CHAPTER 7

[THE STORY ALREADY WRITTEN]

Xyran was exhausted from the banquet. He had always despised gatherings full of people, but as the Crown Prince of Zion, he had little choice. Duty demanded presence, and presence demanded performance.

Now, away from the clinking goblets and wandering eyes, he lay on his bed, the weight of the evening pressing against his chest. His fingers trailed slowly over the velvet sheets, tracing their organized pattern in a quiet, grounding ritual. The silence of his chambers was a comfort.

And yet, his mind refused to rest.

Fate Stark.

The Head of the Council was a peculiar man-unsettling, enigmatic. There was something about him that lingered, as though he left behind more than just words in a room. The way he spoke, the way he looked at Xyran-like he already knew every chapter of his life-was unnerving, even for someone like Xyran who had spent his life surrounded by power. This feeling of being read was a first and very terifing to him.

Fate could see the future. That much was known.

But tonight, he hadn't come with prophecies or warnings. He had come with riddles. And one line in particular echoed in Xyran's thoughts:

"I'm only here to witness your story."

It repeated itself like a whisper in a quiet chamber, coiling in the corners of his mind.

What story?

If Fate already knew how it would unfold, then why say it like that? Why confront him at all? Why make his presence known, instead of simply watching from a distance?

That unsettled Xyran more than he wanted to admit.

Was it a warning? A prelude to something dark? Or worse-was it already happening?

His eyes wandered to the window. Outside, Zion's eternal twilight painted the sky in dull reds and deep purples. A cold wind stirred the long curtains, and in its chill, Xyran felt a strange sense of motion-like something unseen had shifted in the night.

Witness my story.

Did that mean he was part of something larger? Was Fate hinting at danger? Destiny? Doom?

Xyran turned onto his side, restless.

He hated not knowing. He hated being watched.

And above all, he hated the feeling that the story wasn't his to write anymore.

Not entirely.

Not if Fate Stark had already read the ending.

A soft knock echoed through the heavy oak doors of Xyran's chamber.

He didn't respond at first half hoping whoever it was would take the silence as disinterest. But when the door creaked open anyway, he already knew who it would be.

Queen Cecilia stepped inside, her presence commanding even in quiet moments. She wore a velvet robe of deep wine-red, the fabric trailing like ink behind her as she moved. Her crown was gone, but her posture was as regal as ever-sharp, unyielding.

She didn't speak immediately. She simply looked at him, lying across the bed in his ceremonial attire, hair tousled, eyes distant.

"I figured I might find you like this," she said at last, closing the door behind her. "Escaping the night in your usual fashion."

Xyran gave her a faint, sideways glance. "Am I not allowed to be exhausted?"

"You're allowed to be exhausted," she said calmly, stepping further into the room. "You're just not allowed to ignore me when I knock."

He smirked lightly, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "My apologies, Mother. Consider it prince-like arrogance."

Cecilia sighed and came to sit beside him on the edge of the bed, her hands resting delicately in her lap.

"You handled yourself well tonight," she said. "Despite the obvious discomfort."

"I survived. That's usually enough."

She studied him for a moment, her gaze softening just barely.

"But something is bothering you?"

Xyran didn't reply immediately. His fingers moved again, tracing the same pattern into the velvet beneath them.

"It's him, isn't it?" she continued. "Fate Stark."

His eyes flickered toward her at the mention.

"He looked at me like I was... familiar. Like I was part of something he already knew. Even though I was aware of his power it made me uncomfortable." Xyran selectively tells his worries, not wanting to burden her with something more.

"He's always been like that," she said. "Cryptic. Arrogant. And too clever for his own good."

Xyran turned fully now, facing her. "But you invited him at the dusk banquet."

"I had no choice. He is the Head of the Council, and his presence-however insufferable. I had no choice as he suddenly came to Zion, it would be rude if I didnt invite him."

He studied her face, noting the edge of tension around her mouth. "Do you trust him?"

She paused, the silence drawing itself thin between them.

"I trust his foresight," she said. "But not his motives."

Xyran leaned back into the pillows. "Comforting."

Cecilia stood again, smoothing her robe. Her tone regained its steel. "Whatever his reasons, it doesn't matter. I will never allow him to play with you."

Xyran gave a faint smile. "You're starting to sound like a mother."

"I am a mother," she replied. "And you're still my son by blood or not I raised you for a long time."

She walked to the door but paused before opening it, glancing back.

"Get some rest, Xyran. Once you become the king you will certainly get used to his presence over time."

And with that, she left him once more in the quiet of his chamber, the words lingering like the twilight beyond the window.

[Fate's Chamber]

Fate felt a quiet sense of fulfillment as he sat on his bed. The banquet, with all its forced pleasantries and veiled glances, had served its purpose. He had accomplished what he came here for.

Xyran was the vampire boy from his vision.

The Crown Prince's presence, the weight he carried behind his eyes, the silent storm within him, it all matched the flickering glimpses Fate had seen in the streams of time. That crimson glow, that careful restraint, that hidden fury wrapped in elegance... it was unmistakable.

But the vision hadn't been simple.

Xyran's future was not a straight line. It twisted and unraveled, coiled around choices yet to be made and battles not yet begun. And at the center of many of those turns-stood a woman.

A Nymph.

She appeared only briefly in Fate's foresight, but her presence was undeniable. The future bent sharply around her, as though her very existence shifted the current of what was to come. The boy and the Nymph. Their paths tangled, their fates intertwined in ways even he hadn't fully understood.

He would need to find her next.

The Nymph woman who could ignite the storm in Xyran's life or calm it. She was not only connected to Xyran but they both were connected to the fate of Eldoria somehow, which fate had yet to unveil.

Fate's expression darkened slightly with thought as he walks to the window, looking out into the crimson-streaked twilight of Zion. The stars were beginning to blink into view above the eternal dusk.

"I've seen fire and ruin... but with you," he murmured, as though speaking to the stars, "I've also seen a choice."

He pressed a hand to the glass, where the cold seeped through the stone.

"The council believes I came to stir peace. Cecilia believes I came to meddle. But only I know... I came to witness a heart tempted by fate."

A faint smile touched his lips, more weary than amused.

"And the real storm hasn't even begun yet."