It had been thirty-four days since Raezel arrived in Velmor.
And for the first time, the people were beginning to adjust to his presence.
At first, there was only fear—whispers in the streets, cautious glances from merchants, stiff bows from guards who barely concealed their trembling. But as the days passed, something unexpected happened.
They realized Raezel wasn't the monster they had imagined.
The blacksmiths saw him walking through the market like anyone else. The bakers noticed he never made demands. The street vendors, once too afraid to even look at him, found themselves making quiet sales—not because he forced them, but because he paid like any other customer.
And then, something even stranger happened.
A merchant—one of the older ones, with years of weariness in his eyes—refused Raezel's payment.
Raezel, holding a loaf of bread in one hand and a few coins in the other, raised a brow. "You won't take my money?"
That evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, Nyra found Raezel standing near the palace balcony, staring out at the city.
"You're brooding," she said, leaning against the railing beside him.
Raezel smirked. "I'm thinking."
Nyra snorted. "That's the same thing."
They stood there for a moment, watching Velmor's streets glow under the light of lanterns.
Then Nyra stretched. "Come with me."
Raezel gave her a sideways glance. "Where?"
Nyra grinned. "Just trust me."
Reluctantly, he followed her through the city's winding streets, past the market district, past the quiet homes, and finally up a narrow, crumbling staircase leading to an old watchtower.
When they reached the top, Raezel raised a brow. "You brought me to a pile of bricks?"
Nyra rolled her eyes. "Shut up and look."
And he did.
From up here, Velmor stretched beneath them, bathed in silver moonlight. The river shimmered in the distance, the streets below were alive with quiet movement, and beyond the city's walls, the mountains stood tall like silent guardians.
It was beautiful.
Nyra plopped down on the stone floor, arms resting behind her head. "This is my favorite place in the whole city."
Raezel sat beside her, glancing at her. "Why?"
Nyra sighed. "Because from up here, Velmor doesn't seem so... broken. You can almost pretend it's just like any other kingdom."
Raezel leaned back, resting his arms on his knees. "But it's not."
Nyra shook her head. "No. But I like to pretend, sometimes."
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Nyra turned to him, smirking. "What about you? If you could be anywhere else right now, where would you go?"
Raezel didn't answer right away. He thought about it—about the Dark Realm, about his mother's throne, about places he'd been and places he'd never see.
And then he simply said, "Here is fine."
Nyra blinked. Then, to his surprise, she smiled.
They stayed there for a while, just watching the city.
But as the night stretched on, something changed.
A cold wind rolled through the streets, carrying a strange weight with it.
Velmor was quiet—too quiet.
Raezel suddenly tensed. His golden eyes flickered toward the horizon, his expression unreadable.
Nyra noticed. "What is it?"
Raezel exhaled softly. "She's coming."
Nyra blinked. "She?"
But before he could answer—
A messenger burst through the palace gates, panting heavily.
The King, still awake in the halls, turned sharply. "What is it?"
The messenger fell to one knee, his face pale.
"Queen Medusa approaches Velmor."
Silence.
The King gripped the armrests of his throne. He had expected this day to come—but not so soon.
"When?" he asked, his voice tight.
"By dawn."
A shudder passed through the room.
The King closed his eyes briefly. So, it was time.
He turned to his advisors, his voice firm. "Wake the court. Prepare the palace."
He knew Medusa was coming—but that did not make her presence any less terrifying.