The palace servants moved like dancers, wrapping the sacred robes of Elyria around the twins.
White silk, trimmed with gold, draped over Daemon's lean frame like a ceremonial shroud. The cloth felt weightless—but the weight of the moment? He could feel it crushing his bones.
On his head, they placed a golden laurel, shaped like crescent leaves.
"Like gods from the old myths," a maid whispered. "The Sun and Moon."
Gabriel turned, basking in the praise like it was owed to him. "Of course. I was born for this."
Daemon didn't respond. His reflection in the mirror stared back, regal and cold—a false prince wrapped in divine lies.
Another maid, while tying his sash, murmured absently, "they really look like Lady Rose..."
The room froze.
A sharp crack echoed as another maid stomped on her foot.
Silence.
Daemon's lips curved slightly. So they still whisper about her... My real mother.
They thought he didn't know. That Queen Bianca was not his true mother. But he knew the truth—knew how,the maid,Rose bled alone and died knowing her two children will be taken by Bianca and the king ?HeKnew everything and let it happen.
It's too late to hide now, he thought. I've already been reborn. And your secrets? I'll use them as weapons.
A trumpet blared from the outer courtyard.
A royal guard announced, "His Majesty summons the princes. The procession to the Holy Temple of Elyria begins."
Gabriel grinned, grabbing Daemon's arm like they were friends. "Try not to trip in front of the church, brother. This might be your last royal walk."
Daemon smiled, unbothered. "Let's hope you don't piss yourself like last time when the priests chanted."
"You little—"
"Boys," Bianca's voice echoed through the hall.
She stood at the threshold, draped in royal velvet, her face calm, controlled, and cold.
Beside her, in obsidian armor laced with red aura threads, stood King Aleric Dominick the Third.
His presence sucked the air from the room. The very walls seemed to bend toward him.
The king didn't speak. Just stared—first at Gabriel, then at Daemon. His gaze lingered on the second twin a bit longer. Not with affection.
With calculation.
He paused.
"The Church will decide who is worthy of the Crown Prince's seal."
Gabriel's eyes gleamed. "Then I'll finally take what's mine."
Daemon stood still. Calm. Controlled. But inside?
He remembered.
He remembered the chants. The humiliation. The way they looked at him like a curse, a mistake, a demon. How Gabriel stood tall while he was dragged into the dirt.
But he knew this time things will be different.
They finally reached the royal Carriage.
The golden gates of the palace opened with a hiss of enchanted steel, revealing the heart of Varyndor—a kingdom so rich it gleamed beneath the noon sun like a god's coin.
The royal carriage rolled forward, pulled by six silver-maned drakes, their scales polished to mirror shine. Daemon and Gabriel sat opposite each other inside, dressed in white ceremonial robes, the fabric shimmering with divine runes.
Outside, the capital stirred.
Varyndor, walled and warded, was divided into six grand districts—each devoted to a different pillar of power: Trade, War, Magic, Faith, Nobility, and the Slums.
And at the very center, visible from every corner of the kingdom, rose the Holy Temple of Elyria—a towering white cathedral carved from blessed marble, with spires that kissed the clouds. Before its gates stood a colossal statue of the goddess Gaia, her eyes eternally weeping.
In her stone hands rested a chalice—The Tears of Judgment.
As the procession passed, citizens lined the streets, tossing blue lilies in the carriage's path. The air filled with petals and prayers.
Daemon's crimson eyes scanned the faces—smiling, worshipping, naive.
He smiled faintly. Blue lilies...
They were a tradition in Varyndor, an ancient symbol of purity and rebirth. When he was young—tin his past life—he used to believe in that meaning.
But rebirth, he'd learned, came drenched in blood, not flowers.
He turned to the window, watching the people chant Gabriel's name.
Last life, I waved at them too.
I believed I was loved.
They reached the temple gates.
Massive, holy. The kind of place that made even nobles bow their heads.
Gabriel pressed his nose to the glass like a child seeing paradise.
Daemon? He stared at the cathedral like it was a corpse waiting to rot.
Long time no see.
You made me. Then you tried to break me. But this time, I'll carve your holy halls into ruin.
And I'll start with your gods.
The steps leading to the Holy Temple of Elyria were wide enough for an army, each one carved from glistening white stone veined with silver. There were eighty-eight steps—one for each divine virtue, or so the priests claimed.
Gabriel walked with his head high, basking in the attention.
Daemon walked beside him, calm and quiet, yet burning inside.
Noble children lined the marble terraces, their eyes wide at the sight of the princes. Whispers swept the temple like wind over glass.
"They say the elder prince is cursed..."
"But the younger—Gabriel—he's everything the gods could want."
Parents subtly nudged their daughters forward, trying to catch the eye of royalty. Silks rustled. Perfume hung in the air like fog.
And then Daemon saw her.
White hair. Blue eyes. A face carved like ice and diamonds.
Vivian Starling, daughter of Duke Starling—the girl betrothed to Gabriel in Daemon's past life.
Still cold. Still perfect. Still fake.
She looked right past him, her gaze fixed on Gabriel with interest—and calculation.
Daemon said nothing.
They reached the top of the steps. The grand gates of the temple swung open.
From within emerged a group of white-robed figures—the priests of Elyria, walking in perfect formation, heads bowed.
At the center stood High Priest Orlan, now older but no less fearsome. His golden staff gleamed with divine inscriptions, and his eyes held the chill of judgment.
He stopped before the royal family and bowed deeply.
"Your Majesty, King Aleric Dominick the Third, flame of the throne. Your grace, Queen Bianca Donovan, light of the court. We welcome you and your divine sons to the sanctuary of Gaia."
The king said nothing. His mere presence was answer enough.
Even the high priest looked away after a moment—the pressure of a 11-Star: Solar Core Realm. was too much for anyone to meet head-on.
Then, Orlan turned toward Gabriel and Daemon. "And you, sons of eclipse... come. The time of truth has arrived."
A bell tolled above.
The ceremony was about to begin.