The afternoon sun cast warm golden light across Princess Reloua's chambers. She sat on a cushioned chair near the window, her younger brother Gyan perched on a stool beside her, his legs swinging idly as they talked.
"When are you going to resume your classes?" Reloua asked gently, brushing a strand of hair from Gyan's forehead.
The boy frowned slightly, his gaze dropping to his hands. "I don't know. Do I have to?"
"You do," Reloua said, her tone firm but kind. "Every noble and royal child in Nubia has access to the best education possible. History of Nubia, geometry, commerce, literature, strategy. You've been away from your lessons for too long."
Gyan's jaw tightened. "I stopped going because you disappeared. I couldn't focus. I couldn't think about anything except whether you were alive or..."
His voice trailed off.
Reloua's expression softened. She reached out and took his hand. "I know. And I'm sorry you had to go through that. But I'm here now. Safe. And you need to continue your education. You're a prince, Gyan. One day, you'll need that knowledge."
Gyan looked up at her, his eyes searching hers. "Will you come with me? To the first class?"
Reloua smiled faintly. "If that's what it takes to get you back to your studies, then yes."
Gyan's face brightened slightly. "Okay. I'll go."
"Good," Reloua said, squeezing his hand. "We'll start tomorrow."
A few paces away, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, Teleu stood in silence.
His eyes were distant, unfocused, as though he were staring at something far beyond the room.
But his mind was anything but still.
Ever since I reached Nkap, my senses have been on high alert.
It was a rare phenomenon—one that most practitioners experienced only a handful of times in their lives. A heightened state of awareness, a prickling at the back of the neck, a weight pressing down on the chest.
It was the body's way of warning the soul that danger was near.
Something is being planned against me.
Teleu's thoughts moved quickly, methodically, his Second Grade Apprentice Scholar mind piecing together fragments of information he had gathered over the past few days.
Is it my uncle? Has he sent assassins this far?
He considered it, then dismissed it. His uncle would not have the reach to operate so deeply in Gold Land—not yet. And if he had, the mercenaries in the forest would have been better informed.
My father? Is he dying? Is the court scrambling?
Possible. But unlikely to explain the sensation he felt now. This was closer. More immediate.
No. It's the conspirators in this palace.
That made sense.
Princess Reloua had returned from the dead, so to speak. She had survived an assassination attempt that should have killed her. And now she was asking questions, sending her servants to tail suspects, digging into the shadows.
Whoever had orchestrated the attack in the forest would not sit idly by.
They're going to strike again. Soon.
Teleu's mind worked in overdrive, analyzing every detail he had overlooked.
They're planning something. And they're planning it now.
His jaw tightened.
I should be ready. Anytime now. Better to be safe than taken by surprise.
He glanced at Reloua and Gyan, still talking quietly by the window, unaware of the storm gathering in the shadows.
They have no idea.
And Teleu intended to keep it that way—until the moment the enemy revealed themselves.
Night fell.
The palace grew quiet, the corridors dimming as servants extinguished lanterns and retreated to their quarters. The garden outside Reloua's chambers was bathed in pale moonlight, the flowers casting long shadows across the stone paths.
Teleu had made a decision.
He would not return to the small cabin Reloua had given him. Not tonight.
Instead, he positioned himself directly in front of her door, his back against the wall, his legs stretched out before him. His daggers rested on his lap, their blades catching the faint glow of the moon.
He closed his eyes, his breathing slow and deliberate.
And he waited.
Minutes passed.
Then hours.
The palace remained still, silent, as though holding its breath.
And then, Teleu felt it.
The air shifted.
It was subtle at first—a faint chill that crept across his skin, a pressure that settled on his chest like an invisible hand. The warmth of the night seemed to drain away, replaced by something cold. Heavy. Oppressive.
The atmosphere changed.
It was as though the garden itself had been swallowed by something darker, something that did not belong in the physical realm. The flowers seemed to wilt slightly, their colors fading in the moonlight. The shadows grew longer, deeper, twisting into shapes that should not have been possible.
And then came the whispers.
Faint. Distant. Like voices carried on a wind that did not blow.
Wailing. Keening. The sound of souls in torment.
Teleu's eyes snapped open.
He rose smoothly to his feet, his daggers already in his hands. His body was tense, coiled, ready to strike.
He lifted one hand and tapped his frontal lobe twice—sharp, deliberate movements.
His spirit eye activated.
The world shifted.
The physical realm did not disappear, but it became translucent, layered with something else. The astral plane overlaid the material, and Teleu could now see what had been hidden.
Eerie energy surrounded the garden and the princess's palace.
It was dark—darker than shadow, darker than night. It writhed and coiled like smoke, but thicker, heavier, as though it carried weight. Within the energy, faint shapes flickered—faces twisted in agony, hands reaching out, mouths open in silent screams.
Spirits. Wraiths. Entities bound to the presence of whoever had entered.
Teleu's jaw tightened.
A mystic. A real one.
He stepped forward, his voice cutting through the oppressive silence.
"Come out."
Nothing.
The shadows did not move. The whispers did not cease.
Teleu's grip on his daggers tightened. His eyes scanned the garden, searching for movement, for a shape, for anything that would betray his enemy's location.
The atmosphere grew worse.
The oppressive weight intensified, pressing down on him like a mountain. The air grew colder, so cold his breath misted in front of him. The whispers grew louder, more insistent, scraping against the edges of his mind.
"I know you're here," Teleu said, his voice steady despite the pressure. "Show yourself."
Still nothing.
But the energy shifted. Moved. Coiled tighter around the garden, as though preparing to strike.
Teleu's hands gripped his daggers so tightly his knuckles turned white.
This was different from the three mercenaries he had faced in the forest. Those had been Initiates—skilled, yes, but predictable. They had relied on physical prowess and basic spiritual enhancements.
This was something else.
This was a real expert. A real mystic.
Judging by the atmosphere, the oppressive weight, the spectral energy, Teleu knew his opponent understood the value of preparation. They had performed rituals. Made pacts. Brought with them the backing of entities from the astral planes.
But Teleu was not one to be scared.
He had survived assassination attempts. He had fled his homeland. He had fought mercenaries in a blood-soaked forest. He had walked the Gray Path, balancing on the knife's edge between Light and Dark.
He had survived every trial life had thrown at him.
And he would not fall tonight.
"Come out," he said a third time, his voice cold and absolute.
A dry laugh echoed through the garden.
It was not a sound that came from any single direction. It seemed to emanate from everywhere at once—from the shadows, from the air itself, from the spectral energy that coiled around the palace.
And then, a voice.
Calm. Measured. Cautious but confident.
"How perceptive of you."
Teleu's eyes narrowed, his gaze sweeping the garden.
The voice continued, closer now, as though its owner had stepped into the edge of the physical realm.
"Can you make it easy on me and just die?"
The words were spoken without malice, without anger. They were matter-of-fact, as though the speaker were proposing a simple business transaction.
And then, he appeared.