Elias found himself atop the tallest spire of the palace, where the chill pierced through steel and silence lingered amidst the clouds.
Below him lay the city —named in her honor—thrumming with vitality. A memorial city established in the wake of her passing. A refuge for orphans, widows, and broken soldiers. Her vision, preserved in stone and sky.
Yet, Elias struggled to breathe.
She was gone. And still, her presence shadowed his every step.
Each night, he envisioned her—not in funeral attire or sealed graves, but bathed in moonlight with mischief sparkling in her eyes and schemes swirling in her thoughts.
Recently, however… the dreams had shifted.
They were no longer memories.
They felt like messages.
Charlotte appeared, standing in a meadow that wasn't from their realm. Charlotte, bloodied yet grinning, carrying a small boy upon her back. Charlotte, calling his name with tears of rage—
"Elias, it's not over."
He kept it to himself.
Not to Mira, who had become Eladin's constant companion, his mightiest weapon and gentlest comfort.
Not to the Queen, who had not left her tower since the day her daughter was laid to rest.
Not even to Eladin, who now conversed with portraits as though they could reply.
Yet he maintained a journal. And within its pages, he started documenting the unthinkable.
"She hasn't left. I would sense it—I do sense it.
Someone has taken her. Or time has warped. Or the gods are harsh.
But I will seek her. Even if it means shattering the veil between realms.
Charlotte, hold on for me."
Elias was more than a knight now.
He was a man pursuing a phantom with blade and determination.
And today, he stood before the only person in the empire who would be foolish enough to trust him.
A seer in shackles.
Her age was evident, blind in one eye, but sharp-witted in the other. Once accused of dark sorcery. Exiled. Now summoned in secrecy.
"She walks," the seer croaked, her gnarled fingers gliding over a fragment of Charlotte's cloak, long since faded. "But not in this place."
"Where?" Elias urged.
The seer took a deep breath.
"Somewhere shattered. Somewhere wretched. Her flame now flickers softly. But it will blaze anew. And when that moment arrives… the very ground will shatter."
He advanced. "Can I reach her?"
The seer chuckled. Her teeth were stained. Her voice? Frigid.
"Not yet. But you can ready yourself."
She offered him a small iron talisman, crafted like a compass devoid of a needle.
"When the stars realign and the blood moon rises, you'll uncover where she lies."
Elias clutched it tightly.
He didn't express gratitude.
He simply turned, descended the tower, and began to make arrangements.
For battle?
For a ritual?
For insanity?
He was uncertain.
But Elias of Black Hall would venture into the depths of the unknown to find her.
Because he had not yet broken his final vow:
Let them proclaim you are cursed—
They fear what they cannot vanquish.
And if she still drew breath…
Then may the gods assist the world that sought to separate them.