Chapter 1114: The Forgotten Palace [Part 1]

Chapter 1114 – The Forgotten Palace [Part 1]

Cyrinne felt it touch her skin.

Protective.

Greedy.

Possessive in the way a locked vault was possessive of gold.

Lux activated it with a flick of his wrist.

Dark-gold threads bloomed from the hourglass and slipped beneath the Envy wards, weaving into Cyrinne’s false-room labyrinth without breaking it. Her illusions bent around the new protection, tasted it, accepted it.

Anyone entering now would not simply see an empty room. They would feel bored before reaching it. Forget why they came. Remember an urgent appointment elsewhere.

Cyrinne stared.

Lux lowered his hand. "Just in case."

She looked at the hovering artifact. "Fine," she said. "Better safe than sorry."

Cyrinne’s lashes lowered as she chanted.

The language was older than modern Hell dialect. Not as old as the First Covenant, but close enough to make Lux’s soul pay attention.

Ancient script spread from beneath the table.

Green letters crawled over black stone.

The flame grew taller.

Lux felt wind despite the sealed room.

It tugged at his hair, his suit, the edges of his soul. Not physical wind. The kind that blew through places no living body had stood in centuries.

Cyrinne opened her eyes.

They were fully green now.

"Give me your hand."

Lux held it out.

She took it.

Her fingers were cool.

The contact sealed the circle.

Immediately, the flame roared upward, swallowing the bowl, the table, the shadows above it. Green light painted Cyrinne’s face in something almost feral. Her grip tightened around his hand, and Lux felt the path hook into them both.

It was like a door opening inside his chest and asking him to step out of himself.

Lux’s pulse slowed.

Cyrinne chanted faster.

The flame darkened at the center.

A shadow appeared inside it.

Female.

Lux saw only an outline at first, long hair suspended as if underwater, a crown shape that might not have been a crown, wrists bound by something that was not chain but law. Her posture was still. Then the room grew heavier.

The air pressed down.

Cyrinne’s voice strained but did not break.

The black mirrors trembled.

Lux’s eyes locked on the shadow.

A whisper touched his ear.

Not Cyrinne’s voice.

A woman’s voice, low and dark, intimate as a secret spoken from inside a coffin.

"You came..." Lux’s fingers tightened around Cyrinne’s hand. The whisper smiled without smiling. "Lux Vaelthorn..."

His blood cooled.

Cyrinne’s chant snapped into one final word.

The flame opened. Like a mouth.

Wind slammed through the room, whipping Lux’s hair back, dragging at his soul with hooked fingers. The wards flashed. Then the green fire swallowed everything.

Lux felt his body drop away.

For one terrible second, he was nothing but hunger, will, and name.

Then he and Cyrinne’s consciousness were sucked into the flame.

Hell disappeared.

For one second, everything became black.

Then sight returned.

Slowly.

Like an old painting bleeding through smoke.

They stood inside a palace.

Or what had once been a palace.

The place was ruined, but not abandoned in the simple way. This was preserved decay, the kind that had been left untouched on purpose, like someone had ordered time to rot everything but never dared let it fall completely.

Pillars rose around them in broken rows, carved with faces whose features had been scratched away. Curtains hung from high arches in shredded strips, blackened by age, unmoving despite the wind whispering through shattered windows. The floor was cracked marble, once white, now gray with old ash and veins of dark mineral pulsing faintly beneath.

Everything smelled ancient.

Old stone. Old blood. Old magic. Old grief left too long in sealed rooms.

Lux stood very still.

But he and Cyrinne were not fully present.

Their bodies were not bodies here. They were shadows wearing the idea of form. Lux lifted one hand and saw his fingers half-transparent. His suit remained because apparently even astral crime respected wardrobe branding. Cyrinne beside him shimmered green-black at the edges, her dress moving like ink under water, her eyes sharper than the rest of her.

Lux did not like the sensation.

Cyrinne released his hand slowly. "Welcome," she whispered, "to the forgotten palace."

Lux looked around. "Charming. I hate it."

"Everyone does."

Before he could answer, both of them froze.

Movement.

Not far.

Cyrinne’s hand snapped up, two fingers pressing lightly against Lux’s chest, stopping him even though he had already stopped himself. Her eyes flicked left.

Lux followed.

Footsteps.

Metal.

Low voices.

They moved at the same time.

Lux slipped behind a collapsed pillar, his shadow-form thinning until he became almost indistinguishable from the crack running through the stone. Cyrinne vanished against a shredded curtain.

Three guards passed first.

Then five.

Then another four moving behind them in a slower pattern, weapons drawn, eyes scanning the ruins with disciplined suspicion.

Not ordinary guards.

Lux could tell before he saw the hidden royal markings beneath their armor. Their presence was too controlled. Their silence too trained. Each wore black steel layered with dull red sigils.

Lux counted.

Ten in the visible hall.

Then his eyes adjusted to the deeper ruin.

No.

More.

Two on the balcony above. One crouched near the broken staircase. Another half-hidden behind a statue with no face. Three more patrolling beyond a cracked archway, their silhouettes crossing the faint violet glow from outside.

Just this chamber alone had at least more than a dozen.

Probably closer to twenty.

Lux slowly looked at Cyrinne.

She was hidden across from him, only her eyes visible in shadow.

His gaze said, "You said enough."

Her gaze answered, "Yes. Enough to make me peek and return to my body after a few seconds, not enough to host a royal picnic."

Lux stared at her.

Cyrinne blinked once.

Almost innocent.

Lux huffed silently.

Okay.

This was bad.

Two hours to reach the chamber or whatever cage held the legendary demon.

And now there were royal guards crawling over the palace like ants on spilled honey.

Killing them loudly was idiotic.

Fighting openly was worse.

Even winning would announce them. Guards would converge. Kaelmor might learn Lux had come here before Lux even found what he needed.

No.

They had to move silently.

Kill only when necessary.

Hide the bodies or shadows, or whatever counted as bodies in this cursed place.

Do not get caught.

Do not die.

Simple plan.

Horrible execution.

Lux’s lips curved faintly.

Luckily, he was quite good at horrible execution.