerald. Across the city, celebrations ceased. A vacuum of sound followed, then broken by the metallic scream of the Tower's alarm sirens and confused voices tinged with panic.

  Luna and Luka, still wearing their party clothes—her dress slightly wrinkled, his shirt unbuttoned—ran through the corridors. Anxiety was an ice knot in Luna's stomach. Something in her chest, a silent bond, had stretched and then snapped with an almost audible crack.

  Before they reached the exit, the door to their chambers opened without ceremony.

  Theodora Lighting stood there. The matriarch, always so composed, so protocol-bound, had a face pale as marble, her deep green eyes carrying a storm of pain.

  "I'm sorry, my granddaughter," her voice was a hoarse whisper, laden with a century of tragedies. She would never enter like this. Never.

  Luna froze. Terror, unknown and absolute, took hold of her.

  "What? Grandmother, what?"

  "Something happened," Theodora said, and the words were a sentence. "At the cliff."

  Luna heard no more. She turned and ran. Luka followed. Her heart pounded with brutal force against her ribs, a funeral drum announcing what she already knew but refused to accept.

  At the cliff, a small crowd gathered. Guards with lanterns, mages with staves emitting analytical light, and curious onlookers kept at a safe distance. The air smelled of ozone and something sweet and strange, like earth after rain, but more.

  And then she saw.

  The mage paramedics carried a stretcher. Upon it, an elongated and motionless form, completely covered by an immaculate white sheet. The cloth fell in heavy folds, concealing everything but outlining a silhouette that was agonizingly familiar in its fragility.

  Her desperate gaze swept the site. And found Raphadun.

  He sat on a rock at the cliff's edge, away from the crowd. His head was buried in his hands, fingers clenched in disheveled hair. His shoulders shook with the violence of sobs that produced no sound, only a continuous and devastating tremor.

  "Raphadun!" Luna's scream was torn from her throat. She ran to him, the uneven ground threatening to trip her. She knelt on the cold earth before him. "Raphadun, for the love of Light, tell me! What happened? Who is…" her voice failed.

  Raphadun lifted his face. It was unrecognizable. Soaked in tears and sweat, his eyes were two red wells of a pain so absolute it seemed to have consumed everything inside him, leaving only an agonizing void. He said nothing. He didn't need to. The answer was stamped on every line of his face, in the guilt corroding him from within, in the mute despair he directed at her. The look said: I failed. I took him here. I let him do this.

  Luna felt the ground literally give way. The world lost sound and color. The air refused to enter her lungs. All that remained was the image of the white stretcher being carefully carried to the flying ambulance, and her brother's shattered face. The universe contracted to that point of pain.

  Bruce, Alfredo—who had rushed back from his mission upon sensing the energy disturbance—and other leaders arrived, their faces grave. Flávio and Fencer appeared shortly after, breathless, Flávio's face a mask of terrified confusion, Fencer's a stone chipped by anticipated pain. The sun began to rise, tinting the sky a pale orange that seemed a mockery before the ghostly green still lingering in the air.

  Luna, Raphadun, Flávio, and Fencer followed the ambulance to the central hospital of the House of Mages in oppressive silence. In the sterilized corridors, the smell of antiseptic could not mask the sweet and strange scent still clinging to Raphadun and his clothes.

  Raphadun, sitting in a hard plastic chair, could not hold it. With a muffled roar of fury and guilt, he punched the empty seat beside him. The thud echoed in the empty corridor like a gunshot.

  "If I had arrived sooner!" his voice was a tear of anguish.

  Luna approached, her own limbs heavy as lead. She wrapped him in an embrace, burying her face in his shoulder, feeling his tremors.

  "There was no way to know," she whispered, voice failing. The lie was a necessary balm. "There was no way to know, brother."

  Fencer watched the scene from a few steps away. His face was pale, his eyes glassy behind his glasses. He opened his mouth, tried to form words, comfort, an explanation, an admission that he too had seen, that he too knew. But nothing came out. Just a trembling sigh. Flávio approached and wrapped them both in a clumsy and powerful embrace, his own face wet, not fully understanding but feeling the wave of loss.

  Meanwhile, on the cliff under the dawn light, Bruce Darking and Luka Graymon inspected the event site with the meticulousness of investigators of a cosmic crime.

  There was no crater. No burn marks or violence. That was what was most disturbing.

  Where Empty's chair had been, now lay the empty armor, dismantled, like the abandoned shell of an insect. But around it, and particularly at the exact point where he had stood (or fallen), the rocky soil was covered by a thin, impossible layer of grass. It was not the kingdom's grass. It was a green so vibrant it hurt the eyes, pulsing softly with an inner light, as if each blade were a conductor of vital energy. And from the epicenter emanated a residual aura—a subtle greenish mist that made the air tremble and distort slightly, like over hot asphalt, but cold to the touch.

  Luka knelt, his mage hand hovering over the luminous grass. He closed his eyes, feeling the energy signature. When he opened them, there was a mix of awe and fascination in his purple gaze.

  "This… is pure creation power. Birth, not death." He frowned. "But it's… distorted. Unfinished. Like a seed that germinated with explosive force, but without direction. A scream of life without form."

  Bruce remained motionless, a statue of frozen wrath. The hot fury he had shown against Empty had solidified into something more dangerous: glacial certainty of a foreseen disaster.

  "It's not just creation," his voice echoed low, cutting the early morning air like a blade. "A green trail. What Raphadun told us, under pressure. Empty used a stone." He paused, his emerald eyes fixed on the pulsing point. "And the only stone with a greenish signature… one that no expedition, no map, no report in two hundred years has ever located…"

  Luka felt a chill run down his spine, an ancestral instinct of danger. He completed the sentence, the words coming out like a ghost:

  "…The Stone of the Future."

  Bruce confirmed with an almost imperceptible nod. The greatest secret, the mythical artifact that supposedly allowed shaping tomorrow, was not lost. It had been inside the aberration they had welcomed. And he had used it.

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  Bruce then turned to Luka, his eyes two blocks of green ice.

  "Convene the Council. All leaders. Immediately."

  Luka hesitated, his loyalty divided.

  "We should consult Luna. She is the Queen, and he was…"

  "No," Bruce's interruption was final, a blow. "Not yet. She is not in condition. And this is bigger than a queen's grief. This is the security of the world." His gaze left no room for debate. "Call them. Now."

  Without waiting for a reply, Bruce turned and began walking toward the Tower of Light, his heavy steps echoing on the rock. Luka remained for a moment, observing the pulsing grass, the green ghost in the air, the empty armor shell. With a heavy sigh, he touched the communicator on his wrist and issued the coded, urgent, and restricted signal: a summons for all leaders of the Five Great Houses. Except Luna Lighting.

  The meeting would take place in the shadows, while daylight rose over a kingdom that, unknowingly, had just crossed the threshold of a deep and dangerous crossroads in its future.

  Near the top of the Tower of Light, in the circular Council Chamber, the air was as cold and heavy as the decisions about to be made. Bruce Darking stood with his back to the monumental ebony table, gazing through the immense crystal windows. The kingdom, bathed in the gray light of dawn, seemed fragile, a glass toy beneath his feet.

  The door opened with a dry sound. Aldert Fingard, of the House of Exploration, entered with his entourage—commanders hardened by the desert and vassals with restless eyes.

  "All this fuss over a creature in a coma?" the old explorer's rough voice echoed in the empty room. "We're losing vital mapping time."

  Right behind, Ver?nica, leader of the House of Science, entered with the precision of a scalpel, her mages and alchemists forming a silent block behind her.

  "Does this really constitute a Council-level emergency?" she questioned, adjusting the collar of her robe. "The mysterious being, intriguing as it is, worth an emergency summons that interrupts dozens of critical experiments?"

  Theodora Lighting entered next, leaning on her staff, her tired but alert green eyes.

  "Bruce, is this really necessary? At this moment?" her voice was a silent rebuke, laden with the shared grief he seemed to ignore.

  Without answering, Bruce finally moved and took his seat at the head of the table, a throne of shadow. The message was clear: the discussion would begin when he decided.

  Luka Graymon was the last to enter. Alone. Without his vassals or commanders. His face was serious, his purple eyes marked by a sadness he did not try to hide.

  "Unfortunately, we must," he said, his voice low but clear, addressing Theodora more than Bruce. "The event… transcends the individual."

  Aldert, impatient, slammed his fist on the table.

  "Where is the Light? Where is Luna? This matter directly involves her. She is tied to that creature, however monstrous it may be. She protects him, and any decision about his fate should pass through her! It's protocol!"

  Before the argument could develop, Bruce acted. With a precise gesture, he poured onto the smooth ebony table a handful of greenish crumbs, fine and shining like emerald dust. They emitted a faint residual glow, pulsing like dying fireflies.

  The silence was instantaneous and absolute. All eyes were fixed on that impossible dust, which seemed to suck the light from the room.

  "A greenish explosion," Bruce's voice cut the silence, flat and factual. "Confirmed by Raphadun, who also admitted to teleporting the being to the Chamber of the Universal Stones, before the Restoration Stone."

  He paused, allowing the implication to sink in. He did not need to finish the sentence.

  "The Stone of the Future," Ver?nica pronounced the name first, her voice losing a thread of its coldness, taken by alarmed scientific fascination. "He used it."

  Aldert paled, his trembling hand going to his beard.

  "This is… a historical impossibility! Our archives, the chronicles of the Great Expeditions… it was never found. How the hell was it in the hands of… that thing?"

  "Exactly," Ver?nica agreed, regaining composure, her purple eyes flashing with dangerous analysis. "It's a factual paradox. An anomaly that defies centuries of record. If he possessed it… where did it come from? What else did he know?"

  Luka merely observed, his face a mask. He already knew the conclusion.

  "Wars," Bruce continued, his voice gaining a grave and threatening tone, "were fought in the distant past, before the Pact, over fragments of power much smaller. Wars for control of the known Stones, for the promise of dominating Creation, Destruction, Restoration." His gaze swept the table, landing on Ver?nica. "The House of Science is one of the greatest proofs of this, in the past, with the creation of artificial powers that corroded the soul, of battles that tore continents. The pact between Light and Darkness that ended this was cemented with blood and with the commitment to contain these forces, not exploit them."

  Ver?nica nodded once, gravely.

  "We know. Our ancestral mistakes are studied so they are not repeated. If there is an entity, a being, that not only possessed a lost Universal Stone but used it to cause an anomaly of pure creation… this is not just a threat. It is a direct violation of the very foundation that maintains peace between our Houses. It cannot be tolerated."

  A tiny, coldless smile touched Bruce's lips.

  "Thank you, Ver?nica. It is exactly this fragile stability we must protect. That's why I decided not to summon Luna." His words fell like stones. "She is… attached to the creature. Her loyalty may be divided. We cannot entrust the kingdom's security to a judgment obscured by affection. At least… not yet."

  The decree was given. The justification, embedded in arguments of state and security, was launched. Luna's exclusion was not an oversight; it was a calculated political maneuver.

  Meanwhile, in the icy and silent corridors of the medical wing of the House of Mages, reality was more visceral and less political.

  Luna and Raphadun, after an eternity of waiting, were allowed into the observation room. Flávio went to get water, his hands shaking so much he could barely hold the glass. The muffled sounds of the hospital—monotonous beeps, soft footsteps—were a sinister backdrop.

  It was then that Alfredo Lighting appeared at the corridor intersection, his presence so sudden and silent it seemed to materialize from the shadows. He stopped, his eyes scanning the devastated group. His gaze landed on Fencer, sitting alone on a bench, head bowed.

  An oppressive silence hung, unexpectedly broken by Fencer, without lifting his head.

  "What is your opinion on all this, sir?"

  Alfredo slowly turned to him, a passing surprise in his sharp features.

  "Bruce's opinion, I believe, is already quite clear to everyone."

  "But yours?" Fencer raised his face, his eyes behind the glasses meeting those of the legendary duelist. "His great rival? What do you think?"

  Alfredo studied the scientist for a moment, his expression impenetrable.

  "I truly don't know, young man. But he was your friend. So tell me: is he evil for doing what he did?"

  The question echoed in the empty corridor, direct and brutal. Fencer swallowed hard, looking away. He had no easy answer. Instead, he changed the subject, his voice low and laden with ancient meaning.

  "Do you remember me, sir?"

  Alfredo frowned slightly, searching his memory.

  "I…"

  "From Ghouldhar," Fencer cut in.

  The name of the place made Alfredo's eyes narrow for a fraction of a second. A quick recognition, followed by the closing of a gate. Before he could respond, Luna and Raphadun emerged from the observation room. Luna's face was wet, her eyes red but now dry, full of terrible determination. Raphadun looked empty, a shell.

  "Uncle!" Luna ran to Alfredo, hugging him tightly. "I'm so sorry, I haven't spoken to you since I learned of your return… It's been almost a year, right?"

  Alfredo hugged her back, his rigidity melting a little.

  "You look more and more like your mother…" he whispered, his voice soft. "I understand. And I'm sorry. For everything."

  Flávio returned, the glass of water now forgotten in his hand.

  "So?" his voice came out hoarse, full of fragile fear. "How is he? Empty?"

  Luna and Raphadun exchanged a look. The sadness in them was so deep it seemed an abyss.

  "He… is still breathing," Luna said, the words coming with difficulty. "There are heartbeats. But… the doctors… have no hope. They say it's a miracle he's still… connected. That it's only the residual energy of the Stone keeping a body that has already gone."

  Flávio froze. Along with Fencer.

  When Luna sat in the chair, Raphadun had Empty's diary with him. Sitting on the cold bench, Luna and Raphadun flipped through Empty's diary. They laughed softly at the scribbles, at the smiling faces he drew with supernatural precision. Until Luna, quickly turning a page, froze. She went back.

  On the page, drawn with intimate and realistic detail, were Alice and Andrew Darking, her parents. The image was so vivid, so familiar, it stole the air from her lungs. Luna covered her mouth, eyes filling with tears. Raphadun froze.

  Alfredo approached, curious. Upon seeing the drawing of his sister, his face hardened, a spark of deep recognition in his eyes.

  Before they could process the impossible, one of Theodora's commanders appeared, interrupting the moment.

  "Alfredo. Luna." his voice allowed no delay. "You need to know."

  Luna felt a new chill run down her spine.

  "What, Jaryl?"

  Commander Jaryl took a deep breath, as if carrying the weight of the words.

  "They are gathered. In the Council Chamber. All Houses. Now."

  Confusion mixed with horror in Luna.

  "How? Why?" but even as she asked, her queen's heart, trained in dirty politics, already knew the answer. She just needed to hear it.

  Commander Jaryl met her eyes.

  "They are voting," Jaryl said, each word a blade, "on what to do if Empty… survives the next few hours. The motion under discussion… is for the interruption of life support. For 'turning off the machines,' as they say."

  The terror that gripped the group was absolute. It was no longer pain. It was political panic, the realization that the battle for Empty was no longer against death, but against the very kingdom she governed.

  Without a second's hesitation, Luna turned. The queen, the friend, the devastated woman—all fused into a single fierce will. Her green eyes, once full of tears, now flashed with the cold fury of the Definitive Light.

  "Stay with him," she ordered Raphadun, Flávio, and Fencer, her voice admitting no discussion. "Don't let anyone approach. No one."

  And then she left, diary in hand. Not a desperate run, but a determined and rapid march, her stained and wrinkled dress from hours of vigil dragging behind her like a war banner. She was not running to Empty's room. She was running to the Tower of Light. She was running to confront the Council, her grandfather, and the fate they tried to impose on the man who had saved them all.