chapter 88: A Corridor of Tension

Ruthen's boots made no sound on the polished marble steps leading to the inner sanctum of Myr'Vara's palace. In her mind, she replayed the mission briefing: retrieve Xiran, eliminate dissent, maintain absolute control. Now that the enemy Vaelora and her dark retinue stood at her door, she felt the heavy surge of expectation.

Beside her, Commander Serath, arms folded behind her back, marched with equal resolve. Once a fierce leader in the field, she now found herself guiding the conquerors deeper into a chamber she once defended. Her chest tightened not with fear, but with defiant calculation. If war was coming, she would face it head-on.

At the top of the stairs, the ten members of the Zelith High Council waited, cloaked in ceremonial garb, led by Elder Xiran. Their eyes widened in disgust as the Mahasimu stepped into view, followed by their strange beasts and servants. Serath could see the council members resisting the urge to recoil. War Seer Kal'mor-Zai stood still as stone, watching without expression.

They entered the council chamber.

Without preamble, Vaelora delivered the message, her voice calm and sharp:

"You will surrender. You will become internal servants of the Mahasimu Empire, or war will arrive within seven cycles."

Outrage exploded. Voices rose, thunderous and righteous.

"You dare!"

"We are the Zelith! We do not kneel!"

"You will taste ash and blood!"

Vaelora, unaffected, turned her back to them and walked toward the window, placing her dark hand gently on the transparent stone pane, staring out over the horizon.

"This is beautiful," she whispered.

Then, calmly, she looked over her shoulder toward Ruthen. Her Thal'karn Esh'na, sensing her shift in focus, barked a deep, resonant sound that echoed like a seismic wave. The chamber fell dead silent.

Still facing the window, Vaelora spoke:

"You have three cycles to consider the offer."

Then, turning slightly, her violet eyes resting on Commander Serath:

"Elite Commander Serath… escort us to our chambers. We're done here."

Serath blinked, momentarily stunned by the order. She glanced at High General Vrakhar, who gave a slow nod of grim acceptance. She clenched her jaw and gave a curt bow.

"This way."

She led the Mahasimu delegation down a long-forgotten wing of the palace dusty, sealed for cycles, its tapestries faded and its light dim. It was a wing kept closed for those never meant to be here.

As they walked, Vaelora's voice suddenly broke the silence again:

"Make sure my room has a balcony. I want to look outside while I think."

Serath flinched inwardly. Something about the casual request unsettled her more than the death threats. The idea that something like Vaelora could want beauty to admire a sunset over her world shattered her sense of logic.

They reached the old guest quarters. Ruthen, as head of security, immediately took charge. Two guards were stationed at the corridor's entrance, two more outside each room Vaelora and Eleena and two each on the wide, open balconies that loomed above the capital. Ruthen ordered her remaining Thal'karn to begin rotating patrols through the halls, ensuring no harm would come to the emissaries.

Vaelora sat motionless at the edge of her chamber's balcony, the breeze lifting strands of her dark hair, her eyes fixed on the city. Her mind drifted far to the forbidden chamber of Selun, the ancient whisperer. She recalled standing before him after dismissing Shailia, the oracle.

"I like beauty in the world," Selun had said, voice soft like death. "And I like the species that strive to create it.

Your next task, Vaelora, before we purge this world… find the Thalor worth saving. Mark them. Do not harm them like you did to those children." (His gaze turned to Tamun and Ja'ka.) "We need more worthy ants to worship the gods and the life we give. This is my will no matter what others command.

You will not fail me. Because if you do… you will no longer worry about the beauty of life. Only the beauty of death."

Vaelora opened her eyes.

Without turning, she spoke to the ancient shadow trooper behind her:

"You two. Let's go. I wish to walk the streets."

She stood and stepped out. Below her, the capital was alive Thalor soldiers marching, civilians bustling, unaware of the ticking countdown.

The guards responded without question:

"Yes, Lady Vaelora."

They followed her down through the halls. She descended into the heart of the capital.

Back in the Council Chamber

The council was in uproar again. The moment the Mahasimu left, voices rose.

"We do not surrender!"

"This means war!"

"Seven cycles? We'll be ready in three!"

Elder Xiran slammed his hand on the table.

"Convene the War Council. Now."

Kal'mor-Zai simply nodded. His presence alone was a sign of what was to come.

Vaelora on the Streets

Down below, Vaelora walked the smooth white streets, her two shadow guards at her flanks and her two smaller servants Tamun and Ja'ka trailing behind. Eyes followed her everywhere. Conscript patrols, civilians, merchants all fell silent at the sight of her. Some stepped back. Others fled. She was something out of a nightmare they were never meant to see.

Elite Commander Serath watched from the tower above with General Verka. Neither understood her goal. Neither trusted it.

At one point, Vaelora stopped at a window. A painting bright, strange, Thalor artistry.

"Tamun," she said softly. "Buy that for me."

He entered the store. She stayed outside, staring through the window.

That's when Dakarie arrived, face flushed with rage. He marched toward her, but the shadow guards stepped in unison, blocking his path.

Vaelora didn't look away from the glass.

"I allow it," she said simply.

The guards stepped aside.

Dakarie: "Why are you buying our things? Walking our streets? This is for the Thalor people the Zelith! We are a mighty empire!"

She turned to face him, voice low, but her words thundered.

"If it were so simple, you would've repelled us at Venter. But you didn't. You unleashed a disaster this multiverse has never seen.

Because of your young race's arrogance, you must be exterminated. So you may never again threaten creation."

Dakarie refused to be cowed.

He yelled again louder. A nearby patrol heard and approached, already raising their rifles.

"Stand down," Vaelora warned. "Before you regret it."

They raised weapons.

With a flick of her hand, Vaelora moved one soldier fell instantly, lifeless. Ja'ka and Tamun dashed forward, blades flashing, beheading two more. The shadow guards struck last silent, lethal. Two more fell.

The rest of the street froze. And then, with all the calm in the world, Vaelora and her retinue kept walking. As if nothing had happened.

Dakarie stumbled back into the store and called the castle guard, trembling.

Final Chamber Uproar

General Verka stormed into the council room minutes later:

"They've killed guards on our streets!"

Elder Xiran slammed the table again.

"They are emissaries no one is to harm them while they deliver terms!" Verka shouted. "You gave that order!"

He turned to Serath.

"You are assigned to their protection. I don't care what you feel."

Serath didn't speak. She watched the room in silence, teeth clenched. Inside, she burned. She hated the Mahasimu more than anything. And every night, she still saw Admiral Kia in her dreams the Mahasimu hunter who haunted her sleep, her nightmares filled with the howls of the Thal'karn. One day, she told herself, she would bury Kia herself.

But not yet.

Not yet.