Chương 109: The Researcher Who flees

Elvarin Soreth did not run like a guilty man. He ran like a man who had finally understood that guilt was no longer the problem. Guilt came after. Death, on the other hand, was coming now. He crossed the lower corridors of the royal palace with his burned arm pressed to his chest. His sleeve was black up to the elbow. The skin beneath it no longer really looked like skin. The Thorn of Madness had taken more than a piece of flesh from him when he had used it on the king. It had taken the last excuse he had left.

Behind him, Sylvarune screamed. Not with a single cry. With hundreds. Guards were calling for healers. Minor spirits were fleeing into the walls. Nobles roused too late were demanding answers. Entire bridges were being sealed. The royal palace, wounded by its own king, still trembled with every breath of the Great Tree. Elvarin went down a service staircase. His legs threatened to give out. On his right hand, the demonic ring still clenched his finger. It no longer spoke. Not constantly. It no longer needed to.

It had given the order. Now, he was running toward its consequence. A corridor opened before him, drowned in green light. Low archives. Ancient ones. Rarely used. The place where they stored records no one destroyed because elves abhorred oblivion, but no one consulted because memory sometimes became too heavy to carry in public. Elvarin passed between two cracked statues. The air changed. He stopped. A demon was waiting for him. Not large. Not monstrous.

A man with gray skin, dressed in a black robe without insignia, with a face so ordinary it seemed designed to leave memory the moment it was seen. He held a small open box. Inside, a ring of ashes was turning slowly on itself. Elvarin stepped back.

"No." The demon smiled.

"Yes."

"You said the artifact would protect me."

"It gave you a chance to leave the room." Elvarin felt his throat close.

"The king survived?" The demon tilted his head slightly.

"For now." Relief tried to rise. It died before it reached his face. Because Elvarin understood that it changed nothing. He had sold the dead. He had lied. He had used the Thorn on his king. He had turned Aelthir Vael-Sylvar into a monster before his own daughter. Whether he survived or not, Elvarin was already condemned. The demon extended the box.

"Get in." Elvarin stared at the ring of ashes.

"Where does it lead?"

"To a place where your talent will still have value."

"The demonic kingdom."

"You say that as if you still have the luxury of being shocked." Elvarin stepped back again. The ring tightened. His bones cracked. He muffled a scream. The contractual voice returned to his mind. You are not being saved. You are being recovered. The demon smiled more broadly, as if he had heard.

"There. He's starting to understand." Elvarin looked behind him. The corridor was empty. Not for long. Zayn would come. He was certain of that now. Not the king. Not the Council. Not the magistrates. Zayn. The half-masked human whose path had been paved with his signatures. The man to whom he had given the dead without even knowing his name. Elvarin murmured,"He'll follow me." The demon replied,"We're counting on it." The terror turned cold.

"What?" The demon did not answer. He did not have time. A black scythe cut across the corridor. Not all the way to them. It passed through the far end of the upper gallery, severing three pillars and a bronze door in a shriek of metal. The palace trembled. The demon half-closed the box.

"Too late to hesitate." Elvarin backed away again.

"No, wait—" The ring tightened at once. His finger broke. Elvarin screamed. The demon grabbed his injured wrist and pulled him toward the circle of ashes.

"You wanted funding for your research. Congratulations, researcher. You've earned yourself a patron who will never again let you waste your genius on scruples." The circle opened. Not like a clean portal. Like a mouth full of dust. Elvarin had time to see the corridor warp, the statues melt into gray lines, the green light turn dark red. Then he vanished. The box closed. And when Zayn reached the lower archives, he found only ashes. Zayn stopped in the middle of the corridor. Blood reached all the way to his chin.

His coat was open over wounds that should not have allowed a man to walk. His scythe was incomplete, the black skull fully formed but the blade trembling, as if even Wrath had been worn down by the battle against the king. Behind him, Elyra came running. She was still unsteady on her legs, but she refused to stay behind. Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions. Zayn did not look at her. He was staring at the ashes on the floor. The mark on his collarbone pulsed.

Nothing to take. No soul. No flesh. Only a severed road. The scythe murmured,"Gone." Zayn remained silent. Elyra pressed a hand against the wall to catch her breath.

"Elvarin?" Zayn crouched. He ran two fingers through the ashes. They were warm. Demonic. Not elven magic. Not an improvised escape. An extraction. Someone had prepared this from the beginning. The scythe laughed softly.

"Another target." Zayn closed his eyes. For one second. In the darkness behind his eyelids, he saw everything again. Rhel-Fosse. The toxic flesh. The Mist-Fangs. Narek falling into the ravine. The red weeks. The sea. The king burning himself away. The Thorn. Elvarin fleeing before his throat could end up under his fingers. Always farther. Always another target. He opened his eyes again.

"The demonic kingdom." Elyra went still.

"What?" Zayn rose slowly.

"They took him back."

"Are you sure?" He turned his cracked half-mask toward her.

"Do you really want to ask me that right now?" She held his gaze. Longer than many could. Then she lowered her eyes toward the ashes.

"No." The scythe clicked its teeth.

"She's learning." Zayn ignored the weapon. He stepped over to the ashes, crushed what remained of the circle beneath his boot, then spoke in a low voice:"He's alive." Elyra understood what that meant. Not relief. Not hope. A prolongation of the hunt.

"The demons didn't save him," she said.

"They took him."

"Yes."

"For his research."

"For his hands. For his mind. For what he knows how to do with the dead." Elyra went pale. She thought of her father. Of the forcibly fused spirits. Of the elven bodies that had been sold. Of the massacred beastmen. Then, in a quieter voice:"They'll do it again." Zayn smiled.

"If they live long enough." Elyra stared at him.

"I'm coming with you." The scythe started laughing. A laugh so brutal it echoed off the archive walls.

"Oh. The little light wants to visit the east." Zayn slowly turned his masked face toward Elyra.

"No."

"That wasn't a request."

"You don't know what the demonic kingdom is."

"And you don't know how to sail to it from Aelvaris." Silence. The scythe whispered,"She makes a point. Cut it out of her before it grows." Zayn did not move. Elyra went on.

"The sea routes to the east are not the same as the ones leading to the human lands. The currents shift. The winds are hostile. Neutral ports do not let just anyone through. You will need an elven ship. A crew. Charts. Sea pacts."

"And you're going to offer me all that because I'm charming?"

"No." Her gaze hardened.

"Because Elvarin put my father in that state. Because demons used the dead of my people and made them speak with false voices. Because if I stay here waiting for reports, the next artifact may end up in another coward's hand." Zayn watched her. She was still trembling. From fear. From exhaustion. From anger. But she was not trembling backward. She was trembling forward.

"You want revenge," he said. Elyra replied,"I want the truth." Zayn gave a small laugh.

"A clean lie." She clenched her fists.

"I want revenge too." This time, he truly smiled. Cruelly.

"Better." Lumeï, still pressed against the princess's shoulder, let out a small whine.

"I hate it when he sounds like a teacher." The scythe answered,"I love it. She's going to learn terrible things." Elyra shot the weapon a look.

"I will learn nothing from it." Zayn brushed past her.

"You're already coming with me. That's a respectable first mistake." She stood still for one second. Then she followed him. They found the king in the ruined hall. Aelthir was still breathing. Barely. Spirit healers stood around him in a circle, their spirits laid over his body like trembling hands. His luminous wounds had been bandaged with threads of water and pale leaves. His soul strength, once overwhelming, had become an enormous but weakened ember, contained in flesh too fragile to bear it.

His eyes were closed. Maëlin knelt beside him despite her own wounds. Arelion guarded the entrance with several sentinels. When Zayn entered, they all tensed. Elyra raised a hand.

"Do not fire." Maëlin turned toward her.

"Princess, he cannot stay here."

"He isn't staying." The guard understood. Her face hardened.

"No." Elyra moved closer to her father.

"Elvarin fled." A murmur ran through the hall. Aelthir opened his eyes. One green. The other still crossed by a tired golden glint.

"Where?" Zayn answered in her place.

"The demonic kingdom." The king closed his eyes. No surprise. Only painful confirmation.

"Of course." Elyra knelt beside him.

"I'm going after him." The entire hall seemed to freeze. Maëlin rose too quickly.

"No. Absolutely not." Elyra did not look at her.

"I am not asking your permission."

"You are the heir of Aelvaris."

"Exactly." Maëlin had no answer. Aelthir looked at his daughter. For a long time.

"You want to leave with him." It was not a question. Elyra answered anyway.

"Yes."

"He is dangerous." Zayn let out a low laugh.

"Your Majesty, I'm touched by this late analysis." Several guards nearly drew their weapons. Aelthir, however, almost smiled. Almost. Then he coughed blood. Elyra laid a hand on his arm.

"Father." The king continued with difficulty:"He will not protect you." Zayn answered,"No." Elyra turned a furious look on him.

"You could at least lie."

"A bad habit to start before reaching the demonic continent." The scythe clicked its teeth.

"I agree. Over there, lies have teeth, taxes, and sometimes noble titles." Aelthir looked at the weapon. His expression tightened. Perhaps he remembered the blade in his shadow. Time in Ruin. The strange choice not to kill him.

"And yet," he said, "he has already protected you." Zayn did not answer. Neither did Elyra. The silence was brief. But it carried weight. Aelthir closed his eyes, then whispered,"Then go." Maëlin breathed out,"Your Majesty…"

"She will leave with or without our blessing. Better to give her a ship than a kingdom she must betray to obtain one." Elyra lowered her head.

"Thank you." Aelthir weakly lifted a hand. She took it.

"Do not let him teach you too many things." Zayn smiled.

"I feel insulted."

"You should." The scythe chuckled. Elyra squeezed her father's hand.

"I'll come back." The king looked at her. He did not promise that she would. He was too wise for that.

"Then come back still knowing why." The following night, the royal spirits asked to speak. Not to the king. To Zayn. Lumeï brought the request. Elyra was in her chambers, preparing for a departure no one yet dared call an official escape. Open sea charts covered the table. Royal seals waited to be signed. A light suit of armor rested on a chair beside a traveling cloak. Zayn stood near the open window, watching Sylvarune slowly repair itself under the light of the spirits. He had not slept. He rarely did.

Since Sloth, standing still felt too much like the beginning of a grave to be restful. Lumeï appeared on the table in the shape of a pale fox. He looked more serious than usual.

"They want to speak." Elyra looked up.

"Who?"

"Those who were supporting your father. They've returned to the Spirit Realm. They're resting. But they ask…" He hesitated. Zayn turned his head.

"What?" Lumeï swallowed his light.

"To borrow her voice." Elyra froze.

"My body?"

"Briefly. With your consent. They will force nothing. Not after what just happened." Zayn looked at the small spirit.

"The spirits want to give me a sermon?" Lumeï stared at him. For once, he did not hide.

"They want to thank you." Silence. The black shadow of the scythe in Zayn's hand opened one smoky eye.

"Say that again. It was funny." Lumeï ignored the weapon. Elyra stood motionless. Then she closed her eyes.

"All right." The light in the room changed. Not violently. Gently. As if several ancient presences were entering on tiptoe into an injured house. Elyra inhaled. When she opened her eyes again, they were no longer only hers. A flame of gold passed through them. A reflection of water. A glimmer of wind. A slowness of roots. Zayn did not move. The voice that came from Elyra's mouth was layered, but gentle.

"Zayn Veylor." He narrowed his eyes.

"You know my name."

"We heard it in the mouths of those who were afraid. We heard it in the stone. We heard it in the shadow of the Thorn." The scythe murmured,"Very dramatic. I like it less when it isn't me." The spirits continued.

"You could have killed the king."

"Yes."

"You could have taken more."

"Yes."

"You did not." He gave a cold smile.

"Don't make me better than I am. I needed Elvarin. Elyra had a road. The king had information." Elyra's eyes shifted slightly. Brighter.

"All the reasons for an act do not erase it." Zayn fell silent. The sentence irritated him. Because it was not an excuse. Not forgiveness. Just an observation. The spirits inclined their head through Elyra's body.

"We thank you for destroying the order that forced us to break the one we had sworn to support." Zayn looked away.

"Thank your princess. She shouted louder." A very slight smile passed over Elyra's lips. But it was not entirely her.

"She held the light. You held the rot. Both were necessary." The scythe snickered.

"Wonderful. We are officially heroic mold." Zayn looked at the weapon.

"Be quiet." The spirits grew more solemn. The room's temperature dropped.

"We must warn you as well." Zayn smiled without joy.

"At last."

"You resemble memories we tried to leave sleeping." Somewhere behind their voices, Elyra seemed to shiver. Zayn said nothing. The spirits went on.

"Not your face. Not your human blood. Not even your Falls. Something in your soul walks with an ancient shape. We have felt Demon Kings before. Not one. Several. Through the black cycles." The scythe fell silent. For the first time in a long while. Zayn felt a strange pressure in his chest. Not fear. Not really. Refusal.

"I am not your dead king."

"No." The voices hesitated.

"But you carry a direction that resembles theirs. A way of turning wound into right. Loss into crown. The world into culprit." Zayn laughed quietly.

"You call that a prophecy?"

"We call it a concern."

"Keep it. I already have enough." The spirits looked at him through Elyra's eyes.

"You are going to the demonic continent. There, many will want to name you before you understand what the name costs." Zayn stepped closer.

"I already know what names cost."

"No. You know what their loss costs." The phrase struck. Narek. Mist-Fangs. Crooked brother. The mark of Sloth along his spine turned cold. Zayn spoke more quietly.

"Get out of her body." The spirits did not protest. They merely inclined their head.

"Protect her if you can." He smiled. Cruel. Tired.

"Bad request."

"Then let her remind you when you no longer can." The light left Elyra's eyes. She wavered. Zayn caught her by reflex before she fell. One second. Then he nearly let go at once, as if the contact had insulted him. Elyra straightened, breathing fast.

"They really thanked you?"

"Unfortunately."

"And warned you?"

"They talk too much. It must be some kind of spiritual illness." Lumeï, still pale, murmured,"They were sincere." Zayn looked out the window. In the distance, Sylvarune's lights trembled under the night.

"That is often what makes sentences unpleasant." Elyra watched him. Not with trust. Not yet. But with something other than fear. A painful curiosity.

"They spoke of your soul." Zayn did not answer.

"You don't seem surprised." He gave a short laugh.

"Princess, since I arrived in this world, everyone has been trying to explain to me what I am. Failed hero. Mistake. Stain. Candidate. Monster. Calamity. Memory." He turned his masked face toward her.

"After a while, all you really want is to kill the ones who talk too much." Elyra stared at him. Then, slowly:"I'll try to talk less." The scythe burst into laughter. Zayn too, a little. Not much. Just enough for the room to seem to breathe for one second. Then he looked at the maps on the table.

"When does the ship leave?" Elyra inhaled. She became a princess again. Not a child. Not merely a worried daughter. An heir who had just chosen her war.

"At dawn."

"Toward which port?"

"No port. We'll pass by an old route toward the Black Isles, then to the eastern coasts. If we dock in an official demonic port, we'll be sold before we even step off the deck."

"A good start."

"Then we'll have to find out who recovered Elvarin." Zayn smiled.

"No." Elyra frowned.

"No?"

"First, we find someone who thinks they can hide who recovered Elvarin." The scythe clicked its teeth.

"Then we teach them transparency." Elyra was silent. Then she said,"That's a bad method." Zayn walked past her and took a map.

"You're coming with me. You'll have to get used to bad methods." She lowered her eyes to the map. Then, more quietly:"Maybe I've already started." Zayn turned his half-mask toward her. The princess did not look away. He noticed that too. At dawn, the elven island-continent would give a ship to its daughter. And its daughter would leave with the man the spirits were afraid to recognize. Toward the east. Toward the demons. Toward Elvarin Soreth. Toward a vengeance that Zayn already knew would not be enough.

But he walked to the map anyway. Because there was always another target. And because, for now, he still had not found out how to stop.