Yureiv Lockhart

The heavy doors creaked open as the five members of the Demonfire clan stepped into Nicholson's office one by one, their presence unmistakable. Slacovich came in first, calm but alert, his sharp eyes sweeping the room. Diego followed behind, his usual casual stride a little more serious tonight. Harry and Tyler exchanged quiet glances as they entered next, picking up on the tension hanging in the air. The last to enter was Li. Her sharp gaze scanned the room the moment she stepped in, and her expression shifted the instant she saw Ania. She didn't speak right away, just crossed her arms and leaned against the nearest wall.

"Alright," she said coolly, her voice low but firm. "What's going on that couldn't wait 'til morning?"

Sofie stepped forward to greet them, her tone brisk. "Thanks for coming on short notice."

"We got the message," Slacovich said, his eyes moving to Ania, who stood close to the painting. "What's going on?"

Ania looked at them all, then back at the painting. "He's ready. But he wants everyone here before he starts."

Nicholson had already set up the camera on a tripod, angled toward the painting, recording steadily. The quiet buzz of the device filled the silence as the others positioned themselves around the room. No one spoke, the weight of anticipation settling over them.

Sofie moved beside Ania, lowering her voice. "Can you tell him… we're all here now?"

Ania nodded, placing her small hand gently on the frame. Her lips moved, whispering something the rest couldn't hear.

The painting began to shimmer faintly in the dim light, like something beneath the surface had finally stirred awake.

"He's coming," Ania said.

The painter's figure slowly emerged from the shadows of the painting, his form faint but unmistakable. Though his lips moved, no sound came out. He raised a hand, then pointed toward Ania.

Ania took a deep breath, steadying herself. "He says… he can't speak directly. But he wants me to tell you everything." She looked at the others, eyes sharp and steady.

Nicholson leaned in, curious. "So you're the messenger?"

Ania nodded. "Yes. He's showing me things, memories, secrets. But I have to say them out loud for you to understand."

The painter's silhouette gestured toward the queen in the painting, then made a slow sweeping motion across the background, as if unveiling hidden truths.

"He's trying to tell us about the past. About the king and queen… and something about betrayal," Ania said, voice low but clear.

Slacovich narrowed his eyes. "We'll need to hear it all. Ania, keep going."

Ania met the painter's gaze within the frame and spoke on. The room held its breath, waiting for the story to unfold through the child who had become their unlikely mediator.

The room was silent, the only sound a faint, shifting rustle from the painting as the silhouette moved once again. The painter's hand pressed over his chest, then drew a slow arc across the frame. Ania stood firm in front of it, eyes locked on his, then spoke.

"His name is Yureiv Lockhart… Y.L."

Nicholson's eyes flickered, and Sofie straightened slightly.

"He says he's not just any painter. He never worked for anyone but one person, Queen Nimpha," Ania continued, her voice steady. "Every painting he signed… it was always about her. Even if she wasn't the focus, she was always there. Somewhere."

Diego folded his arms, brows drawing together. "So he was obsessed."

"No," Ania said quickly, shaking her head. "Not like that. He says… he loved her. Since they were kids. They grew up together. She was his best friend."

A hush followed.

Ania looked back at the painting, then slowly turned her head to the group again. "She didn't love him that way. But she cared for him. She always did. When she was arranged to marry King Bartholomew, Yureiv accepted it. Because he saw the way Bartholomew loved her. He was happy for her. So he chose to stay by her side… as her exclusive painter."

The painter's form tilted forward, as if bowing slightly with pride and sorrow.

"They had three children," Ania went on softly, eyes beginning to gloss over, not with tears but as if she was seeing. "Two princes… and a daughter who looked just like her mother. A peaceful time. He thought it would last."

But the tone in her voice began to shift.

"Then… came the Barbarians."

A tension filled the room. Li's fingers twitched slightly. Tyler's jaw clenched.

"Their greed poisoned the land. They invaded the kingdom… and the peace was gone. They----" Ania stopped, her lips quivering. She drew in a trembling breath before continuing. "They raped the princess. And the queen. Their bodies were brought back… broken and humiliated… for the king to see."

A horrified silence swallowed the room whole.

"The king lost himself in rage. He went straight after their leader. But he didn't make it back. He was killed too."

Ania turned again to the painting, as if listening. Then she whispered, "Yureiv thought… that was the end. He thought Nimpha had died with them."

A long pause.

"Until he was summoned again… to paint her portrait. With a new king."

She looked down, fists clenched at her sides.

"And that was when everything changed."

Ania stood still, almost breathless, eyes clouded again as Yureiv continued through her. Everyone remained locked in place, listening not to her voice, but to the man speaking through her.

"A month had passed," she began again, quieter now. "Yureiv mourned the Queen like the rest of the Kingdom. He couldn't eat. He couldn't paint. He didn't want to. The news of the new King's enthronement didn't matter to him. He didn't care who it was."

Her voice dipped lower.

"But then… a letter came."

Nicholson's brow creased, his gaze flicking to the painting.

"It was from the palace. They wanted him to paint a portrait of the new King… with his Queen. Yureiv ignored it at first. Until he saw the name written at the bottom."

Ania raised her eyes, voice full of confusion and pain.

"Nimpha."

Slacovich's breath hitched. Harry looked away.

"He rushed to the palace. Didn't even pack his things. He ran with nothing but questions in his chest."

Ania turned back to the painting. Her fingers tightened into the hem of her shirt.

"And there she was."

A heavy silence. Then she continued.

"Sitting on a chair, dressed in the most beautiful gown. Her crown tilted just right. And beside her… the new King. One hand on her shoulder. A wide, smug smile like a man who just claimed his prize."

Ania's throat tightened, and for a moment it looked like she wouldn't continue.

"She was breathing… but she wasn't alive. Her eyes----" she looked up, voice cracking, "----her eyes were empty. The smile he used to know was gone. He called her name, but she didn't respond. She didn't even blink."

Nicholson closed his eyes for a moment, his hand tightening around the edge of his desk.

"Yureiv said he wanted to scream. But he couldn't. Not in front of the guards. Not in that room."

Ania faced the painting once more, her voice now filled with something heavier. Older.

"So he painted. He painted everything. Every single detail. The way her body leaned, not from grace, but from exhaustion. The way her hands curled slightly in her lap, no longer relaxed. The way the King's hand rested on her shoulder, like he owned her. Like she was the prize he took after the chaos."

Her voice turned sharper.

"And in that painting, Yureiv made a promise. That he would find out everything. That he would never let what he saw that day stay buried."

A faint shimmer traced the edge of the painting's glass, like something inside was trembling.

"And that's when he started to leave traces. Messages. Hidden reflections. Secrets in the brushstrokes. For someone, anyone, to find. Someday."

She turned slowly to the others.

"And now… we're here."

Sofie slowly stepped closer to Ania, her eyes locked on the painting that still faintly shimmered with the echo of something alive within.

"Ania," she said gently, "why were you so sure… so certain that neither of us is Nimpha?"

The little girl turned her head, her brows furrowed as if the question was too simple for what she knew. She looked up at Sofie, cheeks still streaked with faint tears, but her voice was calm.

"Because I've seen Nimpha."

The adults went still again.

"I don't mean in dreams or in old stories," Ania said, glancing back toward the glass that held Yureiv's trapped soul. "I mean I've seen her. The real her. She showed me herself… back when I touched the stone near the ruins of the old palace. I don't know how or why, but I felt her. I saw her pain, her voice… her fight."

She turned fully to face them.

"She's not here anymore. That soul is gone."

"But…" Slacovich hesitated. "You mean… reincarnation? You think Nimpha didn't come back?"

Ania shook her head. "No. She didn't move on either. She's still stuck somewhere. I don't know where, but it's not here. It's not Sofie. It's not me."

Sofie listened, stunned, her throat suddenly dry.

"But the resemblance…" Tyler murmured, looking at her.

"Looks can echo," Ania said, "but a soul… you can't mistake a soul once you've met it."

She turned back to the painting again, where the faint silhouette of Yureiv still lingered inside.

"Yureiv knows that too. He just doesn't want to believe it. Not after losing her twice."

Ania took a breath, her body still faintly trembling from the weight of everything she had seen. Her voice dropped to a softer tone, one that wasn't entirely hers.

"He wants to explain," she said, stepping closer to the painting. "He says it's time you understand why I saw what I saw."

Everyone leaned in, silent, listening through her.

"Yureiv was born with a rare gift," Ania continued. "The blood of an Elementalist ran through him, ancient magic long forgotten, long feared. But he didn't know. Not really. Not until the end."

Her hand hovered near the frame, not touching it.

"He says… his ability wasn't like others. It was tied to his passion. His hands. His paintings. Only through them could his magic breathe. When he painted someone, truly painted them, he unknowingly captured echoes of their soul. Memories, fragments, whispers of their truth… all sealed in the layers of brushstrokes and pigment."

Nicholson's brows furrowed in awe. "So he painted people into memory?"

"Not quite," Ania said softly. "He didn't steal anything from them. He just recorded… more than what the eye could see."

She glanced up at Sofie before speaking again, her voice deepening with Yureiv's own sorrow.

"It was only when he died, when he drew his final breath, that he realized what he had become. And in that final breath… he anchored himself inside the one piece that mattered most. The one where Nimpha was lost."

Her hand now rested against the wood frame, grounding herself.

"And when I asked him, when I demanded to know why he kept saying you were Nimpha, his power… it triggered. Something inside the painting responded. It pulled me in."

She looked at them all, her eyes wide with lingering dread.

"I was there. In Nimpha's last moments. She was heartbroken. Destroyed by the news that one of her sons had died. She'd risked everything to save the other, sending him away with the help of a maid and a knight she trusted more than anyone. She knew she wouldn't survive… not after what had been done to her… not with Uldeir watching her every step."

Ania's voice cracked as she repeated it.

"She didn't wait for anyone. She took her own life."

There was silence. Dead silence.

Ania took a shaky breath, tears barely held back. "Even Yureiv didn't know. Not until I saw it. He was never there. He only found out now… through me."

The painting seemed to darken slightly behind her, the silhouette of Yureiv pressing faintly against the canvas, as if grieving all over again.

"And that's why he was wrong," Ania whispered. "Because Nimpha… died with no one to hear her last breath."