The chambers were dim, lit only by low-burning lanterns and the faint glow of mana emblems pressed into Orielle's trembling hands. She lay upon the bed, her skin pale against the dark sheets, sweat clinging to her brow and collarbone.
Olive knelt beside her, replacing the damp cloth on her forehead with steady, careful hands. She dipped it into the bowl of cold water again, wrung it out, and brushed it gently across Orielle's temples. Thank goodness… she seems calmer now. Relief softened her tight chest, but only slightly.
A priest stood near the head of the bed, robes etched faintly with Elymar's sacred crest. Blessed by Elymar, his hands hovered just above Orielle's head, a faint shimmer of healing mana flowing from his palms. The room was silent save for Orielle's uneven breathing.
The mana emblems pressed into her palms pulsed faintly, a protective measure against another surge.
Then—
The door swung open. The sharp crack against stone made Olive flinch. Both she, the priest and physician froze.
King Tirian stood in the doorway. He did not shout. He did not rush. He simply stood there. And somehow that was far worse.
The air shifted around him, heavy and controlled. Recognition struck instantly. They all dropped to their knees, foreheads nearly touching the floor.
Tirian did not acknowledge them. His gaze locked on the bed. Only on her. He moved forward, no hesitation, passing the priest and physician swiftly. Olive scrambled out of his path as he reached Orielle's side.
For a moment, he only looked at her. Seeing sweat clinging to her, and a fragile rise and fall of her chest.
When he spoke, his voice was low, tightly restrained. "You." The single word was directed at the priest. But when Tirian turned his face fully toward him, there was no expected battlefield fury, only sharp, focused intensity.
"Stand. Tell me." The priest rose unsteadily, eyes lowered.
"How is she?" A pause. "…Will she be fine?" The question was quieter. A softer pained tone in his voice.
The priest swallowed hard. "Ye–yes, my lord. Her fever has broken mostly. She… she needs rest. And thankfully, her tremors stopped as well as her crying."
Tirian's eyes snapped back to Orielle. "Crying?" The word carried something so raw beneath it.
The priest hesitated. "After the prophecy… in the basin. She appeared dazed. Tears would not stop falling. We do not know why. This has… never occurred before."
Tirian said nothing. He reached for her hand. As he lifted it, one of the mana emblems slipped free and fell against the mattress. His eyes narrowed. "Mana emblem?"
"Yes, my lord," the priest replied quickly. "To stabilize the surge she experienced." Tirian's brow furrowed. "Surge?"
A beat of silence. "Did she...? When did she choose her blessing?"
The priest blinked. "…Your Majesty?"
"When," Tirian repeated, more sharply, "did she choose a god?" Confusion spread across the priest's face. "Has she not? …She has not chosen one yet?"
Tirian's expression darkened. "Not before coming here.. so tell me, when-"
The priest's breathing quickened. "That cannot be…" He hurried forward suddenly, gripping Orielle's shoulders and lifting her into a sitting position.
Tirian's reaction was immediate.
His hand shot out, catching the priest's wrist mid-motion. "What," Tirian said softly, "do you think you are doing?"
The priest nearly crumpled under the pressure of his grip. "Forgive me, my lord — I must- must be su-re, sure. Thi- this is important."
After a tense moment, Tirian released him.
The priest carefully lifted Orielle, placing her carefully in Tirian's arms, then pulled aside the fabric at the back of her neck, exposing the base of her spine, the place where a divine blessing always manifested at the seventh cervical vertebra.
He leaned closer. And froze. Nothing? How is there nothing? this was clearly... clearly a reaction of mana overflowing! NO! This makes no sense!
The priest staggered backward, horror draining the color from his face. "No… that is impossible. Who—? How—?" His voice broke into frantic whispers. Maybe.. no.. No I need to find out more information ! I'll have to consult the high priests!
"The gods do not grant power without marking their own, that's the only way things are done… She has no mark. No mark…That is... This is unprecedented! The chosen... "
His eyes darted wildly toward Tirian. "I must consult the archives. This has never— I must research this immediately—" And before either Olive or Tirian could stop him, the priest hurried from the room.
The door shut. Silence fell heavy once more.
Tirian remained standing beside the bed, his gaze fixed on the door where the priest just left. Confusion etched on his face. What? What is he talking about? His gaze turned to Orielle. Was she or wasn't she blessed?
His jaw tightened. Very slowly, he brushed damp strands of hair from her face. "What did they do to you…" he murmured under his breath.
Olive slowly sank to the floor, the strength leaving her legs. "No mark…?" she whispered faintly. But how can she have a mana surge without being blessed by a god…?
Tirian turned sharply at the sound. Orielle's head had begun to tilt awkwardly against his chest. With care, he lowered her back onto the bed, adjusting her gently before rising to his full height. He approached Olive, frustration coiling beneath his restraint.
"What," he said coldly, "was the priest talking about?" Olive forced herself upright, though her hands and legs were trembling.
"My lord… no one can wield mana without divine blessing. A mark always appears at the base of the neck. Since she lacks one…" She swallowed. "…it means she was never blessed."
Silence.
The physician, pale and shaken, muttered under his breath as if thinking aloud. "Not blessed… then perhaps she is—"
"Perhaps she is what?" Tirian's voice cut through the room like steel. The physician startled violently. "I—Forgive me, my lord! I spoke carelessly!"
Tirian crossed the distance between them in seconds. The physician barely registered the movement before Tirian stood directly in front of him, towering, eyes dark.
"You will finish that sentence," Tirian said evenly. "I do not have the patience today for half-formed thoughts."
The air felt frozen. The priest bowed deeply, voice quivering. "May—maybe it is because she is the Chosen One. Nothing is recorded about those selected directly by the gods. It is possible… that the blessing manifests differently. Because of that." He swallowed hard. "We simply do not know, it was me- merely an assumption, I'm sorry my lord."
Tirian dragged a hand through his hair, a low, rough exhale leaving him. Uncertainty was worse than war.
Suddenly, a soft sound. Both men turned.
Orielle stirred. Tirian was at her side instantly. Her lashes fluttered as she slowly opened her eyes, squinting against the light filtering through the window. She lifted a hand weakly to shield them.
"Orielle?" His voice had changed — urgent, desperate. "Orielle. Look at me. How do you feel?"
Her gaze focused. Confusion flickered. Then recognition. Then, joy. "Tirian!" Tears welled instantly as she threw her arms around his neck, clinging to him.
"You came! You came! Hic—" Her body shook with relieved sobs. Tirian stiffened for half a breath — then his arms came around her firmly. "Of course I came," he muttered, quieter now. "You are… my queen." The last words carried the faintest note of awkward sincerity, causing a tinge of red creeping up his neck.
Orielle pulled back slightly, smiling through tears. "Yes… I am your queen." He brushed her cheek gently and pressed a kiss to her forehead.
For a moment, everything felt almost normal.
Then she blinked. Her brows knit together. "…Why are we in a bed?"
Color flooded her cheeks. She shoved him back slightly. "When did I—? No—how did we get here? When did you get here?"
Tirian frowned. "They told me you saw your prophecy in Aequira's Basin. Then you fainted."
Orielle froze. "I… did?" Her voice was small. Tirian studied her carefully. "Do you remember what you saw?" She frowned, lifting a hand to her chin. "I remember walking to the basin with the prince…" She hesitated. "…but after that…"
Nothing.
Her expression shifted — confused. Blank. "You don't remember?" Tirian asked quietly. She closed her eyes, pressing her fingers to her temples as pain flared. "No… but my head…" She winced. "Did I fall? It hurts terribly…"
Tirian's chest tightened. He took her hand gently. She doesn't... remember? Did she see something that would cause this response? I've seen this with some of the knights, sometimes after witnessing something horrendous, they can forget... Is this... the same?
His mind raced. Was this part of the prophecy? Or a trick from Veridelle to convince me against the holy circle's plans?— something — or someone planned this?
Orielle looked up at him again, searching his face. "Tirian… did something bad happen?"
He hesitated. That alone told her enough. Her fingers tightened around his. "... What was the prophecy? Did anyone else see? Sir Callen and prince Loven were with me were they not?"
Tirian looked down rubbing his thumb gently on her hand as he held it. "I... I forgot to ask... I heard you collapsed so I was only concerned about your health... Are you... fine now?"
Orielle smiled softly. "Other than this headache... I feel completely fine!" her smile growing bigger.
Are you truly fine?Tirian thought to himself full of concern. You always smile through everything, how can I trust that smile not to hide the truth of your true state right now?