The throne room had never been so silent.
Not during war.
Not during coronations.
Not during executions.
Silence ruled because the Prophets — the ancient seers, neutral for centuries, untouched by politics, feared even by kings — were entering the palace.
A dozen guards escorted them through the great doors, hands trembling on their spears. Even hardened soldiers avoided looking directly at the Prophets’ veiled faces.
The Prophets moved like specters.
Bare feet.
Golden veils.
Eyes clouded white from blindness—or perhaps from seeing too much.
Their presence made the air colder.
Heavier.
Thinner, as if destiny itself walked beside them.
They stopped at the foot of the dais.
Kaedan rose from his throne, Ariaxa seated beside him.
“Prophets,” Kaedan said, voice commanding, “state the meaning of this summoning. You have not set foot in Vharon since my grandfather’s reign.”
The Prophets did not bow.
Did not look at him.
Did not acknowledge him.
Instead—
They turned to Ariaxa.
All of them.
As one.
Kaedan’s jaw tightened, possessive instinct flashing through his eyes.
Ariaxa’s heart pounded.
The leader stepped forward — a woman draped in gold, her eyes blind, her hair white as fresh snow. When she spoke, her voice reverberated like a thousand threads woven into one.
“Child of Sun and Night…”
Ariaxa’s breath froze.
Kaedan’s hands curled around the throne’s armrests.
The Prophet reached trembling fingers toward Ariaxa’s chest—
toward the glowing crown-shaped bond mark.
Kaedan moved instantly.
“Do not touch her—”
The Prophet raised a single hand.
A wave of invisible force shoved Kaedan back into the throne.
Gasps erupted in the room.
Kaedan surged again—
And was forced down a second time, pinned by fate itself.
The Prophets ignored him.
Their leader pressed her palm to Ariaxa’s bond mark.
Ariaxa gasped—
A surge of warmth and blinding light shot up her spine.
The Prophet screamed.
A sound of agony so sharp it cracked one of the marble tiles.
Her knees buckled.
Her attendants steadied her.
Her veil slipped, revealing eyes filled with gold fire.
When she spoke, her voice shook.
“She… she is the one.”
Kaedan froze.
“The one what?” he demanded.
The Prophet turned her gaze fully to Ariaxa—blind, yet seeing everything.
“The Sun-Eclipse Queen,” she whispered. “The reborn sovereign destined to end the age of chains. The last of the true Sunborn. The one who will unite the broken world or burn it to ash.”
Murmurs exploded around the room.
“The prophecy—!”
“Impossible—”
“She’s the chosen—”
“No wonder the Triarchs fear her—”
Kaedan rose halfway before the force pushed him back again.
“You will not decide her fate,” he growled.
The Prophet tilted her head.
“We do not decide fate, Emperor. We only see what you cannot.”
Kaedan snarled.
The Prophet lifted her hand toward him.
“Your destiny lies beneath hers.”
The throne room gasped.
Ariaxa flinched.
Kaedan went still.
Not because he disagreed—
but because the bond pulsed, confirming truth.
The Prophet stepped closer.
Her attendants trembled but followed.
She leaned in, voice soft enough only Ariaxa could hear.
Her breath brushed Ariaxa’s ear.
And she whispered:
“A betrayer stands beside you. One you trust deeply.”
Ariaxa’s blood ran cold.
The bond pulsed.
Kaedan’s head snapped toward her—concern flaring.
“Ariaxa? What did she say?”
Ariaxa’s voice was trapped in her throat.
Someone she trusted.
Someone close.
Someone standing near her right now.