[Eastern Zahryssar — The Frozen Cliffs Beyond Sah’qir — Continuation]

The world remained frozen beneath ancient blue light; no winds moved, no sands fell, and no battle cries echoed from Sah’qir below.

Even the storm itself remained trapped midair, and amidst that impossible silence, Levin stared at the silver-haired man standing before him.

He was still unable to process what he was seeing because of the resemblance—the resemblance was monstrous, not merely similar but uncomfortably identical.

Long silver hair, tanned skin, and sharp royal features. The same overwhelming presence and the same terrifying beauty.

Only the eyes differed.

Silver.

Cold silver eyes that looked less alive and more like moonlight trapped within steel. Levin’s breathing remained uneven afterward.

Then finally he asked quietly, "...how did you move?"

But the silver-eyed man did not answer, not immediately. Instead, he slowly looked around the frozen world, at the halted sands, the silent skies, the suspended storm, and the motionless battlefield beneath Sah’qir.

And slowly—very slowly—a smile spread across his face, not warm, not amused but hungry. His silver eyes gleamed with something deeply wicked: desire, obsession, and ancient hunger.

Then softly—almost breathlessly—he murmured: "...a time-stopping ability."

His gaze slowly returned toward Levin afterward, and somehow that gaze felt worse than violence as a dangerous smile curved his lips wider.

"I never imagined...I would find this power inside someone."

Levin’s instincts screamed instantly in danger, not ordinary danger but something monstrous. The silver-eyed man slowly stepped closer afterward.

One step, then another, his silver eyes never leaving Levin’s face, and the closer he came, the heavier the atmosphere became. As though the frozen world itself recoiled from him, there was desire within those eyes now.

Wicked desire and wicked hunger, like someone staring at something they had searched centuries to find but before he could move closer—Lyresaph suddenly—

GRRRRROOOOOOWWWLLLLLLLLLLEEEEDDDDD!!!!!

The roar shook frozen cliffs apart. Lyresaph lunged directly before Levin protectively, blue eyes blazing violently, tail lowered and claws digging into stone.

Ready to kill.

The silver-eyed man paused briefly, and then slowly his smile disappeared. "...still protective."

But instead of stepping back, he raised one hand calmly, and suddenly—black and blue flames erupted from his palm.

FWOOOOOOOSSSSHHHHH!!!

The unnatural fire slammed directly against Lyresaph’s face.

ROOOOOOOAAARRRRR!!!

The silver dragon recoiled violently, burn marks spreading across his cheek scales instantly while smoke rose from the wounds.

Yet even then Lyresaph growled louder and fiercer again. Then—BOOOOOOOOOOMMMMM!!!

His massive tail crashed directly into the silver-eyed man; the impact shattered frozen cliffs apart.

"You stubborn dragon—!" The silver-eyed man hissed sharply.

For the first time, genuine irritation crossed his face, but before the battle escalated further, Levin stepped forward immediately.

"Lyresaph."

The dragon froze, still growling and still furious. Then Levin gently placed his hand against Lyresaph’s scales, patting him softly. Immediately the dragon calmed slightly. Though his glowing blue eyes never left the silver-eyed man.

Then Levin slowly lifted his gaze again, cold, sharp, and unwavering.

"I am asking you again." The frozen winds whispered softly around them. "Who are you...and why are you tormenting the serpents of Sah’qir?"

But again, the silver-eyed man did not answer, only smiled faintly as though the question itself amused him.

Then suddenly—CRAAAAAACCCKKKKK!!!

The frozen world shattered, the blue light disappeared instantly, the storm resumed violently, the winds screamed, and the sands fell again, and suddenly Sarash resumed movement.

"MAAAALIIIKKKAAAA—!!!"

The pale serpent stumbled violently forward before collapsing onto one knee, breathing heavily, eyes wide with panic. His gaze immediately searched the cliffs desperately—until finally he saw Levin standing safely, and relief flooded his face instantly.

"Malika..." He hurried toward him immediately. "...are you alright? I was worried that—"

"Do you know him, Sarash?" Levin cut him off quietly, his blue eyes still fixed upon the silver-eyed serpent ahead.

Sarash froze, then slowly he turned, and the moment he saw the silver-eyed man, his entire body went cold.

The silver-eyed man smiled brightly afterward; then casually, he waved.

To Levin it looked harmless, but to Sarash it looked like death itself greeting him. His pale serpent eyes widened so much they almost trembled, his breathing became uneven, and his hands shook visibly.

As though he had just seen the greatest nightmare of his life return from the grave. Then, finally barely able to speak, Sarash whispered the following name, "...Sylvarakh."

Silence; even the desert winds seemed to stop briefly around that name, and the moment the silver-eyed man heard it, his smile widened slowly, dangerously, beautifully, and monstrously.

"Well now..."

Sylvarakh tilted his head slightly. "...someone still remembers me."

***

[Eastern Zahryssar — The Other Side of Sah’qir Village — Same Time]

SLAAAAASSSSHHHHH!!!!

The Ant Queen’s gigantic body split apart beneath the imperial silver aura; black corrupted blood exploded across the battlefield violently. The creature let out one final horrifying screech before collapsing against the burning sands.

SKRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEE!!!

Then silence followed, heavy silence. The kind born only after the massacre and the corrupted ants immediately stopped moving afterward.

One by one their bodies began crumbling into black ash beneath the emperor’s overwhelming pheromones.

Meanwhile, Zeramet slowly transformed into his half-human and half-serpent form, with a massive silver tail, tanned skin stained with black blood, and golden eyes gleaming with terrifying danger.

The imperial knights immediately lowered themselves because the Malik’s pheromones had become unbearable, violent, ancient, and suffocating.

Even the surviving serpents struggled breathing near him. Zeramet slowly wiped black blood from his face afterward, his expression unreadable. Yet the battlefield around him trembled anyway.

Then Varesh stepped forward carefully in his own half-serpent form; blood covered his armor heavily.

"Malik..." He bowed deeper. "...the Malika has—"

"I know." Zeramet cut him off instantly, cold and sharp, but beneath that calmness something dangerous was cracking.

The emperor slowly glanced toward the distant cliffs where Levin disappeared earlier. His golden eyes darkened immediately, and then quietly he ordered:

"Take the villagers away." The imperial knights bowed instantly.

"And..." Zeramet’s gaze shifted toward Arkhazunn. "...make sure the corruption heals completely."

Arkhazunn nodded immediately despite exhaustion. "It shall be done, Malik."

Zeramet said nothing afterward, not another word because every instinct inside him screamed only one thing now.

Levin.

And immediately—FWOOOOOSSSSHHHHH!!!

The silver serpent emperor slid violently across the sands toward the distant cliffs, fast enough to leave shattered earth behind him. The desert winds screamed around him, cliffs shattered beneath his speed, and the closer he moved toward Levin, the heavier his chest became.

Because instinct already knew, something impossible waited ahead, something buried and something that should never have returned.

Then finally he reached the outer cliffs, and there, from far away, he saw them.

Levin, Lyresaph, Sarash, and another man.

Zeramet immediately rushed forward.

"CONSORT—!"

But then the distance shortened. The silver-haired man turned slightly. And for the first time Zeramet saw his face clearly.

And the emperor froze completely, not from fear but from shock. Pure, devastating shock. The kind powerful enough to hollow even emperors, his golden eyes widened slowly, almost disbelievingly.

"...no."

Meanwhile, the silver-eyed man smiled faintly, beautifully, and monstrously at Levin, saying, "You sure are brave for being a consort of his."

And suddenly memory crashed into Zeramet violently as he heard the same voice he never wanted to here.

***

[Years Ago — Silthara Palace — Midnight]

The palace screamed, servants cried, and blood covered marble floors. A fourteen-year-old Zeramet stood trembling near the imperial throne.

Younger, smaller, still wearing royal silver robes too large for him and before him—

STABBBBBB!!!!

Silver steel pierced flesh violently, and the imperial throne became drenched in blood, and the scent of blood flooded the throne hall, warm, fresh, and endless. Blood dripped slowly down the black marble stairs while shattered royal guards lay motionless across the palace floor.

The moonlight entering through towering palace windows painted the massacre silver, beautiful, and terrifying, and in the middle of that throne hall, a fourteen-year-old Zeramet stood holding the sword buried deep inside another serpent’s body.

His silver robes had become soaked crimson; blood stained his hands, his face, and his throat. Yet his golden eyes remained terrifyingly calm because standing before him covered in blood and black flames—smiling beautifully despite the sword through his body—was Slyvarakh.

Silver eyes, silver hair, and ancient wickedness burning behind a smile too beautiful for a monster.

Then slowly, Slyvarakh looked toward the young prince and smiled softly.

Almost proudly.

"I knew..." His voice came out weaker now yet still dangerous. "...you would betray the throne one day."

Young Zeramet’s eyes darkened instantly afterward, and slowly he smirked, cold, beautiful, and monstrous as his golden gaze sharpened viciously.

"Goodbye...dear brother."

Silence shattered instantly afterward. Slyvarakh’s smile disappeared completely, and real fury crossed his silver eyes.

Then suddenly—GRAB!!!! His hand wrapped violently around Zeramet’s throat.

"You..." Slyvarakh hissed through blood. "...bastard..."

The black and blue flames around him exploded wildly through the throne hall; pillars cracked, and royal curtains burned instantly. Even the palace itself trembled beneath his rage.

"I should have killed you the day you were born." His grip tightened harder. "I should never have sympathized—"

But before he could finish—

CRUNCCHHH!!!!!

Young Zeramet twisted the sword deeper.

CRAAAAACKKKK!!!

Bones shattered violently beneath the blade. Slyvarakh choked instantly; the blood spilled heavily across Zeramet’s hands.

And instead of fear—instead of horror—young Zeramet smiled wider, wildly and madly. His face was drenched in blood, golden eyes glowing with ruthless triumph.

Then softly, almost affectionately, he whispered, with a dangerous laugh escaping him, "I always knew...you would look beautiful in red and blood."

Slyvarakh’s silver eyes widened not from pain but from realization. 𝐟𝕣𝗲𝕖𝕨𝗲𝐛𝗻𝗼𝐯𝗲𝚕.𝗰𝚘𝐦

Then suddenly—

THUD!!!!!

Slyvarakh’s body collapsed backward violently, rolling down the throne stairs beneath spreading blood.

One step, two, and five. Until finally his body lay motionless at the foot of the imperial throne. Silence filled the hall afterward; only blood continued dripping, slowly and endlessly.

Meanwhile, young Zeramet stared downward from the throne stairs, breathing unevenly.

Face expressionless now. Then finally he climbed upward. One bloodstained step at a time. Toward the throne, toward the empire, and toward power.

And when he finally reached the throne, he sat slowly and elegantly. Leg crossed over the other, sword still dripping blood beside him. The imperial throne beneath him looked less like royalty now—

and more like conquest.

Young Zeramet leaned against the throne lazily afterward. Golden eyes staring down at the corpse below, then quietly, almost lovingly, he murmured:

"You finally found your rightful Malik." The throne hall remained silent because everyone who opposed him was already dead, and that night, Silthara Palace did not gain an emperor. It gained a tyrant powerful enough to drown Zahryssar in blood if necessary.

***

[Present — Sah’qir Cliffs]

The memory vanished violently, and present-day Zeramet stood frozen before Slyvarakh once more. Except now the corpse he personally killed...was smiling at his consort.