CHAPTER 13 The Voice That Isn't Yours

The old outpost stood quiet beneath a curtain of stars, its stone walls cloaked in silence. No one expected an attack not here.

The garrison was small, a Western scouting detachment sent to monitor the eastern border. Their torches burned low, their conversations were soft and weary. It was a night like any other.

Until the air changed.

It came like a breeze at first—gentle, cool.

Then, a whisper.

"He's here."

The torches flickered violently. The wind howled, but not from nature. It carried voices—their voices. Orders. Cries. Memories.

Captain Elwin of the Western watch stepped outside, his eyes narrowing at the unnatural fog rising from the trees beyond the wall.

He turned to his second-in-command. "Did you hear that?"

"Yes, sir," she answered, hand on the hilt of her blade. "It sounded like…"

Her voice faltered.

They heard it again this time louder, echoing from inside the barracks.

"Sound the alarm."

The voice was unmistakable. It was Elwin's.

But he hadn't spoken.

In the forest below, Kaelen of Viranth stood with his hands raised to the misty sky. Clad in deep black and crimson, his eyes shimmered with golden light. Around him, soldiers of the East stood silently expressionless, like statues. Their eyes were glazed over, minds unreachable.

Beside him, the ancient relic The Dominion of Echoes hovered in the air, bound in chains of silver and bone. It pulsed like a beating heart, emitting a low, mournful hum. Whispers curled from it like tendrils of smoke.

Kaelen's voice rang clear and steady.

"Memory is a weapon...And the truth is what I say it is."

He lowered his hand.

Inside the outpost, chaos erupted.

Soldiers screamed not from wounds, but from recognition. Some pointed blades at their own comrades, accusing them of betrayal, of bloodshed that had never happened. Others clutched their heads, screaming names of dead lovers, lost brothers, long-gone commands.

"Why did you kill him!?""I never touched him! "Yes, you did I saw you I remember it!"

Memories false memories were being planted and twisted. Bonds shattered in seconds. Western soldiers fell upon each other; their trust unraveled like thread.

On the ridge above, Kaelen watched it all, calm and calculating.

One of his lieutenants approached. "Shall we strike?"

Kaelen shook his head. "No need. They'll tear themselves apart."

He turned to the Dominion, the glowing chains pulsing as it released another wave of distortion.

"Let them remember pain," he whispered. "Let them become it."

Moments later, the outpost was burning.

Not a single eastern blade had been drawn.

Kaelen descended the slope, walking among the madness as if through a garden. A Western soldier stumbled toward him bloodied, broken, eyes hollow.

"Please…" the man begged. "I—I don't know what's real anymore."

Kaelen knelt beside him, almost gentle.

"I do."

He touched the man's forehead, and the soldier collapsed without a sound.

Kaelen stood, expression unreadable.

"This is only the beginning," he said softly.

"Let the West and North prepare their armies. I will unmake them thought by thought."

He turned back toward the shadows, the Dominion pulsing at his back.

Behind him, the wind carried one final whisper through the burning trees:

Inside the main pavilion, Kaelen of Viranth stood before a towering mirror, adjusting the polished plates of his golden armor with meticulous care.

The reflection that stared back was one of practiced elegance his honey-gold hair perfectly swept, his crimson mantle draped just right.

Behind him, soldiers stood stiffly. A few exchanged sidelong glances, others tried not to stare.

"He's preening again," one muttered under his breath.

"Every damn morning," another whispered.

Their lieutenant gave them a sharp look. "Silence. You want to be heard?"

Kaelen, as if unaware or perhaps uncaring smoothed down the last strand of hair and turned slowly, his expression calm, cold, and deliberate.

"In one month's time," he said, "we strike Vale Manor."

Gasps followed the statement. Whispers rippled among the ranks.

A commander stepped forward cautiously. "A direct march north? That's a long journey, Lord Kaelen. The Vale is fortified. The terrain—"

"I am aware," Kaelen interrupted sharply.

"And the distance gives them time to prepare… or to despair."

He stepped to the large war map splayed across the table.

Red markers pushed steadily toward Northern borders, with one small rose emblem marking Vale Manor a lone bloom in enemy soil.

"Let them hear rumors. Let the Thorn Princess dream of safety. Because when we arrive, it won't be an army they face... it will be oblivion."

The grand hall of eastern palace had once echoed with order, reason, and iron tradition. But that was before Kaelen.

He stood before his father, King Theron of Eastern, his fists trembling, voice sharp with fury.

"You waste time chasing diplomacy while the realms fracture," Kaelen snapped. "You ignore the signs, the whispers. The Zheparal is stirring!"

King Theron remained seated, eyes heavy with disappointment. "You mistake myth for strategy. We do not make war overshadows."

From the darkened edge of the throne hall, a figure emerged a man cloaked in pitch, a mask of silver hiding his face.

The masked man bowed faintly.

"Your son is right. The Thorn Princess is not merely cursed she is tethered. The seal weakens. If she awakens the Zheperal… all three kingdoms will fall."

"Silence," Theron growled. "You speak like the wind loud and empty."

Kaelen's eyes did not leave his father.

"You're a fool," he said coldly.

The king rose from his throne. "I am your king."

"Not anymore."

The sword was unsheathed in one fluid motion.

King Theron fell without even reaching for his crown.

Present – Eastern War Front

Kaelen traced a finger along the northernmost edge of the map, resting it gently on the rose sigil.

"There is no king in the East," he said softly.

"Only memory… and me."

The Dominion of Echoes pulsed behind him, suspended in the air, its spectral tendrils whispering truths and untruths to no one and everyone at once.

"Prepare the Echo Blades," Kaelen ordered.

"I want every northern soldier to see what there isn't. I want their loyalty turned against them. And I want Acheron alone."

Another commander, pale and cautious, stepped forward. "What if he resists the Echoes?"

Kaelen smiled thinly. "Then we remind her what she's forgotten."

He turned back to the mirror, admiring the gold that gleamed like firelight, the reflection of a man who had killed a king and planned to kill a legacy next.

"Let Vale and the Thorn Princess enjoy their final month. Let them dance in the illusion of hope."

He paused, smoothed a strand of hair, and said with a voice that curdled the air:

"When we arrive… not even she will remember who she is."

 Vale Manor – Late Afternoon

The air inside the nursery chamber was filled with soft light and the scent of fresh herbs. The cries of battle had long faded, replaced by gentle chatter, laughter, and the occasional clatter of wooden toys on the floor.

Evelyne knelt by Syrin's bedside, carefully brushing out the girl's tangled hair with slow, motherly strokes. Beside her, Rinna sorted folded blankets into the chest, humming quietly. No longer did the manor feel cold or distant.

Even the Headmistress, once wary and watchful, had begun to soften allowing Evelyne to roam freely, to spend time with the children and the servants alike.

For the first time in this place… Evelyne felt trusted. Seen.

"You're getting stronger," Evelyne said softly.

"She healed most of it herself," Riven chimed in from the window seat, arms crossed. "She just likes the attention."

Syrin giggled, cheeks pink. "I did not!"

Evelyne laughed gently, the sound unguarded, real. Rinna smiled at the sight there was something softer in Evelyne's face now, something no longer haunted.

"You both remind me of someone," Evelyne said. 

As she finished braiding a ribbon into Syrin's hair, Riven spoke from the windowsill, his tone casual but laced with something deeper.

"We're not his… by blood."

Evelyne glanced up, blinking. "What do you mean?"

"Me and Syrin," he clarified. "We're not Acheron's children by blood. But we are his."

Rinna paused mid-fold. "He adopted you?"

"Officially," Syrin said.

"But it's the same, isn't it?"

Evelyne and Rinna exchanged looks of disbelief. The most feared commander in the entire continent… a father?

Syrin sat up straighter, hugging her knees. Her voice was small, but steady.

"I was born to a noble mage family… House Vaelwyn. We were known for healing magic. Nothing grand like summoning storms or beasts. Just healing."

She glanced down, eyes distant.

"But when the wars came, our lands were seized. My parents died defending the wounded. The other noble houses stripped our name, said we were weak… irrelevant. I was sold into slavery. A ringmaster bought me. Discovered my gift. It wasn't powerful just enough to close cuts and bruises."

She hesitated.

"And the nobles loved it," she whispered. "They paid to watch. The pain… it never ended."

Rinna gasped. Evelyne's hands stilled completely, her heart breaking.

"That's horrible," she whispered.

Riven gently took Syrin's hand.

"They made a show of it," Syrin continued.

"Over and over. I'd cry, but that made it worse. Then one night, someone in the audience wasn't laughing."

Riven's voice finished the tale. "It was Acheron."

Syrin's eyes lit up.

"He burned the place down. All of it. Freed everyone. The nobles who paid to watch… he executed them. Said cruelty for entertainment was rot that needed to be cut out and the ones who ran... were hunted."

She smiled proudly.

"He asked for my name. I didn't have one anymore. So, he gave me his. Syrin Vale and said I never had to be alone again"

Evelyne felt warmth spread through her chest. She had always seen Acheron as distant, cold, shaped by war. But here… in these two children… was something else.

"He doesn't let me use my healing unless it's necessary," Syrin added.

"He says to practice in secret. To make it stronger. So no one can use it against me again."

Evelyne gently pulled her into a hug.

"What about you, young master?" Rinna asked Riven.

The boy looked out the window.

"Acheron told me the truth," he said.

"My mother died giving birth to me. My father… he was once close to Acheron. Like a brother. But when he learned of the ancient beast, he wanted to sacrifice me. Said blood would give him power."

Rinna gasped. Evelyne froze.

"Acheron stopped him," Riven finished.

"Killed him. And took me instead."

He gave them a small smile, strong and sad.

"I don't remember what family is supposed to feel like. But with him… I learned."

Syrin leaned into Evelyne's side, whispering, "We're safe now."

And in that moment, Evelyne felt something shift. Something deep and quiet.

The loneliness that had shadowed her since childhood… the feeling of being cursed, unloved, forsaken was gone.

She smiled softly and whispered, "You both are incredible. I'm so proud to know you."

Syrin blinked up at her, eyes shining. "Then you'll be our mother now."

Evelyne flushed. "W-We're not married yet—"

"You're wearing the ring," Riven pointed out with a teasing grin.

"Which means you're basically married," Syrin added.

Rinna let out a laugh. "You're not getting out of that one, Princess."

Evelyne covered her face, "You're all impossible."

"But you're smiling," Riven said.

 she was. Genuinely.

The heaviness in Evelyne's chest her grief, her doubts, her loneliness lifted. Even if only for a moment.

She pulled them both close, whispering something sweet, something motherly. Rinna watched from across the room, a small tear escaping her eye.

The four of them spent the rest of the evening telling stories Riven describing Acheron's terrible attempts at baking, Syrin mimicking noble accents, Evelyne recounting tales from her girlhood, and Rinna turning the stories into silly performances with scarves and slippers.

By nightfall, laughter filled the room. The shadows receded.

Evelyne curled up on the couch with the two nestled against her, their eyes heavy with sleep, Rinna dimmed the candles and covered them with a blanket.

And for the first time in many nights, Evelyne dreamed of warmth, not war.

Acheron stood in silence, his gaze hard and distant as he stared at the letter in his hand.

The seal from Vale Manor had been broken only minutes ago.

Cryvolar attack. Sudden. Unnatural end. The princess stepped out. No harm came to her or the children. But the beasts died without touch.

The parchment trembled slightly between his fingers.

Across from him, Severin and Dain exchanged a glance.

"Oh no," Dain said under his breath.

"He's in that mood again."

"The I'm-going-to-murder-someone mood?" Severin whispered with a grin. "Or the I-miss-my-maybe-wife-and-two-mysterious-children mood?"

"Both," Dain muttered, crossing his arms.

Acheron's eyes flicked toward them. Just once. Cold, sharp, dangerous.

They both straightened immediately.

Severin cleared his throat. "I'll go."

Acheron raised an eyebrow. "Go?"

"To check on them," Severin said.

"You won't stop pacing until you know they're safe."

"You can't go long distance without my permission," Acheron said flatly.

Severin grinned. "And you're giving it."

Acheron stared at him. "Don't sneak."

"I never sneak," Severin lied with a hand over his heart.

"You always sneak."

There was a long pause. Then a reluctant nod.

"Go. Be quick."

Without another word, Severin vanished in a shimmer of silver-blue light.

Vale Manor Moments Later

Snow crunched beneath Severin's boots as he landed at the manor gates. The place was deathly quiet. Still. Too still.

His sharp eyes swept across the courtyard until he saw it. Dark trails of blood streaked the white snow.

He knelt, touching the frozen stain. "Cryvolar," he muttered. "But not butchered. Clean. Internal."

One of the patrolling soldiers spotted him. "Sir Severin!"

"What happened?"

"They attacked last night. We were ready, but… we didn't kill them."

Severin frowned. "Then who did?"

The soldier hesitated. "They… died. One by one. Their hearts burst. Without being touched. It started the moment the princess stepped outside."

Severin exhaled through his nose. "Of course it did."

He turned on his heel and headed inside the manor, climbing the familiar steps to Evelyne's chambers.

He knocked once out of habit then slowly opened the door.

Empty.

His brow furrowed. He stepped inside cautiously, eyes scanning the room.

Suddenly—

"Do not harm her."

A whisper. Soft and disembodied. It slithered across the walls like a breeze. Severin froze and turned around sharply, hand instinctively going to his blade.

But no one was there.

"Great," he muttered. "Voices now."

Just then, Rinna appeared in the hallway, startled by the open door.

"What are you doing in the princess's chambers?" she snapped, clutching her shawl.

"Easy," Severin shushed her. "I'm just here to check—"

"You could knock!"

"I did knock," he insisted. "You just didn't hear it."

Rinna crossed her arms, unimpressed. "She's not in there. And if you teleport around like that again without warning, I'll have a heart attack."

"Duly noted," Severin said dryly. "Now where is she?"

Rinna sighed, exasperated. "The nursery. With the children."

Before she could continue her lecture, Severin vanished again.

The door creaked open gently.

Severin peered in and smiled.

There, in the golden light of the morning sun, Evelyne lay on a plush settee. Syrin and Riven were curled into her sides, sleeping peacefully beneath a soft wool blanket. Her arms wrapped around them instinctively, protectively. A soft expression graced her usually guarded face.

Like a mother with her children.

Severin exhaled slowly, a rare warmth settling in his chest.

"…You're a goner, Acheron."

 War Camp – Shortly After

Severin reappeared in the command tent, brushing snow off his cloak.

"Well?" Acheron asked without looking up.

Severin smiled. "Alive. Asleep. Happy."

Acheron's jaw tightened. "What else?"

"The Cryvolar died the moment Evelyne walked outside. Hearts torn open. Without her touching them."

Dain blinked. "Gods…"

Acheron said nothing.

Severin stepped closer. "The manor's calm. The children adore her. And the princess? She held them like they were her own. It was... quiet. Safe. Peaceful."

Acheron turned his back, silent. But his hands clenched faintly at his sides.

"And I swear," Severin added with a grin,

"if he had wings, you'd already be flying home."

Dain laughed. "You're already wrapped around her finger, Captain. May as well admit it."

Acheron exhaled sharply. "Enough."

"You're blushing again."

"I am not."

Severin leaned in. "We'll keep your secret safe, Your Grace."

Acheron finally turned, voice like thunder. "Tell me everything. Start with the blood in the snow."

As Severin began his report, the teasing faded replaced by the growing shadow in Acheron's eyes. Whatever was happening to Evelyne… whatever power she had awakened…