The feeble flame of the gas lamp struggled to pierce the pitch-black darkness of the Censored Floor. From the hilt of the rusted dagger resting in Vane's bleeding right palm, faint, spine-chilling cracks began to echo. Despite taking no external blow, the immense pressure awakening in the heart of the metal was forcing its way through that brown crust, like a monster violently hatching from its egg.
Crack... Crack... Crack.
That rhythmic, ethereal echo drew closer from within the shadows. The suffocating stench of rotting blood and ancient parchment abruptly vanished. In its place came the heavy scent of ozone right before a storm, mingled with the sweet, toxic essence of lilies.
The shadows bent and parted, acting like a living, breathing entity.
At the edge of the light, a woman appeared. Her skin was as pale and flawless as porcelain; her eyes, a midnight black so bottomless they could drive anyone looking into them insane. She wore an ancient gown woven from deep purple and black threads, looking as though she belonged to an era long forgotten. Her presence felt less like a physical body and more like a tangible nightmare exiled from time itself.
"King Vorian..." the woman spoke. Her voice was as smooth as velvet, yet every syllable stung like razor cuts slicing across Vane's mind. A mocking smile hung on her lips. "That arrogant, narrow-minded fool. Just like his ancestor... He thinks he can tame the abyss on that little chessboard of his."
Vane didn't take a single step back. Ignoring the dryness in his throat, he clenched his jaw and gripped the dagger's hilt tighter to stop his hand from trembling. His fresh blood seeped into the cracking rust. "You were the voice whispering in my mind back at the palace," Vane said, forcing his tone to remain completely flat and emotionless. "I don't know you. What are you?"
The woman let out a soft chuckle. The vibration of her laughter rattled the glass jars around them. "I am a memory. A curse. I am the true host waiting behind the desperate seal your mother built to suppress the terror in your veins. My name is Lysandra."
She dragged her bottomless gaze up and down Vane's body. "I am the Cursed Empress of the undivided, ancient, and singular Nocturne Empire. And you are my only noble legacy, tainted by the disgusting Pillar blood flowing through your veins."
Vane's mind paused for a fraction of a second. "Lysandra... Nocturne?" Academy theories and historical maps clashed in his head. He narrowed his eyes. "There is no 'New Nocturne.' King Vorian razed that rebellious duchy to the ground long before I was even born. History says he completely wiped out their bloodline."
The mocking amusement in Lysandra's eyes instantly gave way to pure, dark hatred. The room's temperature plummeted below zero in seconds, and Vane's breath began to materialize in the freezing air.
"What Vorian destroyed was nothing but a makeshift camp of survivors hiding from a vile massacre!" Lysandra hissed. "Once, this entire continent was Nocturne. Until my closest confidant... my own husband, the First King of Valerius, plunged the dagger of betrayal into my back. Your highly revered great-great-great-grandfather! Along with the ten traitorous nobles he took with him—the so-called 'Ten Pillars' everyone bows to today—they built their kingdom upon my blood and my throne."
Though his breath hitched, Vane didn't let his expression waver. His mind rapidly connected the pieces. The First King of Valerius was this woman's husband... And the Ten Pillars were actually the ten traitorous families who sold out an empire. He felt sick to his stomach. I carry the blood of both the traitors who sold out this continent and the Empress they stabbed in the back, in one single body.
He looked down at the rotting dagger in his hand, then turned back to the woman with questioning eyes. "What you're telling me is a historical fairy tale. But what exactly is my connection to you?" he asked with a rational coldness. "What business does an ancient spirit have with a common bastard the Queen despises, a boy exiled to a barn?"
This time, a loud, ice-cold laugh escaped Lysandra's lips. "A common bastard? Oh, you poor, blinded pawn... Your mother wore that mask so flawlessly she made even you forget your own truth."
She glided toward Vane, the hem of her gown dragging across the floor like a dark fog. "Your mother, Elara, wasn't just some random peasant woman who found her way into Vorian's bed. She was one of the last pureblood Nocturne heirs who survived the final massacre your father thought he had completed."
Lysandra's eyes pierced deep into Vane's mind. "When Vorian learned this, he didn't kill her. Why? Because he was sick of the endless power struggles with the Pillars. He wanted to reduce the Ten Pillars down to one... To completely end that eternal race among royals and monopolize absolute power. To do that, he needed a singular weapon—one that could swallow the aether of the Pillars and turn it against them. He personally intervened to create an anomaly carrying both aether and Nocturne's devouring darkness. Using his own blood, he impregnated the last heir of Nocturne."
Vane gritted his teeth. Hearing from her own mouth that he wasn't born out of love, but engineered as a twisted laboratory experiment, was a heavy blow.
"Two opposite polarities coming to life in the exact same body was a paradox that, under normal circumstances, should have torn you apart in the womb," Lysandra continued, stepping so close Vane could feel the chill of her breath on his face. "But you survived. Vorian watched the two of you on that farm for eighteen years like quarantined lab rats, under the watch of that loyal dog, Kael. He was waiting for the night of your awakening, the moment your soul would step into the physical world and your weapon would take shape."
Lysandra shook her head with a bitter smile. "But Elara's plan was vastly different from Vorian's. She was so terrified that the ancient black hole awakening inside you would rip you and everything around you to shreds... For eighteen years, she hoarded the very last drops of magic left in her exhausted body, saving them solely to use on that exact night, right when the clock struck midnight."
Vane's eyes widened slightly. The night of his awakening... His mother's bleeding hands grabbing the blazing golden sword...
"The very second your disgusting Pillar heritage manifested as a glorious sword, your mother sealed your aether channels with her own blood—with that rust," Lysandra said, pointing at the cracking dagger in Vane's hand. "Her magic was entirely depleted. She became a completely ordinary human. And once Vorian's flawless weapon was reduced to a useless lump of rusted iron, there was no logical reason left for your father to keep your mother alive."
Vane froze in place. The crushing weight on his chest made it hard to breathe. Now he understood with absolute, brutal clarity why his mother had died so easily, unable to do a single thing when that assassin Kael came for her. Sealing him had stripped Elara of all her defenses, of her very life energy.
"Do you understand now, little pawn?" Lysandra whispered from the darkness. "Your father threw you into this Academy to break your mother's final act of resistance. Because he knows that the rusted blood seal can only be shattered by the pure aether strikes of the Pillar heirs."
The dagger in Vane's hand wasn't trembling anymore. On the contrary, his fingers gripped the hilt so tightly his knuckles turned white. The dagger was no longer a source of shame; it was the blood-soaked proof of his mother's ultimate sacrifice. And Vorian... Knowing all of this, he had intentionally thrown Vane into this hellscape to shatter his mother's dying wish and forge him into a living suicide bomb.
I'll be the weapon you want, Father, Vane thought, a dark, lethal resolve settling in his eyes. But when I detonate, I won't swallow the Pillars sitting next to you. I will devour your throne directly.