The silence in the Grand Plaza was brittle, held together by the tension of a thousand held breaths.
Elian stood on the cracked marble, debris from the crashed ship settling around him like snow. He felt the eyes of the Royal Guard on him—hundreds of them, armored in gold and white, spears leveled at his chest. But he didn't flinch. The magic in his blood was singing a war song now, a high, clear note that drowned out his fear.
Vane vaulted over the broken railing of the Nightshade, landing beside Elian with a heavy thud. He drew his Void-Steel sword, the black blade drinking the sunlight.
"Stand down!" Vane roared, his voice projecting with the authority of the High Commander. "I bring a witness to the Crown! Any man who strikes us commits treason against the True King!"
The Guards hesitated. They looked from Vane—their legendary leader—to the boy with the violet eyes standing amidst the wreckage.
"He is an imposter!" a Captain shouted from the front line. "Arrest them! Kill the traitor!"
"Try it," Elian challenged.
He raised his hand. He didn't summon a blast; he summoned a beacon. He let the containment walls around his core drop completely.
A pillar of pure, golden light erupted from Elian's body, shooting straight up into the darkening sky. It pierced the gloom of the approaching Eclipse, a defiant finger of fire that could be seen for miles. The heat coming off him was intense, forcing the nearest guards to stumble back, shielding their faces.
It wasn't a weapon. It was a signature. It was the undeniable frequency of the Sol line.
"By the stars," a guard whispered, lowering his spear. "He burns."
Before the Captain could order a volley, the massive golden doors of the Palace groaned open.
A voice floated out, amplified by magic, cold and smooth as a frozen lake.
"Let them in."
The Guards parted instantly, forming a corridor of steel leading up the steps.
Vane sheathed his sword, though he kept his hand on the hilt. He looked at Elian.
"She's inviting us," Vane murmured. "It's a trap."
"I know," Elian said, the light fading from his skin but remaining in his eyes. He turned to the ship. "Elara?"
The midwife climbed down from the wreckage, clutching the sun-glass rattle like a talisman. She was trembling, but she walked to Elian's side and took his arm.
"I am ready," she whispered.
Together, the three of them walked up the stairs, past the confused soldiers, and into the shadow of the Palace.
The interior of the Palace had changed. The warm, golden light that usually flooded the atrium was gone. The windows were dark, blocked by the encroaching shadow of the moon passing over the sun outside. The air inside was freezing. Frost coated the statues; breath misted in the air.
They walked straight to the Throne Room.
The doors were already open.
The room was vast, a cavern of glass and gold. But the throne was empty.
In the center of the room, directly beneath the crystal apex of the ceiling, stood the Grand Prism. It was a massive, diamond-shaped focusing lens, suspended by golden chains. Beneath it lay a stone altar carved with runes of binding.
Standing by the altar was Queen Valeriana.
She wore a gown of midnight-blue scales that shimmered like a snake's skin. A crown of black diamonds sat on her pale hair. Her eyes were voids, completely black, having already begun to channel the Eclipse.
And kneeling at her feet, looking small and terrified, was Lysander.
"Welcome home," the Queen said, her voice echoing off the glass walls. She didn't look angry. She looked triumphant. "You are just in time for the family reunion."
"It's over, Valeriana," Elian called out, his voice steady. He stepped forward, bringing Elara with him. "We know the truth. We know about the switch."
"The switch," the Queen mused, a cruel smile touching her lips. She looked down at Lysander, stroking his hair like a pet. "Yes. A minor inconvenience caused by a sentimental servant."
"Minor?" Lysander choked out, looking up at her. "Mother? What are they talking about?"
"Tell him, Elara," Vane commanded, stepping forward to flank Elian.
Elara Vance took a shaky breath. She raised the rattle.
"He is not your son, Majesty," Elara announced, her voice gaining strength. "Twenty years ago, I took the child born with the Sun-Spark. I took Elian. I left you the hollow one. I left you Lysander."
Lysander scrambled up, his face pale. "Liar! I am the Prince! I have the blood!"
"You have nothing!" Elara shouted back. "You have no heat! You have no light! You are a vessel with no bottom!"
Lysander turned to the Queen, pleading. "Mother, tell them! Tell them I am the heir!"
Valeriana looked at Lysander. Her expression was one of mild distaste, as if looking at a stain on a rug.
"Oh, Lysander," she sighed. "Do be quiet. You have served your purpose."
Lysander froze. "Purpose?"
"To occupy the chair," the Queen said coldly. "To keep the court distracted while I prepared the Rite. Did you really think I didn't know?"
She turned her gaze to Elian.
"I knew the moment Elara vanished. I knew she had taken the battery. But it didn't matter. I knew the magic would eventually draw you back. Power seeks power. And now..."
She gestured to the skylight. The sun was now a thin crescent. The room was plunging into twilight.
"...now the battery has delivered itself."
"I am not a battery," Elian snarled. "I am the King. And I am here to relieve you of your command."
"Then come take it," the Queen whispered.
She raised her hand.
The floor beneath Lysander erupted. Vines of black ice shot out of the marble, wrapping around his ankles, his waist, his throat.
"Mother!" Lysander screamed.
She flicked her wrist, and the Prince was thrown across the room. He slammed into the wall and slid down, pinned by the ice, gasping for air.
"Vane, protect Elara!" Elian shouted.
Elian lunged forward. He didn't hold back. He summoned a lance of solar fire and hurled it at the Queen.
The Queen didn't dodge. She simply opened her mouth and inhaled.
The beam of fire hit her and vanished. She swallowed it. The black diamonds on her crown glowed with a sinister purple light.
"Delicious," she purred. "More."
She struck back. A wave of kinetic force slammed into Elian. It wasn't fire; it was pure gravity. It hit him like a physical wall, knocking him off his feet and sliding him across the polished floor.
"Elian!" Vane shouted.
Vane charged, his Void-Steel sword raised. He was a blur of speed, closing the distance in a heartbeat. He swung for the Queen's neck.
The Queen caught the blade.
With her bare hand.
Her skin had turned to diamond-hard ice. She held the sharpest sword in the kingdom and didn't bleed.
"My Wolf," she tsked. "You always were too sentimental."
She twisted her wrist.
The Void-Steel sword shattered.
Vane stared at the broken hilt in his hand. Before he could react, the Queen blasted him with a pulse of cold energy. He flew backward, crashing into the altar. He groaned, struggling to rise, frost spreading across his armor.
"You cannot fight the Moon with steel," the Queen declared. She floated upward, hovering a few feet off the ground.
The sky outside went black.
Totality.
The Eclipse was here.
A ring of fire appeared in the sky above the glass ceiling—the corona of the sun blocked by the moon.
"The alignment is complete," the Queen announced, her voice booming like thunder.
She pointed both hands at Elian.
"Into the Prism, boy."
Elian tried to scramble up, but an invisible force grabbed him. It was like a giant hand crushing his ribs. It lifted him into the air, dragging him toward the stone altar beneath the massive diamond lens.
"No!" Elian screamed, struggling against the gravity. "Vane!"
Vane was fighting the frost paralysis, crawling toward him. "Elian!"
The Queen slammed Elian down onto the altar. Bands of shadow-metal snapped out of the stone, locking his wrists and ankles.
He was trapped. Directly beneath the Grand Prism.
"Now," the Queen whispered, floating above him. "Let us invert the world."
She began to chant. It was a sound that made Elian's teeth ache—a low, discordant hum that vibrated the glass walls.
The Prism above him began to glow. But it wasn't glowing gold. It was glowing purple. It was pulling the darkness from the sky and focusing it like a laser.
And it was aiming right at Elian's heart.
"I will drink you," the Queen promised, her eyes black pits. "And then I will drink the sun."
Elian pulled against the chains. He looked at Vane, who was dragging himself upright, blood running down his face. He looked at Elara, who was cowering behind a pillar. He looked at Lysander, pinned to the wall, watching with wide, terrified eyes.
"Vane," Elian whispered.
Vane looked at him. Their eyes locked.
Balance, Vane had said. A void cannot exist in the presence of a sun.
Elian stopped fighting the chains. He stopped fighting the fear.
He closed his eyes.
He didn't try to push the magic out. He pulled it in. He reached for the core of his being—the wild, untamed heat that had kept him alive in the snow, that had healed Vane, that had burned the Inquisitors.
He compressed it. Smaller. Hotter.
"What are you doing?" the Queen hissed, sensing the shift.
"You want the sun?" Elian opened his eyes. They were no longer violet. They were white.
"Choke on it."
Elian released the compression.
He didn't just flare. He went Supernova.