The Imperial Healing Chambers were like temples—vast, cold, silent.
One chamber for the Crown Prince.
Another, distant and plain, for the nameless boy who had matched him.
Kael Riven lay unconscious, breath shallow, pulse barely holding.
His body was still cracked open from within—he had burned every last drop of Aura.
No one tended to him.
Lucien Thorne, by contrast, was wrapped in golden spells and divine chants.
Three Saint-rank healers rotated shifts day and night.
He was the future of the Empire.
Kael was just a question no one wanted to answer.
She waited until midnight.
The guards were asleep.
The wards had one blind spot—thanks to a trick she learned from her older brother's records.
In her hand was a small crystal vial, glimmering faintly under the moonlight.
An elixir from her family's most sacred vault.
It had no name.
Because it wasn't meant to exist.
Even her father had only spoken of it once.
"This is the kind of treasure you use to bring someone back from death—or worse."
She hadn't asked permission.
She hadn't hesitated either.
She stepped into Kael's room.
The boy who had bled for a pride not even his own.
The boy they'd left alone, as if his survival wasn't a miracle worth betting on.
He looked... small.
Not in size—but in weight.
Like the world had crushed him one bone at a time.
And yet—he was still here.
Selene kneeled beside him, uncorked the vial, and carefully dripped the clear, almost silver-like liquid past his lips.
His throat moved.
Once.
Then again.
A faint pulse of warmth spread through his limbs.
His body began to stabilize.
Flesh mended, organs flickered to life.
He still didn't wake—but the color returned to his skin.
She watched him for a long while, saying nothing.
Then whispered:
"Next time… don't die just to prove a point."
And she vanished.
Seventeen Days Later
The Empire had not forgotten the duel—but it had buried it beneath news, festivals, and fear.
Both boys were officially "under recovery."
Unofficially, no one had seen them.
Not even the Emperor himself had dared disturb their rest.
And then—
Morning broke.
And with it, Lucien Thorne opened his eyes.
He groaned softly, tried to move—but couldn't.
His body was numb, his mana still locked down by containment seals.
But he was alive.
He was awake.
That same evening, in the far chamber hidden from the nobility's gaze—
Kael Riven's eyes snapped open.
He gasped, like someone drowning.
Pain flared in every nerve.
But he was breathing.
His senses returned in broken waves.
He tried to sit up—and immediately collapsed.
Still too weak.
But he was aware.
And strangely... calm.
Two boys. Two recoveries.
Separated by politics.
United by pain.
And fated, it seemed, to rise on the same day.