"Whe—Where am I?"
Eyes strained to focus, a sharp ache pulsing at the temples, but the world remained a blur. The ground beneath spun, waves of dizziness crashing over, as the edges of vision flickered, desperately trying to make sense of the chaos around.
This place… This place is where I lived before.
A voice called out—strained, broken. Each word was ragged, torn from the depths of agony.
"Medusa..."
A figure came into view. A body, crumpled, blood spilling from the spear that pierced through his chest. Breath came in painful, shallow gasps, barely clinging to life.
The world fractured. Her body shook, as if crushed under the weight of realization. She couldn't move. Trapped. Her heart ached, as if it might shatter into a million pieces.
"I'm sorry. I have to leave you alone. Take care of you… take care of Nyssa and Krios..."
Her heart stuttered. It felt as though it was beating so fast she might implode. Each breath grew heavier, trapped in her chest, as if the air itself had turned to stone. The weight of the world pressed down, limbs frozen.
She couldn't move.
She couldn't breathe.
Each second was an eternity of crushing suffocation.
"Theron... Theron... THERONNN!"
A scream ripped through the air. A voice raw, broken, torn from the deepest part of the soul—as if the very world around her might shatter under the weight of it.
***
Again, that dream…
A soft voice—like a whisper cutting through the fog of her mind.
"Velrith, you…"
Medusa stirred, sitting up in her bed, rubbing her eyes with the first two fingers of her right hand. Sweat clung to her skin, the terror of the dream lingering like a dark cloud.
When she began to rise, ready to leave the room…
"Let it go… this pain is eating you internally," Velrith said softly, his voice filled with weight.
She stilled.
Velrith's gaze flickered, his brows pulling together ever so slightly. It was brief—almost imperceptible—but the way his fingers tensed at his side betrayed him.
He had seen this before.
And it still unsettled him.
Medusa remained silent for a long moment. The words hung between them, heavy.
Then, she muttered—low, firm, unshaken.
"This pain reminds me of him… I can't."
With that, she turned and walked away, leaving the room behind.
***
A lone figure stood in the center of Velmor's royal hall, draped in a white cloak lined with silver embroidery.
He didn't move.
He didn't speak.
Yet—every single eye was on him.
Who is he?
Why is he here?
Is he from Arathis? He looks richer than our king.
The whispers spread like wildfire among the nobles. Even King Eldors shifted uncomfortably on his throne.
Yet—the man in white paid them no mind.
He stood perfectly still, expression unreadable.
Then—
"Right on schedule. Just like always."
Nyssa's voice cut through the murmurs as she strode into the hall.
The nobles whipped their heads toward her.
King Eldors frowned. "You… know this man?"
Nyssa barely glanced at him. "He's a messenger."
She slipped a few letters into the messenger's waiting hands. Smooth. Effortless.
King Eldors' gaze narrowed. "What's in those letters? And who are they for?"
Nyssa's lips curled slightly.
"Just pest control."
The king stiffened. "Pest control!?"
Murmurs grew louder, uneasy.
Then—one noble suddenly gasped.
"Wait—Messenger! The symbol embroidered on your cloak's right side…" The noble leaned forward, tension creeping into his voice. "That's the mark of the Silver Merchants… Are you associated with them?"
The Messenger finally acknowledged the room.
He slowly turned his head and gave a single nod.
Silence slammed into the hall.
Then—
"Princess Nyssa…" another noble hesitated. "Are you also associated with the Silver Merchants?"
Nyssa did not blink.
She did not waver.
"I am."
The weight of those two words crushed the room.
King Eldors' face was unreadable, his fingers tightening against the armrests of his throne.
The nobles exchanged stunned glances, the realization sinking in.
Raezel, standing near the back, exhaled quietly. His golden eyes flickered toward Nyssa, calculating.
"So this was her plan all along."
Krios—arms folded—huffed, a lazy smirk creeping onto his lips.
"Of course it was."
The Messenger carefully tucked the letters into his cloak. Then—before turning to leave—
He smirked.
A knowing, self-assured smirk.
Then—without another word—
He was gone.
And the weight of what had just happened lingered.
***
The study was a place carved out of time itself—ancient, elegant, and untouched by dust or decay.
The high walls were lined with towering blackwood bookshelves, filled with obsidian-leather tomes and parchment as old as forgotten gods.
Faint golden light flickered from enchanted lanterns, their glow casting long, restless shadows.
Near the center, a massive stone desk stood like an altar of power—its surface carved with serpentine patterns. Every inch of the study bore Medusa's essence—cold, calculating, yet undeniably regal.
And yet—despite its grandeur… It was empty.
Medusa sat at her desk, her golden eyes distant as she stared through the arched window.
The night stretched endlessly before her—cold and vast.
Her fingers tapped softly against the wooden table—two slow beats. Over and over.
Then—
"If you're feeling lonely… why not call them?"
Velrith's voice was gentle, yet firm.
Medusa did not turn.
"For a long time, I had to stay away from them while I built everything," she said, voice even. "How can I call them back now… when they are building something of their own?"
A pause.
"Just because I'm feeling lonely?"
Velrith watched her carefully.
"You built everything so your children wouldn't have to struggle. So they wouldn't have to face what you did. So they wouldn't have to fight for like you did."
Her voice softened.
"Then why do you keep them away now?"
Medusa lowered her gaze.
"They wanted to make me proud."
Velrith frowned. "You're not proud of them?"
Medusa's fingers still.
"So much." Her voice wavered. "I am so proud of my children."
Yet—she said nothing more.
The room fell into silence.
The only sound left was the faint scratching of her fingers against the desk, tracing the old carvings as if searching for an answer.
Outside—the night stretched cold and endless.
And within—Medusa sat alone.