[Kingdom of Thalryn — House Veyrhold — Two Weeks Later]

Cold rain poured endlessly across the northern kingdom of Thalryn, unlike Zahryssar’s burning deserts—Thalryn stood beneath cold skies and endless snowstorms, and within the vast halls of House Veyrhold, panic had just begun.

Heavy footsteps echoed violently through marble corridors; servants moved aside immediately because rushing toward the ducal office was the head butler himself.

Breathing unevenly, hands trembling, and clutched tightly within his hands was a black imperial letter.

Then—

SLAMMMMM!!!

The office doors burst open violently.

"Your Grace—!"

Inside the chamber, Duke Aren Veyrhold immediately looked up from the documents across his desk. Sharp eyes narrowing instantly.

"What happened?"

The butler struggled to breathe properly as he swallowed hard. "We...we received an imperial letter from Zahryssar."

Silence.

Immediately Duke Aren’s expression darkened because only one kind of message arrived sealed in black.

Death.

Slowly the duke stood from his chair. Then his eyes landed upon the black imperial seal, and for the first time in years, fear crossed his face openly.

"...who died?"

The butler lowered his head immediately afterward, unable to speak, unable to even look directly at him, and somehow that silence alone already felt like disaster.

Then finally, the butler whispered. "...Malik Zeramet is no more."

Everything froze.

The snowstorm outside suddenly sounded distant, muted, and unreal. Meanwhile, Duke Aren stared motionlessly at the black letters. As though his mind had stopped understanding words completely.

Then slowly his hands began trembling.

"...Levin..."

The name left his mouth weakly and broken, like a father already imagining the worst because he knew exactly what this meant for his son.

A foreign empire, a dead emperor, and a pregnant consort trapped inside Zahryssar. And now a throne without a ruler.

Duke Aren’s breathing turned uneven instantly.

"No..." He immediately grabbed his coat from the nearby chair. "...prepare the convoy."

The butler looked upward quickly.

"Your Grace—?"

"We leave for Zahryssar immediately." His voice became sharp, cold, and commanding now. Yet beneath it fear still trembled violently.

"My son is alone."

That single sentence shattered the remaining calmness inside the room completely. Outside the office, servants immediately erupted into motion; orders echoed through the manor, horses were prepared, and carriages were summoned.

Knights armed themselves rapidly beneath the snowstorm.

Meanwhile, inside the office, Duke Aren finally opened the black imperial letter completely, his eyes scanning every line desperately. Searching, hoping, and praying, but the more he read, the paler his face became because nowhere within the imperial announcement was Levin’s condition mentioned.

Nothing.

And somehow that silence terrified Duke Aren more than Zeramet’s death itself. Then slowly his grip tightened around the black letter, wrinkling it violently.

"What...if Zahryssar dares to blame my child...for Malik’s death?" For the first time, real fury appeared across the duke’s face: cold northern fury.

"...I will drag that entire empire into war."

Outside, the snowstorm became heavy, and somewhere far away—beyond deserts, beyond kingdoms, beyond empires—a grieving consort remained trapped inside the serpent empire while the world slowly prepared to move around him.

***

[Sarytharn City—Same Time—Zahryssar]

The bells of Sarytharn rang before sunrise, not for celebration, not for victory, but for death. Across the golden streets of Zahryssar’s capital city, rumors spread faster than desert fire.

From markets to temples to noble courts to underground taverns, everyone whispered the same horrifying sentence.

"Malik Zeramet is dead."

And the empire shook. Meanwhile, imperial news scrolls were nailed to stone pillars throughout the city. Blue imperial seals hanging beneath them violently, crowds gathered immediately: nobles, merchants, priests, soldiers, and commoners.

Everyone is desperate to hear the truth, and written across the top of the imperial announcement in massive crimson letters were the words:

THE EMPEROR HAS FALLEN

Silence spread through the crowd afterward, heavy and unbelieving. Then whispers exploded everywhere simultaneously.

"No..."

"That cannot be true..."

"Malik cannot die...he was a prime alpha."

"Who killed him?"

"I heard it was black serpent..."

"Someone said the acting emperor returned—"

"The silver-eyed prince?"

"Impossible..."

"He died years ago..."

Meanwhile, farther within the noble district, another rumor spread even faster. More terrifying than the emperor’s death itself.

"Crown Prince Slyvarakh has returned."

And that single sentence divided Zahryssar instantly; one noble already raised a wine cup secretly. "Perhaps Zahryssar finally has hope again."

Others lowered their voices carefully.

"If the Heaven-Blessed Prince truly returned...then perhaps Lord Urzan abandoned Malik Zeramet long ago."

***

[Silthara Palace — Malika’s Private Courtyard — Same Time]

While the entirety of Zahryssar divided itself into two sides, those mourning Zeramet and those whispering the return of Slyvarakh inside the Malika’s residence, there was only silence.

Not peaceful silence, not comforting silence, but the kind of silence that appears after something precious dies. Even the attendants moved quietly now; no laughter echoed through the courtyard anymore, and no servants whispered carelessly because everyone inside the palace understood:

the Malika had not spoken properly for days. 𝚏𝕣𝐞𝗲𝐰𝕖𝐛𝐧𝕠𝕧𝚎𝚕.𝐜𝚘𝗺

Outside the closed chamber doors, Varesh, Raevahn, and Lady Arinaya stood beneath the silent corridors. None of them looked rested and none of them looked untouched by what had happened.

Then quietly Lady Arinaya lowered her gaze as the words came out heavy, filled with genuine regret.

"...this is my fault. I should have informed Malika about the Black Serpents earlier." Her eyes darkened painfully. "...none of this would have happened."

Silence answered her. Meanwhile, Raevahn slowly looked toward Levin’s closed chamber doors, his expression unreadable.

"I no longer know what is right or wrong anymore." His voice sounded exhausted and broken by war as his eyes lowered afterward. "This...is far too cruel for the Malika. Malik is gone. He still carries the imperial heir and now..."

A dangerous pause followed.

"...the previous acting emperor has returned."

The atmosphere instantly grew colder because everyone standing there understood what came next. Even if nobody wished to say it aloud.

But finally Varesh quietly whispered it anyway as his jaw tightened.

"The throne cannot stay empty for long and if he takes the throne...then according to imperial law..."

Silence.

Heavy and suffocating. Then finally Raevahn finished the sentence softly.

"...the Malika will become his bride."

Immediately, several nearby attendants visibly shivered because hearing the law aloud was horrifying.

But living through it? Far worse, because within those closed chamber doors existed a grieving husband, a pregnant consort, and a human trapped inside an empire slowly changing around him.

And perhaps the cruelest part of all was that Levin still did not know whether Zeramet was truly dead.

Meanwhile inside the chamber, silence ruled completely; the curtains remained closed, the lanterns dim, and the room cold.

And upon the enormous imperial bed, Levin slowly opened his eyes. For several seconds he simply stared upward blankly, disoriented and empty.

Then slowly, instinctively, he turned toward the other side of the bed, toward the place where Zeramet always slept.

Silence.

The pillows remained untouched, cold, and perfectly arranged. No silver hair across the sheets, no warmth and no scent of black lotus lingering against the blankets anymore.

Nothing.

Levin stared at the empty side silently, and something inside his chest twisted painfully again because his body still remembered.

Remembered: Zeramet pulling him closer during the nights, warm arms wrapping around him possessively, the emperor’s low voice asking if he had eaten, and the quiet moments when Zeramet simply held him without speaking.

But now? Only emptiness remained.

Levin slowly reached his hand toward the vacant side of the bed, fingers touching the cold sheets carefully and almost desperately.

As though part of him still expected Zeramet to suddenly appear again.

Then softly, barely above a whisper, Levin spoke.

"...Zer..."

Silence answered him, and that silence hurt more than anything else. Meanwhile outside the chamber doors, none of the captains realized that inside the room, Levin had quietly begun crying again without making a single sound.

Because sometimes grief became too deep even for screams, and beneath the palace of Silthara, a consort slowly learned what it meant to sleep beside absence itself.

Meanwhile farther beyond the silent corridors another serpent approached the Malika’s private palace.

Slyvarakh.

Not yet crowned Malik, not yet seated upon the throne, and yet somehow the palace already bent around his presence as though he had always belonged there.

Silver imperial robes draped elegantly across his tall frame; gold serpent ornaments rested near his shoulders, and behind him followed, several high priests and red imperial knights.

The corrupted black-and-silver scales near his throat remained partially hidden beneath jeweled fabric but occasionally they shifted, cracked and rotting faintly beneath the skin.

Meanwhile, the attendants guarding the Malika’s residence immediately lowered themselves nervously.

Not fully, not loyally but hesitantly because no matter what the empire whispered their Malik had not been buried yet and everyone standing there still remembered Zeramet.

Slyvarakh noticed their hesitation immediately then slowly he smiled, gentle, soft and beautifully false.

"Please." His voice flowed smoothly through the corridor. "There is no need to fear me."

Several attendants lowered their gazes instantly afterward because somehow his calmness felt more terrifying than anger ever could. Then Slyvarakh slowly looked around the palace halls.

Silver eyes gleaming thoughtfully.

"...Where is Malika’s chamber?"

Silence followed immediately. The attendants glanced nervously toward one another, none wishing to answer first. Finally one younger attendant stepped forward shakily and bowed deeply.

"I—I apologize...but Malika’s husband is the only one permitted to enter the private chamber."

The atmosphere instantly changed. For one brief moment Slyvarakh’s silver eyes darkened dangerously like a monster briefly remembering its true nature.

And the young attendant visibly trembled then suddenly the silver-eyed serpent smiled again, warmly and almost kindly.

"I understand." His voice softened beautifully...too beautifully. "These are unfortunate circumstances. Poor consort..."

Several attendants lowered their heads sadly at the mention of the grieving consort. Meanwhile, Slyvarakh slowly continued walking forward through the corridor, hands folded behind his back elegantly.

"After all..." His silver eyes drifted toward the distant chamber doors. "...the Malik’s husband has tragically passed away."

The words echoed heavily across the palace, and a faint smile touched his lips again.

"And in merely two nights...I shall inherit the throne of Zahryssar." His silver gaze lowered calmly toward the trembling attendant. "And naturally...I become the Malika’s Malik."

Silence crashed instantly afterward because hearing the law spoken aloud inside Malika’s own residence felt deeply wrong.

Yet no one dared object, not openly and not now. Then softly Slyvarakh tilted his head slightly as his smile deepened faintly.

"That means...I possess every right to enter, do I not?"

The young attendant visibly hesitated, fear flickering across her face because, technically, he was correct, and that realization itself felt horrifying.

Finally, with trembling hands, she bowed lower.

"...yes..." Her voice came out quietly. "...you do, Your Highness."

Slyvarakh’s silver eyes gleamed afterward, victorious and satisfied. Then the attendant shakily gestured toward the inner corridors.

"...this way... Malik."

The word slipped out unconsciously, and immediately several attendants froze in horror.

But Slyvarakh? He merely smiled softly because he noticed everything. Every hesitation, every accidental tittle, every fearful glance, and slowly the silver-eyed serpent walked deeper into the Malika’s residence like a man already entering the chambers of something he believed belonged to him.

Meanwhile behind the closed doors ahead, Levin still remained unaware that the monster wearing his husband’s throne smile was now approaching him directly.