The chamber had grown quiet. Tirian sat at Orielle's bedside, one hand resting carefully against her temple, brushing sweat-damp strands of hair away from her face. His thumb moved unconsciously.
Orielle leaned into his palm, eyes soft as she studied him. "You look so worried…" she murmured gently, as if she were the one comforting him.
That hurt more than anything. Tirian's jaw tightened. "Orielle…" His voice dropped. "Do you truly not remember?"
She tilted her head slightly, thinking. Then her brows knit. "Did something really bad happen?"
She glanced at the bed, at the room, then back at him. Her fingers rose and rested against his cheek, tracing the tension in his expression. "It must have," she said quietly. "You only look like this when something is very wrong."
And then — unbelievably — she smiled. Soft. Bright. Trying to lighten him. But only guilt struck him. He pulled her into his arms suddenly, holding her tighter than he meant to.
"You had a mana surge," he said into her hair. "After looking into the basin. I don't fully understand it either, but they say you have no divine mark. No blessing. And yet your body reacted as though you carried one."
His voice shook on the last words. Orielle pulled back slightly, confusion turning into curiosity. "Mana surge?" Her eyes widened. "Does that mean I'll have some sort of power?"
Tirian blinked.
She brightened further. "Did a god bless me because I looked into the basin? Is that how it works?"
He stared at her in disbelief. "Are you excited right now? Didn't you hear what I just said? You had the surge without even possessing a blessed mark. Something is clearly not right here."
The sharpness in his tone startled her. "Orielle, you nearly died." His voice cracked, rising despite himself. "Do you understand that? Do you think I would have allowed this kingdom to stand peacefully if something had happened to you?"
The air in the room shifted. Her smile faded. Something darker passed through her expression — understanding.
Tirian stood abruptly, pacing a few steps away, dragging a hand through his hair as he fought to steady himself.
Orielle watched him carefully. "But… wouldn't that have harmed Eldoria more?" she asked quietly. "If you had started a war?"
He didn't answer. Her gaze dropped. "Oh… but that would go against the prophecy anyway…" She gave a small, hollow laugh. "Or... Maybe not. If the Holy Circle intended for me to die, then perhaps I would have just been fulfilli—"
He moved before she finished. Tirian grabbed her shoulders, firm enough to silence her. "Do not," he said, voice low and shaking with fury, "finish that sentence."
She froze. "They said you would die by my hand." His eyes burned into hers. "Do you believe that? Is that what you think of me? That I would raise a blade against you?" His voice broke on the last word.
He released her abruptly, stepping back. "I would never—" He cut himself off and turned toward the door.
"No—! Wait Tirian, please!" Orielle scrambled after him, panic flooding her voice. "That's not what I meant!"
Her feet hit the floor. Her legs failed and she crumpled.
Tirian spun instantly, catching her before she struck the ground fully. He lifted her back into his arms, fury dissolving into worry.
"Careful," he breathed, easing her back onto the bed.
He knelt beside her, taking her hand. "Please," he said, quieter now. "If you believe nothing else in this world… believe me." His composure was gone.
Her tears slowed. She opened her mouth to respond—
But he stood again before she could. "Rest," he said, not turning back. "I'll return later." The door opened.
Closed.
Orielle sat in silence. Her fingers curled into the blankets. And though she nodded when he left. Fresh tears slipped down her cheeks once he was gone.
Tirian stood still for a moment in the corridor, staring at nothing. Then he leaned back against one of the marble pillars, dragging both hands through his hair before pressing them over his face. A long breath left him. Does she really think I would hurt her?
No. No… they had crossed too much ground together for that. It wasn't him she doubted. It was the prophecy. A muscle in his jaw tightened. Then another thought struck.
I made her cry. A low groan escaped him. He turned and struck the wall lightly with the back of his fist. "Ugh." He straightened immediately, composure sliding back into place.
She had understood what a mana surge meant. That meant someone had explained it to her. But why—Why had she looked excited? He rubbed his brow slowly.
Power? Does she want power? Was his protection not enough? What kind of power had she imagined? His thoughts began spiraling into questions with no answers.
He stopped himself. Pointless. Speculation is all this is right now. I should find Sol. With that decision made, Tirian began walking down the corridor.
Tirian heard whispers louder than they were meant to be in the corridors. Two maids stood near an alcove, unaware of his approach. "… I heard the chosen maiden received a blessing from one of our gods!"
"The Veil?"
"Well, that's what the guard said. The chosen one truly must have been meant to come here." A soft gasp. "Do you think that's why she fell ill? A strong blessing can make one collapse sometimes!"
"Maybe… maybe she was meant to be Veridelle's queen." A pause. Another voice, quieter. "She would have been safer if she had wed King Sol instead. What a beautiful pair they'd be! Everyone knows King Tirian is—"
They turned. They saw him. The color drained from their faces.Their thoughts shifted instantly.
We're dead.
We're dead.
They dropped into bows so quickly one nearly stumbled. "My— My Lord—"
Tirian did not slow, turn his head or even acknowledge them. He walked past as though he heard nothing. Cold. Unreadable. Unbothered.
But inside—
The words struck deeper than any steel wound.
Safer with Sol.
Meant for Veridelle.
His hands curled slightly at his sides. Not in rage toward them. But at himself. Had he truly made her life feel like danger instead of safety?
Had his temper, his war-bound nature, his reputation—cast a shadow over her peace?
He passed a pair of guards next.
One muttered under his breath, unaware of Tirian being in earshot. "If she truly received a blessing from Aequira… perhaps Veridelle could have more say in what to do with the chosen one?"
"Careful," the other hissed. Too late. Tirian's shadow fell over them. They froze mid-breath. He stopped. Silence stretched. It took everything in him not to slaughter them right there and then. But he only adjusted his gloves slowly. Then continued walking.
Behind him, the corridor snapped back into rigid discipline. Servants scattered to tasks with fear. Guards straightened to their positions in silence.
Tirian did not look back once.
*****
Tirian found King Sol in a smaller strategy chamber off the western wing, lamplight pooling over scattered maps and parchment. Archon Westre stood at the table beside him.
Sol looked up first. Their eyes met. The humor that usually lingered in Sol's expression faded immediately at the sight of Tirian's exhausted intensity.
"Sol," Tirian said evenly, though tension lined every syllable, "were you informed about Orielle's mark… or lack of?"
Westre stiffened slightly.
Sol straightened at once and gave his archon a quiet nod. "Leave us." Westre bowed and exited without a word, closing the door behind him.
Sol gestured toward a chair across the table. "Please. Sit." His tone was steady now, stripped of playfulness. "How is the queen?"
Tirian lowered himself into the seat, though he looked anything but relaxed. His fingers curling slowly into fists.
"She doesn't remember the basin's visions," he said. "The priest fled in a panic, muttering about research and ancient texts." His gaze sharpened. "What is happening to her?"
Sol exhaled slowly and leaned against the edge of the table. "The Mirror most likely showed her three prophecies," he said. "You know as well as I do that it only shows one, but my brother and I had two. The fact that she had three... That's in itself a strange occurrence."
Tirian's jaw tightened. "Also... It shattered afterward," Sol continued. "That has never happened before." Sol continued. "The priest believes the mana surge may be tied to her being the chosen one," Sol went on carefully. "But the lack of a mark complicates everything. Mana surges require divine blessing to safely channel power. Without a mark… it should not be possible."
He rubbed his chin, thinking aloud now. "The gods may have acted directly. But why? And how? No one can answer that."
Tirian's voice dropped lower. "I already guessed as much... this is nothing new." He took a deep breath. "Is there a chance she will have another surge?"
Sol didn't soften the truth. "Honestly? We don't know." The words hung heavy. "It would be wise to keep the mana emblems with her at all times," Sol added. "As a precaution." He studied Tirian's face. "Was she in pain when she woke?"
"Yes," Tirian answered. "A severe headache. But her constitution seemed normal otherwise."
Relief flickered across Sol's expression, subtle but real. He looked down at the maps though he clearly wasn't seeing them.
Tirian's gaze sharpened again. "Is this some trick of your gods?" he asked bluntly. "A way to convince her not to return with me and ear the Holy Circle?"
Sol's eyes snapped up. "The True Veil do not play games," he said firmly. "You were blessed yourself. You know the mark is the only vessel through which divine mana flows." His tone remained steady — not defensive, just factual. "This is not a trick."
He leaned forward "This is something new." The word carried weight. "Something tied to her role in the prophecy, perhaps. But without her memory, we are navigating blind." His gaze hardened slightly. "My brother saw at least part of the visions. I will need to confirm exactly what he witnessed."
Tirian rose abruptly, pacing once across the room before turning back. "All I hear," he said tightly, "are questions without answers."
Sol moved around the table and faced him fully. "I understand your concern, Ty."
The nickname settled into the air between them, familiar. A name only Sol and Tirian's brothers used. It carried years of shared campaigns, memories of shared childhood.
For a moment, Tirian tensed, he's not heard the nickname since his brothers died.
"For now," Sol continued, "she is safe here. The best physician in Veridelle is tending to her. I have priests blessed by each of the gods stationed nearby too. We chose the strongest from every order in case one recognizes what this is."
He paused.
Then spoke more quietly. "But Ty… her safety may depend on understanding why the Mirror reacted as it did. And without her memory…" He let the implication finish itself.
We cannot move forward. Tirian's eyes darkened, though not with anger at Sol. With frustration at the unseen. "I understand," he said finally. "If it is necessary, then it is what it is."
He inhaled slowly. "I will try speaking to her again."
Sol gave a short nod. "It might not have been a pleasant one, she seemed quite distraught while she was being tended too."
Tirian did not answer. Without another word, he turned and left the chamber.
Sol remained behind, staring out the window after the door closed. "Three prophecies…" he muttered under his breath. "Loven... is she somehow related to our own?"