Chapter 233: Power? Or Principle?

The prisoner’s lips slowly curled into a smile.

He looked past Theron toward the rocky cliffs surrounding the valley. Hidden among the shadows, he knew they were there.

His brothers.

Their order had one unbreakable principle. They never abandoned one of their own.

He laughed under his breath despite the prince’s grip. "We are many," he said. "You cannot hold me forever. They will—"

A sharp hiss sliced through the air.

It was so fast it scarcely made a sound, only a violent disturbance that split the wind itself.

Kael’s eyes widened. "Your Highness!"

He threw himself forward, slamming into Theron’s shoulder.

The two of them crashed sideways.

An instant later, the compressed blade of air struck the prisoner squarely in the temple. The impact sounded less like steel and more like stone shattering. Blood sprayed across the ground.

The man’s head snapped violently to one side before his body collapsed, lifeless.

Silence.

Theron pushed himself upright, his eyes already searching the cliffs.

"There!"

Lord Hector reacted first.

Blue-white lightning burst from his hands, branching across the mountainside with deafening cracks. The bolts struck the rocks in violent explosions, sending showers of shattered stone tumbling down the slopes.

For the briefest instant, several dark figures emerged from behind the smoke before turning to flee.

Kael disappeared. One heartbeat he stood beside Theron. The next, he had melted into the shadows.

He reappeared only moments later, not because he had returned willingly.

A wall of darkness rose before him, smooth as polished obsidian, severing every shadowed path ahead. The barrier refused him passage.

Kael froze.

For the first time in years... Someone had blocked a Vantaris shadow step.

The fleeing figures vanished beyond the ridge. The wall dissolved as though it had never existed.

Kael remained where he stood, staring at the empty mountainside. "...Impossible."

Theron turned toward Lord Hector. "You recognize that technique?"

The older lord’s eyes lingered on the distant cliffs before he slowly looked back at the prince. "I was about to ask Your Highness the same question."

Theron had no answer. But something told him Lord Hector Sylvarien knew more than he revealed.

Kael finally walked back, his expression darker than before. "They attempted to steal the cotton," he reported. "Perhaps they were only bandits."

Theron looked down at the dead prisoner. "Bandits flee when cornered." His gaze shifted toward the shattered skull. "They do not silence their own."

Honor existed even among thieves.

Whoever had attacked tonight... they followed something colder than honor. Something far more dangerous.

Kael bowed slightly.

"I will investigate them, Your Highness."

Theron nodded, but his eyes remained fixed upon the mountains.

"Do so."

After burying the dead man, the camp stayed awake for the remainder of the night.

Double watches were posted around every wagon. No one complained. The attack had stripped away any illusion that this journey would be peaceful.

Theron personally remained on guard until well past midnight before finally allowing Kael to take over the watch.

Only then did he close his eyes.

He knew they’d face troubles. And he thought that no matter how exhausting the journey, he would always find Aveline in his dreams.

And tonight... He had hoped... No. He had needed to see her, to hear her voice, and to hold her, if only for a little while before dawn.

But sleep passed without her.

When morning came, it was empty.

-----

Far away, in the capital of Eryndale, another pair of eyes remained open through the night.

Aveline sat quietly beside Lydia’s bed, keeping her silent vigil.

Sleep never came for her either.

It was sometime around dawn when Lydia finally stirred.

Aveline, who had not slept the entire night, noticed the faint movement immediately. She straightened in her chair, hope blooming so suddenly inside her that it almost hurt.

"Lydia?"

The girl’s eyelashes fluttered.

Slowly... Very slowly... Her eyes opened.

For a brief moment, they were unfocused, wandering across the unfamiliar ceiling. Then they found Aveline. Relief flooded Aveline’s face.

"Lydia..." She leaned forward with a trembling smile. "You scared me."

Lydia simply stared. There was no recognition in those vacant eyes. Only confusion.

Then... Recognition returned.

And with it... Terror.

Lydia recoiled violently, scrambling backward across the bed despite the pain it caused her battered body. Her breathing became frantic, and she threw both hands in front of herself as though shielding herself from another blow.

"N-no..." The broken whisper barely escaped her lips. "Please..."

Aveline froze.

Her own hand, which had instinctively reached toward Lydia, stopped halfway before quietly retreating.

"It’s me." She forced her voice to soften. "Lydia... it’s me."

"You are safe."

"No one will hurt you here."

Lydia continued shaking. Every hurried breath seemed to scrape painfully through her chest.

Aveline remained exactly where she was. She did not move closer. She did not reach for her again. Instead, she slowly lowered herself back into the chair.

"You don’t have to be afraid of me." The words came gently, patiently. "I won’t touch you."

Minutes passed.

Little by little, Lydia’s breathing slowed. The panic did not disappear. It merely loosened its grip enough for her to stop trembling quite so violently.

Only then did Aveline speak again. Her voice was almost a whisper.

"Lydia..." She swallowed the lump in her throat. "Who did this to you?"

Lydia’s body stiffened. The fear returned instantly. Her pupils trembled. Her lips parted, but no sound came out.

Instead, tears gathered in her eyes. Her head began shaking.

Once.

Twice.

Again.

"No..."

She wasn’t refusing to answer. She couldn’t. The memory itself had become too frightening to speak.

Aveline’s heart clenched. She had seen fear before. She had lived with fear.

But this... This was different.

Lydia wasn’t afraid of remembering. She was afraid of what would happen if she spoke.

Aveline lowered her eyes. She already had her answer.

Whoever had done this... had made certain Lydia believed silence was safer than the truth.

A quiet resolve settled inside her. She reached for the bowl of warm broth on the bedside table instead.

"We won’t talk about it."

She managed a small smile, though tears threatened to fall once more.

"Not today. You’ve already survived enough. You can tell me when you’re ready. If that day never comes..." Her fingers tightened around the bowl. "...then I’ll find them myself."

Lydia looked at her.

Fresh tears rolled silently down her bruised cheeks. For the first time since waking... She gave the smallest nod, not because she believed the nightmare was over.

But because... For the first time since it began... Someone had chosen not to force anything from her.

Aelion watched it all from the outside. He clenched his hands to balls.

What will you do next, Ava? Will you still talk about rules? Or will you use your power to weed out the rot?