The chamber remained cold long after the assassin's body had vanished.
No one spoke.
No one moved.
The guards stood frozen, their weapons still raised, eyes fixed on the empty spot where the assassin had turned into ash only moments earlier.
It was as if the room itself was holding its breath.
The queen slowly lowered herself onto the edge of the bed, still clutching her newborn son tightly against her chest.
Her hands trembled.
Her heart pounded loudly in her ears.
She could feel the warmth of the child's small body, the steady rhythm of his breathing.
Alive.
Still alive.
But for how long?
Her gaze drifted toward the shattered window.
Cold night air swept into the chamber, carrying the distant sounds of alarm bells ringing across the palace.
More danger was coming.
She could feel it.
A deep, instinctive fear that refused to fade.
The king stood near the center of the room, staring silently at the cracked stone floor.
His expression was unreadable.
But inside, a storm raged.
Doubt.
Fear.
Responsibility.
He had ordered the execution.
And yet the child had survived.
Not by luck.
Not by help.
By power.
The royal prophet broke the silence first.
His voice was low.
Grave.
"We cannot stay here," he said.
The king slowly turned toward him.
"What do you mean?"
The prophet's eyes flicked toward the baby.
Fear filled his gaze.
"They will come again," he answered.
"Stronger. Faster. Without hesitation."
The words settled heavily in the air.
The captain of the guard stepped forward.
"We will double the security," he said firmly.
"No one will reach the child again."
The prophet shook his head.
"That will not be enough."
His voice trembled.
"You saw what happened."
He gestured toward the broken walls.
"The Shadow Council does not send ordinary killers."
The queen's breathing quickened.
Her grip tightened around her son.
"Then what are we supposed to do?" she asked.
Her voice cracked under the weight of fear.
The prophet hesitated.
Then spoke the words no mother ever wanted to hear.
"We must hide the child."
Silence fell instantly.
The queen's eyes widened.
Her body stiffened.
"No," she whispered.
Her voice was soft at first.
But it grew stronger.
"No."
She stood slowly, holding the baby protectively.
Her gaze locked onto the prophet.
"I will not send my child away," she said.
"I will not abandon him."
The prophet lowered his head respectfully.
"You misunderstand," he replied gently.
"This is not abandonment."
He looked directly at her.
"This is survival."
The queen's chest rose and fell rapidly.
Tears gathered in her eyes.
She looked down at her son.
His tiny fingers wrapped around hers.
Trusting.
Helpless.
Innocent.
Her heart shattered.
The king finally stepped forward.
His voice was quiet.
Heavy.
"Where would we send him?"
The prophet turned toward the window.
His gaze stretched beyond the palace walls.
Far beyond the kingdom.
"To a place where no one will search," he said.
"A place forgotten by kings."
The captain frowned.
"You mean exile?"
The prophet nodded slowly.
"Yes."
The queen shook her head violently.
"No."
Her voice trembled.
"He is just a baby."
"He needs his mother."
The king's expression softened.
For the first time that night, his voice carried emotion.
"So do we," he said quietly.
"But if he stays here…"
He paused.
His jaw tightened.
"He will die."
The words struck her like a blade.
The truth she had been refusing to face.
The room fell silent again.
Only the distant sound of bells echoed through the night.
Minutes passed.
Heavy.
Unbearable minutes.
Then—
The queen slowly closed her eyes.
A single tear rolled down her cheek.
When she opened them again…
Her decision had been made.
Her voice came out barely above a whisper.
"Who will take him?"
The prophet turned toward the captain of the guard.
"Someone loyal."
"Someone strong."
"Someone willing to risk everything."
The captain hesitated.
Then stepped forward.
"I will go," he said.
His voice was steady.
Unshakable.
The king looked at him carefully.
"You understand what this means," he said.
"You may never return."
The captain nodded.
"I understand."
Silence followed.
Then the queen slowly walked toward him.
Each step felt heavier than the last.
Her arms trembled as she held out the child.
For a moment—
She could not let go.
Her fingers tightened instinctively.
Her breathing became uneven.
Her heart screamed in protest.
This was her son.
Her baby.
Her world.
Finally—
With shaking hands—
She placed the child into the captain's arms.
The moment felt like time itself had stopped.
Tears streamed down her face.
Her voice broke as she spoke.
"Protect him."
The captain held the baby carefully.
Gently.
Respectfully.
"I swear it," he said.
Suddenly—
A loud explosion echoed somewhere deep inside the palace.
BOOM.
The entire tower shook violently.
Dust fell from the ceiling.
The guards reached for their weapons.
The prophet's eyes widened.
"They're here," he whispered.
Another explosion followed.
Closer this time.
BOOM.
Screams echoed through the corridors.
Chaos erupted beyond the chamber doors.
The king drew his sword instantly.
His voice thundered with command.
"Go."
He looked directly at the captain.
"Take the child."
"Now."
The captain tightened his grip around the baby.
Without hesitation—
He turned and ran toward the hidden exit behind the chamber.
The queen collapsed to her knees.
Her strength finally gone.
Her heartbreaking.
Her voice trembling as she whispered into the empty air:
"My son…"
Behind the wall, the secret passage opened slowly.
Darkness swallowed the captain and the child as they disappeared into the tunnel.
Far below the palace—
Deep beneath layers of stone—
The ancient seal cracked once again.
A fourth fracture spread across its surface.
Chains rattled violently.
Dust fell from the ceiling.
And from the darkness below…
A deep voice whispered:
"The journey has begun."