The Evils.

Victor's gaze sharpened as he leaned forward, his voice barely above a whisper. "Where could the crown be hidden?"

I met his eyes, shaking my head. "I have no idea."

"It has to be somewhere the Queen favored." His expression grew thoughtful. "Could it be in the jungle?"

I exhaled sharply, frustration bubbling up. "I don't know, bro!"

Victor raised his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright. I'll make you some tea." He turned toward the small fire pit in the corner, gathering supplies.

Something about his ease unsettled me, but I pushed the thought aside and refocused on the book in my hands. My fingers trembled as I turned the ancient pages, my breath catching at the ominous words inked onto the fragile parchment:

"The crown cannot be destroyed. If shattered, the entire kingdom will cease to exist. The evils will awaken in blind rage, slaughtering every soul in their path, feeding on their power..."

A chill crawled up my spine. My pulse quickened as my eyes darted to the next line:

"Evils are powerful, but they have weaknesses. They fear the sun. They do not kill during daylight but keep their victims captive, draining their energy to strengthen themselves. However, if a spirit awakens even in the sun, it is among the most powerful. These creatures can replicate or take any form. There is only one way to kill them, and evils can be destroyed by—"

I turned the page—

But the words weren't there. The page had been torn.

Who did this?

My grip tightened on the book as I shot a glance toward Victor. He was humming softly, stirring tea over the fire like nothing had happened. My instincts flared. Something was off.

Then it hit me.

Tea.

Tea didn't exist in this time period.

Victor knew that. If this was truly him, he wouldn't have even attempted to make it. And—his clothes. He was still wearing the same outfit from the moment he arrived at the palace. No one would risk wearing the same attire if they were trying to avoid suspicion.

This wasn't Victor.

A cold shiver raced down my spine. I stood abruptly, my heart pounding in my ears.

A sharp pain exploded in my skull. My vision blurred.

Then I heard it.

A whisper. Faint, eerie, laced with an unnatural echo.

"Get... out... now..."

My head throbbed, the weight of an unseen force pressing down on me. I tried to speak—to call out to Victor—but my mouth produced only silence.

And then I felt it.

Fingers. Ice-cold and invisible, curling around my throat, squeezing.

I gasped, my hands clawing at empty air. The book slipped from my grip, forgotten. My feet stumbled backward, dragging me toward the door. My lungs burned. My vision darkened.

I had to get out.

Summoning the last of my strength, I lunged for the door, wrenching it open-

"Where are you going?"

Victor's voice.

I froze.

He stood in the doorway, his lips curling into a slow, sinister smirk.

My pulse roared in my ears.

"So... you figured it out?" His voice dripped with amusement as he took a slow step forward.

Instinct screamed at me to move. I staggered back, my breath shallow, my muscles coiled.

Then—an arrow.

It sliced through the air, whistling past my ear before embedding itself in Victor's neck.

For a brief moment, he didn't react. Then—his smirk never faltering—his body crumbled into ashes.

The instant he was gone, the unbearable pain in my head vanished. The weight, the whispers, the unseen grip—it all disappeared as if it had never existed.

I barely had time to process what had happened when a firm hand clamped onto my shoulder.

"So, it only took one arrow?"

The voice was familiar. Confident. Almost disappointed.

"I expected him to last at least two" Prince Osirian remarked, his golden eyes gleaming under the dim torchlight. "Pathetic."

I turned sharply, my breathing still uneven. "You?"

"Me." He gave a lazy smirk. "Father sent me for you."

I frowned, suspicion creeping in. "How is this possible? Victor was fine yesterday!"

Osirian crossed his arms. "That wasn't Victor."

A cold dread settled in my gut. "What do you mean?"

"The real Victor left the palace. I saw him go. It's possible he was attacked by an Evil, and the creature took his form." His voice was calm—too calm for someone discussing monsters that could mimic the dead.

I clenched my fists, anger and doubt twisting inside me. Something still felt wrong.

Osirian tilted his head, studying me. "You're blaming me, aren't you?" His smirk deepened. "Well, I suppose I can't blame you for that."

His nonchalant tone only fueled my rage.

And then—

I saw it.

His shadow.

It didn't match his movements.

Realization struck like lightning.

"You…" My voice dropped to a whisper.

Osirian chuckled. "Ah. So you finally figured it out."

He wasn't Prince Osirian.

His voice was calm, almost amused, but there was a flicker of irritation beneath it. He had wanted me to remain clueless a little longer.

Before I could react, he moved—fast. Too fast.

A crushing grip closed around my throat, lifting me off the ground. My lungs burned as I clawed at his hands, but his strength was unnatural, unyielding. His fingers felt cold as death, his touch like iron shackles.

"Did you really think you could outsmart me? Do you really think destroying crown is the answer?" he sneered, tilting his head. His voice had changed—it was deeper, layered with an eerie distortion.

Dark veins pulsed beneath his skin, and his face began to shift, distorting like melting wax before reforming into something monstrous. His once-handsome features twisted into a grotesque mockery of Osirian's face, his teeth lengthening into jagged fangs. His nails sharpened into talons, their tips pressing dangerously against my skin.

My vision blurred. My body screamed for air.

Not like this.

I summoned every ounce of strength I had left and slammed my knee into his ribs. He barely flinched, but the distraction was enough—I twisted my body and kicked off his chest, forcing him to release me.

I hit the ground hard, rolling away just as his claws slashed through the air where my head had been a second ago. Dust kicked up around us, and I scrambled to my feet, my heart pounding.

He let out a guttural laugh, his elongated fingers flexing. "Pathetic. You're weak. You humans always are."

I wiped the blood from my lip and narrowed my eyes. "Then why are you afraid of sunlight?"

His smirk faltered. Just for a second.

I launched myself at him.

He was fast, but I was faster.

I ducked under his next swipe, driving my fist into his gut, then pivoted and elbowed his jaw. The impact made his head snap back, but he recovered instantly, grabbing my wrist mid-strike.

His grip tightened like a vice.

Pain shot up my arm as he twisted, forcing me down.

"Nice try" he growled, his voice vibrating with malice.

I gritted my teeth. "I'm just getting started."

Using my free hand, I yanked the dagger from my belt and slashed at him. The blade given by king for protection, sliced across his chest, black ichor spilling from the wound.

He hissed, his form flickering, the illusion of Osirian momentarily breaking. His real shape was more horrifying than I imagined—his skin blackened and cracked like scorched earth, his eyes hollow and glowing like burning coals.

But I wasn't done yet.

Twisting my body, I wrenched my arm free and kicked his legs out from under him. He staggered, and I seized the moment.

Grabbing his neck, I forced his head toward the rising sun.

The second the light touched his skin, an inhuman shriek ripped through the air. His body convulsed, the darkness within him writhing like it was being burned alive.

"NO!" He thrashed wildly, his skin blistering and peeling as the sunlight consumed him. His flesh cracked, glowing embers forming where his veins should be.

I held firm, pushing his face directly into the sunlight.

His screams echoed through the air, his body crumbling apart, disintegrating into ashes before my eyes.

Then—silence.

The heavy weight in the air lifted.

I stumbled back, my breathing ragged. Around me, the palace soldiers stirred, their bodies shaking off the unnatural sleep.

I had done it.

I had survived.

My insticts saved me once again.