Chapter 50
Darkness surrounded him like mist, curling and swallowing the room around him. Hosea stood in a vast, gray expanse where there was no wind, no sky—only silence. Then, like a candle flickering into existence, she appeared.
Hera.
She stood a few paces from him, barefoot in a gown that drifted like water, her hair longer than he remembered. Her skin was even paler than in his last dream, her eyes distant, rimmed with shadows of something far older than fear. But still—still, she was his sister. And she looked at him like she remembered.
"Hera…" Hosea took a step forward, breath caught in his throat.
She shook her head. "There isn't much time."
His heart pounded. "Tell me where you are. I'll come for you. Just—just tell me—"
Her eyes shimmered, and she raised a hand.
"Something is coming," she said softly. "A massacre. Fire, betrayal… blood. You must stop it."
"How?" he asked. "Hera, how?"
She stared at him—truly stared. Her voice dropped to a whisper.
"Find her… Find Alissa Volais. She is the only one who can bring me back. And the only one who can stop what is coming."
He reached for her. "Wait. Please, tell me where you are—Hera, please!"
But the dream was unraveling. Her form grew dim, like fog drawn into wind. She began to fade.
"No—wait!" Hosea shouted, lunging forward.
But she was gone.
"NO, WAIT!"
A voice—sharper now, real—pierced the remnants of the dream.
"Brother! Brother!"
Hosea jerked upright with a gasp. The cold of the room hit him first, then the ache in his shoulders. He had fallen asleep with his head on the bed. Raymar was kneeling beside him, tugging his arm. The boy's eyes were wide and glassy with worry.
"You were crying," Raymar said, his voice trembling. "And whispering something. I—I was scared."
Hosea was drenched in sweat, heart racing. He couldn't speak at first. But Raymar threw his arms around him, holding him tight, and something inside Hosea cracked.
For so long, he had locked it all away—the pain, the rage, the helplessness. He hadn't cried since the day his mother's lifeless body was placed into the tomb… since Hera vanished.
And now, in the arms of a child who looked like his enemy but had never harmed a soul…
Hosea wept.
He clutched Raymar to his chest and let the sobs shake through him, silent and hard. Raymar didn't say anything. He just held him, small hands curled into Hosea's tunic like a boy trying to keep his world from breaking.
In the shadows, the candlelight flickered.
And somewhere, in the distant corners of the realm, something had begun to stir.
------
The golden morning light bathed the Queen's chamber in warmth, dancing across silk curtains and polished marble floors. Esmeralda stood before her tall mirror, brushing her long brown hair with deliberate strokes. Her reflection stared back at her—composed, graceful, still radiant despite the quiet passage of four long years. Age did not touch her beauty; it refined it.
She wore a robe of deep burgundy velvet, its intricate embroidery laced with silver thread—an echo of power she still held tightly. Her eyes, sharp as ever, moved to the door as a soft knock interrupted her thoughts.
"Enter," she said, her voice smooth.
A young maid stepped in, bowing low. "Your Grace. I bring tidings from the court."
Esmeralda gestured for her to continue, never pausing her grooming.
"The King convened with his council early this morning. There was discussion of the missing girls in the lower districts. His Majesty has called for a formal investigation."
Esmeralda's hand slowed for a moment, but she resumed brushing. "As he should. Let them exhaust themselves with torches and questions. It will lead them nowhere."
The maid nodded hesitantly. "There was also talk of the upcoming banquet for Prince Hosea's name day. It is still weeks away, but the nobles are already preparing. And… there was more talk of the girl from Valla."
The brush stilled completely now.
"Lady Alissa," the maid added carefully.
Esmeralda turned to face her, expression unreadable. "Alissa Valois. The name clings to this court like a curse. She's not stepped across our border, yet she's spoken of as if she already wears a crown."
She walked to the window, gazing out across the stone courtyards below.
"They call her clever. Graceful. Favored by the gods," Esmeralda said, voice lined with disdain. "But they do not know her. And still… they welcome her in their minds. As if she were born of Aethelgar, not of a crumbling little kingdom."
The maid kept her head low, sensing the change in tone.
"Hosea," she muttered. "He poisons my son with gentle hands. The boy shadows him, mimics him. And what do I become in that light? A stranger in my own son's heart."
She turned back to the maid. "Prepare my attire for the coming days. I will not be forgotten in this household. Let the nobles speak of me as well, when I pass."
"Yes, Your Grace."
As the maid quietly left, Esmeralda stood alone, tall and unflinching—beautiful, powerful, but no longer content in silence.
Chapter 50
Darkness surrounded him like mist, curling and swallowing the room around him. Hosea stood in a vast, gray expanse where there was no wind, no sky—only silence. Then, like a candle flickering into existence, she appeared.
Hera.
She stood a few paces from him, barefoot in a gown that drifted like water, her hair longer than he remembered. Her skin was even paler than in his last dream, her eyes distant, rimmed with shadows of something far older than fear. But still—still, she was his sister. And she looked at him like she remembered.
"Hera…" Hosea took a step forward, breath caught in his throat.
She shook her head. "There isn't much time."
His heart pounded. "Tell me where you are. I'll come for you. Just—just tell me—"
Her eyes shimmered, and she raised a hand.
"Something is coming," she said softly. "A massacre. Fire, betrayal… blood. You must stop it."
"How?" he asked. "Hera, how?"
She stared at him—truly stared. Her voice dropped to a whisper.
"Find her… Find Alissa Volais. She is the only one who can bring me back. And the only one who can stop what is coming."
He reached for her. "Wait. Please, tell me where you are—Hera, please!"
But the dream was unraveling. Her form grew dim, like fog drawn into wind. She began to fade.
"No—wait!" Hosea shouted, lunging forward.
But she was gone.
"NO, WAIT!"
A voice—sharper now, real—pierced the remnants of the dream.
"Brother! Brother!"
Hosea jerked upright with a gasp. The cold of the room hit him first, then the ache in his shoulders. He had fallen asleep with his head on the bed. Raymar was kneeling beside him, tugging his arm. The boy's eyes were wide and glassy with worry.
"You were crying," Raymar said, his voice trembling. "And whispering something. I—I was scared."
Hosea was drenched in sweat, heart racing. He couldn't speak at first. But Raymar threw his arms around him, holding him tight, and something inside Hosea cracked.
For so long, he had locked it all away—the pain, the rage, the helplessness. He hadn't cried since the day his mother's lifeless body was placed into the tomb… since Hera vanished.
And now, in the arms of a child who looked like his enemy but had never harmed a soul…
Hosea wept.
He clutched Raymar to his chest and let the sobs shake through him, silent and hard. Raymar didn't say anything. He just held him, small hands curled into Hosea's tunic like a boy trying to keep his world from breaking.
In the shadows, the candlelight flickered.
And somewhere, in the distant corners of the realm, something had begun to stir.
------
The golden morning light bathed the Queen's chamber in warmth, dancing across silk curtains and polished marble floors. Esmeralda stood before her tall mirror, brushing her long brown hair with deliberate strokes. Her reflection stared back at her—composed, graceful, still radiant despite the quiet passage of four long years. Age did not touch her beauty; it refined it.
She wore a robe of deep burgundy velvet, its intricate embroidery laced with silver thread—an echo of power she still held tightly. Her eyes, sharp as ever, moved to the door as a soft knock interrupted her thoughts.
"Enter," she said, her voice smooth.
A young maid stepped in, bowing low. "Your Grace. I bring tidings from the court."
Esmeralda gestured for her to continue, never pausing her grooming.
"The King convened with his council early this morning. There was discussion of the missing girls in the lower districts. His Majesty has called for a formal investigation."
Esmeralda's hand slowed for a moment, but she resumed brushing. "As he should. Let them exhaust themselves with torches and questions. It will lead them nowhere."
The maid nodded hesitantly. "There was also talk of the upcoming banquet for Prince Hosea's name day. It is still weeks away, but the nobles are already preparing. And… there was more talk of the girl from Valla."
The brush stilled completely now.
"Lady Alissa," the maid added carefully.
Esmeralda turned to face her, expression unreadable. "Alissa Valois. The name clings to this court like a curse. She's not stepped across our border, yet she's spoken of as if she already wears a crown."
She walked to the window, gazing out across the stone courtyards below.
"They call her clever. Graceful. Favored by the gods," Esmeralda said, voice lined with disdain. "But they do not know her. And still… they welcome her in their minds. As if she were born of Aethelgar, not of a crumbling little kingdom."
The maid kept her head low, sensing the change in tone.
"Hosea," she muttered. "He poisons my son with gentle hands. The boy shadows him, mimics him. And what do I become in that light? A stranger in my own son's heart."
She turned back to the maid. "Prepare my attire for the coming days. I will not be forgotten in this household. Let the nobles speak of me as well, when I pass."
"Yes, Your Grace."
As the maid quietly left, Esmeralda stood alone, tall and unflinching—beautiful, powerful, but no longer content in silence.