The room was still.
Only the soft rustle of curtains and the distant sound of footsteps reminded me that the palace hadn’t stopped for us—that time hadn’t frozen when Kai collapsed. But it felt like it had. Like the world had gone quiet, waiting to see if my twin would wake up… and now that he had, it didn’t quite know what to do with him.
Kai was propped against a nest of pillows, eyes half-lidded, skin pale but no longer deathly. His breathing was even, though every now and then his fingers twitched, like he was flinching from something only he could see.
I sat beside him on the edge of the bed, close enough to reach him if he faltered again, but far enough not to crowd him. My magic buzzed faintly beneath my skin—not active, just present. Just… ready. In case.
“I’m not going to explode again,” Kai murmured, eyes still closed.
“You don’t know that.”
“I do,” he said with the faintest smirk. “You’re watching me like I’m made of glass.”
“You are made of glass,” I muttered, folding my arms. “Sharp, reckless, untested magical glass.”
That got a short laugh out of him. Then a wince. I shifted closer, instinct tugging my hand toward his.
“I’m fine,” he said quickly, but he didn’t pull away when I rested my fingers gently over his.
“You’re not. But you’re here. That’s enough for now.”
The door creaked open behind us.
Our mother entered first. Queen Lyssara—graceful, composed—but her face was drawn, her eyes rimmed red from tears she hadn’t shed in public. Behind her came Cassian, quiet as always, a slight tremble in his jaw the only sign of his unrest.
No crown today. No armor.
Just a brother.
Kai gave a small wave with two fingers. “Hey.”
Cassian crossed the room in two long strides and dropped to one knee at the side of the bed, head bowed.
“I thought we lost you,” he said, voice low and uneven. “I thought—”
Kai grabbed his hand. “I know.”
“I would’ve burned down the palace.”
“You still might have to,” Kai replied, his voice light but his grip firm.
They shared a look. A warrior’s promise. A brother’s bond.
Mother moved beside me, placing a hand on my shoulder before gently brushing Kai’s hair back from his face.
“I prayed,” she whispered. “And I never pray.”
He tried to speak, but no sound came out. He swallowed instead, his throat working around everything he couldn’t say.
Then the door opened again, and this time, it was Father.
King Tharion’s gaze swept over all of us—but landed only, truly, on Kai.
He approached slowly, like he was afraid the moment might vanish if he breathed too loud.
Kai’s voice broke the silence. “Are you going to yell at me again?”
Father stopped at the foot of the bed, expression unreadable. “Not yet.”
A beat passed.
Then he stepped forward and pulled a small velvet pouch from his coat. He tossed it onto the table with a soft clink.
“I’m having the poison analyzed again. The lab confirms it’s ancient. Rare. Expensive. You were meant to die, Malachi.”
Kai looked away. “Almost did.”
Father's voice cracked, just barely. “I can’t—” He cut himself off and turned away, retreating to the window, fists clenched behind his back.
Mother joined him quietly. Cassian stayed kneeling by the bed. The room was still again, filled with things no one knew how to say.
After a moment, I rose.
“I’ll let you all have a moment,” I said softly. “He’s safe. That’s what matters.”
Kai caught my sleeve. “Don’t go far.”
“I won’t,” I promised.
I slipped out into the hallway.
The corridor outside Kai’s chamber was dim and quiet, lined with thick stone and flickering lanterns that gave off a faint honey glow. The stillness should’ve been comforting. It wasn’t.
I leaned against the wall and closed my eyes, just for a breath. Just to exist outside the ache in my chest.
“Kira.”
My name drifted through the silence, warm and familiar. I opened my eyes.
Adrian Lanovo stood a few paces away, dressed in navy and silver, his dark red hair swept neatly back. His expression was unusually soft—none of the usual flirtatious smirks or theatrical flourishes. Just… calm.
“I didn’t mean to intrude,” he said gently. “I was told you were here. I wanted to see how you were.”
I swallowed. “He’s awake.”
Adrian blinked, surprised. “Truly?”
I nodded, the corners of my mouth lifting faintly. “It was... dramatic. But yes. He’s back.”
A strange flicker passed through Adrian’s eyes. Not quite relief. Not quite joy. Something quieter. Calculating.
But it vanished a moment later, replaced by a smile. “Then I suppose the palace can breathe again.”
I gave a small laugh that didn’t quite reach my chest. “I don’t think anyone’s breathing properly just yet.”
Adrian stepped closer, careful, like approaching a wounded animal.
“Kira,” he said, voice low. “I wanted to apologize. For before. At the temple… and after. I was—” he paused, lips pressing into a line, “—too forward. I shouldn’t have presumed I knew your heart.”
His sincerity took me off guard.
I shifted slightly, unsure. “You were kind. And you visited. That meant something.”
“I care for you,” he said. “I only wish I’d known how deep the storm ran beneath your smile.”
There was something in his tone that made my skin prickle—not a threat. Not even a warning. Just… pressure. Subtle. Like being backed toward something without realizing it.
Before I could speak, his hand brushed mine. Not fully—a ghost of contact.
“You don’t have to be alone in this,” Adrian said. “Not now. Not ever. I would never let you fall.”
I forced a breath into my lungs, steadying myself. “Thank you, Adrian. But I’m not falling. I’m still standing.”
He studied me for a long moment, then gave a charming half-bow. “Then let me walk beside you.”
I opened my mouth — and closed it again.
Before I could reply, a familiar voice broke the moment.
“Kira.”
Soren’s voice, low and solid as stone. I turned to see him approaching from the corridor’s far end, his expression unreadable but his gaze locked on Adrian with a glint of quiet warning.
“High Mage Ariston asked for you,” Soren said to me, his tone gentle now. “He’s waiting in the library.”
Adrian stepped back smoothly. “Then I won’t keep you. I’ll see you again soon, Your Highness.”
I nodded, watching him go. His footsteps echoed too softly for someone so well-armored.
When I looked up at Soren, he raised an eyebrow. “You alright?”
“I think so,” I said. But even as I said it, I wasn’t sure.
He offered his arm, and I took it without thinking. The quiet tension between us held something I couldn’t name yet—but it steadied me.
“Let’s go find the mage,” I said. “I think it’s time for some answers.”
The High Library of Valara was built like a cathedral — high ceilings, arched stained glass, and columns etched with spells older than the kingdom itself. The air smelled of candle wax and dusted parchment, and my boots echoed on the tiled floor as I followed Soren inside.
High Mage Ariston stood beside a long marble table, scrolls and tomes scattered around him like fragments of a puzzle. He glanced up as I approached, shadows under his eyes betraying his sleepless nights.
“Princess Kira,” he greeted with a bow deeper than usual. “Thank you for coming.”
“I’m just glad we’re not here because Kai exploded another hallway,” I said, managing a faint smile.
He huffed quietly — half amusement, half exhaustion. “Let’s hope that’s behind us. For now.”
I stepped forward, eyes sweeping the table. “You said you found something?”
“More like... something found me.” He lifted a weathered scroll, edges frayed and flaking. “This was buried among forgotten collections from the lower vaults. It predates the current royal line. Possibly even the founding of Valara itself.”
Soren stayed near the doorway, arms crossed, but his gaze stayed sharp.
Ariston unfurled the scroll with care. The ink had faded in places, and the parchment felt brittle, but the central image was remarkably intact.
A crowned figure — a woman — sat on a throne of twisted roots and starlight. On her right stood a child holding a sphere of crimson flame. On her left, another child cradled a ball of soft golden light. Neither face was distinct, almost blurred deliberately. But the balance between them — light and blood, gold and fire — was unmistakable.
I leaned in, heart tightening.
“They look like us,” I said softly.
Ariston nodded. “The resemblance is striking. And troubling. I’ve tried every translation spell I know, but the language scrawled around the image — here, and here—” he gestured to looping glyphs along the border “—it doesn’t respond.”
“It’s not written in the known magical tongues?” I asked.
“No,” he said grimly. “Not drakari, not valen script, not even the ancient speech of the high flame. Whatever this is... it predates them all.”
My gaze fixed on the red and gold spheres.
“You think this is connected to our powers.”
“I do,” he said. “But I can’t prove it yet. Not without more time.”
“Then take all the time you need,” I said. “Just promise me you’ll call for me when you learn anything.”
He placed a hand over his heart. “You have my word.”
I lingered a moment longer, drawn to the image. The crowned woman’s expression — though blurred — felt familiar. Her eyes were sorrowful. Proud. Tired.
Like she knew what her children would become.
The stone halls outside the royal wing were quiet this late in the day, torches flickering low in their sconces. I was returning from the library — the image of the ancient scroll still burned into my thoughts — when I heard the sound.
A sharp breath. A soft thud.
I rounded the corner and froze.
Kai was on the floor.
His back against the wall, knees drawn up, fingers trembling as he gripped his hair. The crimson glow I feared flickered faintly at his fingertips — not lashing out, but pulsing, like a heartbeat that didn’t know how to slow down. He looked like he was drowning in it.
And our father knelt beside him.
King Tharion was no longer the iron-clad monarch I’d watched command armies or silence lords with a single look. Here, he was just a father. Kneeling. Helpless.
“Kai,” he said gently. “Breathe. Look at me. You’re not losing control — you’re just overwhelmed.”
Kai shook his head, his voice raw. “It’s too loud. Everything’s loud. I feel everything, Father — the stone, the air, the people moving five halls away—”
“I know,” our father said quietly, trying to steady him with a hand on his shoulder. “But it’s not hurting you right now. You’re still here. You’re still you.”
Kai flinched at the touch — not from pain, but shame. “I almost burned a physician alive. I saw myself doing it. I couldn’t stop it.”
“You did stop it,” the King reminded him.
“I only stopped because Kira got there first,” he whispered.
That broke me.
I ran forward. “Kai.”
His head snapped up — red-rimmed eyes, pale skin, teeth clenched as though he was trying not to fall apart. “Kira, don’t—” he started, but I was already kneeling beside him.
“You don’t get to push me away,” I said, voice firm but gentle. “We’re in this together. Remember?”
He looked between me and our father, his face crumpling. “I can’t even breathe without feeling like I’m going to explode.”
“You are breathing,” I said softly. “And you’re not exploding. You’re here. With us.”
His magic pulsed again — faint crimson threads drifting over his skin like veins made of firelight — but I reached out and pressed my hand to his.
The magic calmed.
Just a little.
Our father sat back slightly, watching us with something unreadable in his eyes. “You two,” he murmured, “you balance each other. Even now.”
Kai leaned against me, too tired to stand. “I don’t want to be afraid of myself.”
“You’re not the only one learning what this is,” I told him. “But you’re not alone. Not ever.”
For a while, none of us spoke.
And for the first time since the banquet, I saw it — the rawness behind our father’s silence. The fear that still lived in his eyes. He had nearly lost both of us. And now he was realizing that even having us alive didn’t mean he could protect us from what we were becoming.