Chapter 99 - - 99 - The Hollow Eyes

Chapter 99: Chapter - 99 - The Hollow Eyes

It had been almost three days since he had arrived in Azurefall, and Aelene was tending to him. It was only a matter of time now. His astral pool was nearly recovered—once it was whole again, he would be able to stand, to speak with her, to tell her that he needed her help. Just one more day. It was almost healed.

Prince Andrin lay motionless on the bed of the healing sanctuary, his body a prison of lead and glass. The faint hum of restorative energy pulsed through the chamber, a lullaby of ancient magic that should have soothed him. Instead, it only measured the slow, agonizing crawl of time.

What...my astral pool...it’s healing at a rapid rate. How? The thought surfaced through the fog of exhaustion, sharp and suspicious. Did Aelene manage to save me faster than I expected? I know she wouldn’t be able to see me in this condition for much longer. It was the right decision to ask for her help.

He tried to move his fingers. Nothing. The connection between his will and his body felt like a rope stretched too thin, frayed and ready to snap. But his astral pool—the reservoir of his very essence—was filling. Slowly. Steadily. Like a wellspring replenishing itself after a long drought.

Maybe...agh...maybe I can open my eyes.

The effort was monumental. His lids felt as though they had been sealed with iron. He pushed against the weight, against the darkness that had held him for days, and forced them open. The world swam into focus, blurry and distorted, the dim light of the sanctuary like needles stabbing into his skull.

And what he saw was something worse than a nightmare.

Lucien stood beside his bed.

His blonde hair caught the silver moonlight streaming through the high windows, casting his features in sharp relief—an angel carved from ice and malice. His hands hovered over Andrin’s chest, fingers splayed, and from them flowed a dark, twisted stream of energy. It coiled into Andrin’s astral pool like poison poured into a clear spring, violating the very essence of his being.

"What...what are you doing here...you...bastard?" The words tore from Andrin’s throat in a ragged gasp, each syllable a shard of broken glass.

Lucien’s head tilted, a slow, predatory motion. His grin widened, revealing teeth that gleamed in the moonlight. "Ohh, if it isn’t Prince Andrin. Welcome back."

The voice was silk wrapped around a blade. Andrin’s blood ran cold, his already weakened heart stuttering in his chest. He knew that voice. He knew that face. He had seen it in his nightmares every night since his life had crumbled to ash.

"How...how are you here?" It wasn’t a question. It was a plea, a desperate attempt to understand how the architect of his destruction could be standing before him, in the heart of Azurefall, in a place that was supposed to be safe.

Lucien’s grin didn’t waver. If anything, it deepened, carving cruel lines into his handsome face. "Well...as you can see, I’m healing you. You know I’m a good guy, Prince Andrin." He let the words hang in the air, dripping with mockery. "And trust me, Prince, if you were really important to Aelene, she would have given you her private quarters in her home to give you time for your recovery. But did she?"

The question was a blade, and it found its mark. Andrin’s breath caught. He had wondered the same thing, in the dark hours of his convalescence. Why the healing sanctuary? Why not her home?

Lucien leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Well...well...well, how could she? She has a fiancé. What would happen if an outsider—on top of being a human—appeared in her chambers for recovery? And you knew it. Her fiancé is Prince Rumil of Azurefall." He paused, savoring the words. "Hmmm. Now I’m really curious. But that’s an experiment for the future. For now..."

He moved closer, his face inches from Andrin’s. The moonlight caught his eyes, and Andrin saw nothing in them. No anger. No hatred. Just a vast, hollow emptiness that was somehow more terrifying than any rage.

"For now, I just healed you enough so you know what I’m going to do." Lucien’s smile was a wound. "Ahhhh, I find it so much pleasure just torturing you."

"What did...I...ever...do to you?" The question was genuine, torn from somewhere deep inside Andrin’s chest. He had spent countless nights wondering the same thing, replaying every moment of his life, searching for the sin that had brought this monster to his door.

Lucien blinked, as if the question surprised him. Then he laughed—a soft, chilling sound. "Nothing, really. I’m just bored, to be honest. I don’t care about Valtheria or who rules in Valtheria. But it’s just fun to mess with you." He shrugged, as if discussing the weather. "So here’s what will happen. Some day, I might come here again. For dual cultivation, of course. With your lover." He paused, letting the words sink in like poison. "I mean, She’s already warming to me. So don’t worry about her. I’ll take care of her."

Andrin’s vision went red. His body, broken and weak, screamed with the effort of trying to move, to lunge, to wrap his hands around that pale throat.

"As for your dream of acquiring Valtheria..." Lucien continued, his voice utterly calm. "Trust me when I say this. You’ll regret breaking from your prison."

"YOU BASTARD! I’LL END YOUR WHOLE BLOODLINE!" The scream tore through Andrin’s throat, raw and primal, every ounce of his fury and despair poured into those words. His body convulsed on the bed, but he couldn’t move, couldn’t reach, couldn’t do anything but scream.

Lucien leaned in close, so close that Andrin could smell him—something cold and metallic, like blood on snow. "Look at my eyes," he whispered. "Do you really see fear?"

Andrin looked. He looked into those pale, empty depths, and what he saw there made his blood freeze in his veins. There was nothing. No fear. No anger. No humanity. Just an endless, hollow void, like staring into the abyss of a starless night. Lucien wasn’t torturing him because he wanted something. He wasn’t doing it for revenge or power or any of the reasons Andrin could understand.

He was doing it simply because he could.

The last thing Prince Andrin saw was Lucien reaching into the air beside him, his hand disappearing into a tear in reality itself. When it emerged, it held something small and dark, something that squirmed and pulsed with a sickly light. Lucien’s fingers pried Andrin’s jaw open, and he forced the thing into his mouth.

Andrin tried to resist. He tried to clamp his jaw shut, to spit it out, to do anything. But his body was a traitor, weak and broken, and the thing slithered down his throat like a living shadow. It tasted of rot and copper and something ancient, something wrong.

He had no choice but to swallow.

"Don’t worry," Lucien said, straightening up and smoothing his robes as if nothing had happened. "I’ll be back. Till then...live in fear."

He turned and walked back to his own bed, settling onto the crisp white sheets with the casual grace of a man returning from a pleasant stroll. He closed his eyes, and his breathing slowed.

Andrin lay there, his chest heaving, his mind reeling. The thing in his stomach squirmed, and he felt it settling into his astral pool like a parasite finding its host. The tears came then, hot and silent, streaming down his cheeks as he stared at the ceiling.

He was trapped. He was broken. And the monster was sleeping three feet away.

Lucien went inside his astral pool.

It was a vast, dark space—the reflection of his soul, the core of his cultivation. Where most realm masters pools were clear and bright, theirs shimmering with the accumulated power of years of practice, Lucien’s was a bottomless abyss. And he delighted in its depths.

He reached into the darkness and began to hurt himself.

The first crack appeared in the walls of his pool, a jagged line of crimson that spread like lightning across a black sky. He felt the pain, sharp and bright, and he welcomed it. Pain was the only thing that felt real anymore. Pain was the only thing that cut through the endless, crushing boredom of existence.

He threw more blood, watching it splatter against the walls of his astral pool, watching the cracks deepen and spread. Then he took out a handkerchief—white, pristine—and wiped the blood from his hands, his face, his robes. He tossed the stained cloth aside and closed his eyes.

Hurting myself again, he thought, a faint smile playing at his lips. But for someone like me, recovery is not a problem.

He had healed himself from worse. He had healed himself from death itself, more times than he cared to count. His body was a tool, a vessel, and he could break it and mend it as easily as a child might break and mend a toy.

For now, it was pretty easy to stop him, he mused, his consciousness drifting in the dark waters of his astral pool. Now he can’t talk with Aelene anymore. At least for a few more days. But I have to look for some permanent solution. Something more fun.

The thought filled him with a warm, contented glow. There were so many possibilities. So many delicious ways to break a man. And Prince Andrin, with his noble heart and his desperate dreams, was proving to be a truly delightful plaything.

After a few days, Lucien had recovered.

The cracks in his astral pool had healed, leaving no trace of the damage he had inflicted upon himself. He moved through the healing sanctuary as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn’t spent the past three days languishing in a bed that was meant to be his resting place. Besriel came to see him every day, and she would spend time with him, sitting by his bedside, her eyes filled with worry and something softer, something warmer.

When Lucien finally woke—on the morning of the fourth day—Besriel was already there. She threw herself at him the moment she saw his eyes open, wrapping her arms around his neck, pressing herself against him.

"Oh, Axel! I was so worried! I thought you might not wake up!"

Lucien returned the embrace, his arms circling her waist. "I’m sorry to have worried you," he murmured, his voice warm and gentle. "But I’m fine now. See?"

Aelene stood at the foot of his bed, watching them with a knowing smile. "Well, it seems like you’ve recovered. That’s really fast—you must have great cultivation. And you two will get a lot of time to do this, but please stop now."

Besriel pulled back, her cheeks flushed, but she didn’t move far. She kept one hand resting on Lucien’s arm, her fingers curled around his sleeve.

"I’m glad you’re awake now, Axel," she said, her voice soft. "I’m so sorry it all happened because of me. To save me, you pushed yourself too much. I’m so sorry."

Lucien reached up and cupped her cheek, his palm warm against her skin. He smiled—a gentle, loving smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. "Don’t worry, Besriel. It’s not your fault. Even if I had died, I would have been glad that I saved you."

The words were perfect. The tone was perfect. Besriel’s eyes glistened, and she leaned into his touch.

Aelene, meanwhile, had turned her attention to the other occupied bed in the sanctuary. She stood beside Prince Andrin, her brow furrowed as she examined the faint aura of his astral pool. "I wonder why he isn’t waking up. He has almost the same problem as you—he was recovering as well. But I don’t know what happened. His astral pool became empty again."

Lucien’s gaze drifted to the bed where Andrin lay, still and pale as a corpse. "Is he your friend?" he asked, his voice laced with polite curiosity.

"Yeah...my childhood friend," Aelene replied, her voice heavy with worry. "I don’t know how he became like this. What happened to him?"

"Where is he from?" Lucien asked, tilting his head as if the question had just occurred to him. "You know, as a fellow human, I’m curious."

"He’s from Valtheria."

Lucien paused. He let the name hang in the air, let his eyes widen slightly, let his expression shift into one of dawning realization. "Valtheria...could it be? No, maybe..."

He was deep in thought, as if trying to make connections, as if the puzzle pieces were only now beginning to fit together. He was careful, so very careful, to let his words seem reluctant, as if he were struggling with something he didn’t want to say.

"Did Sir Axel know something about...did something happen in Valtheria?" Aelene asked, her voice sharp with sudden panic. Her eyes were wide, her hands trembling slightly.

"I don’t know if I should say this," Lucien said slowly, as if the words pained him. "But...spreading rumors isn’t my taste. Especially if it’s from another country. As a traveler, I don’t want to become someone who spreads rumors."

"Maybe this could be related to him," Aelene pressed. "Please, Sir Axel. Help me figure out what could have happened to my friend Andrin."

Lucien let out a long breath, as if he were wrestling with himself. Then he nodded. "I should say it. If it could help..." He paused, his eyes meeting Aelene’s with a look of genuine concern. "When I was traveling, I stopped in a village in Valtheria, and I heard people are getting missing. Over the past few days...but only realm masters. And if their bodies were found, they would be completely dried, as if someone sucked their astral pool from them. Rumors were that it could be a powerful demonic realm master. Or maybe a group of realm masters."

Aelene’s face went pale. "Could it be?"

"Yes," Lucien said, his voice soft but certain. "Maybe your friend here might have been a victim of that."

"Oh, poor Andrin," Aelene whispered, her hand rising to cover her mouth. "And how bad have things been in Valtheria then?"

"I heard the prince of Valtheria was missing at that time," Lucien said, as if the thought had just come to him. "Also, I think he was in jail as well, for some reason. But I don’t have any answers. That’s all I know."

"In jail?" Aelene’s brow furrowed. "But why? Did someone frame him?"

"I wish I could have helped you more, Lady Aelene," Lucien said, his tone full of regret. "But I don’t think I can. I have given all the information I had."

Aelene shook her head, a rueful smile crossing her lips. "Ah, I’m sorry, Sir Axel. You’re also recovering, and I’m interrogating you like this. I should go. And from now on, you can go back to Besriel’s house. You’ve recovered, but in a few days, you might need to come again to the healing sanctuary to check on your recovery."

She turned and left, her footsteps echoing in the quiet chamber.

Lucien watched her go, his expression unreadable. Well...the seed has been planted, he thought, a cold satisfaction spreading through his chest. Now just a few more days, and it’ll be fun. Andrin, oh Andrin...you made a wrong choice. A very wrong choice.

He turned his attention back to Besriel, who was still close beside him. His hand rested lightly against her back.

"Did you miss me, Besriel?" he asked, his voice a low murmur.

She looked up at him, her eyes dark with something that was not quite love and not quite desire—something confused, something she didn’t fully understand. "Yes...I didn’t know I would become so attached to you. But I can’t help myself."

"It’s not your fault," Lucien said, a confident gleam entering his eyes. "If I’m so charming."

He pulled her into another brief embrace, holding her close.

"Axel," she said, her voice muffled against his chest. "I think we should be more careful. I heard there is a man-eater going around, attacking realm masters hiding in darkness."

Lucien’s hand stilled for just a moment. Then he smiled.

That’s interesting, he thought.