"Kevash, Isaiah!"
Zaden's shout tore through the chamber.
Blue radiance erupted at once, Isaiah's light surging violently from the blade embedded in Arshya's chest. Luminous veins crawled outward, wrapping around Arshya's body before spreading into the crystal mass behind him. Walls shifted hue. Flooring glimmered. The entire tower drowned beneath an overwhelming cerulean glow, as though the structure itself had submitted to Isaiah's authority.
Arshya, barely clinging to life, forced his shattered arm to rise. Fingers trembling, bones grinding, he lunged for Zaden's throat with feral resolve. His grip found flesh.
"How many of my people must you slaughter, Azaria?!" Arshya spat, voice ragged yet venomous. "You madmen will never stop until this land belongs only to your blood and the parasites who worship it!"
Zaden felt cold terror pierce his spine.
Pressure tightened around his neck. Skin tore. Fire bloomed across his senses as Arshya's nails raked downward, carving wounds along throat and cheek. Panic seized him. He staggered backward, tearing free just before the grip crushed his airway completely.
He gasped, choking, pain screaming through his nerves.
Instinct took over.
Zaden yanked his silver dagger free and raised it defensively, arm shaking as he aimed toward Arshya, who could no longer reach him. The older man's eyes still burned with savage hatred, fixed upon Zaden like a dying beast refusing surrender.
Then the fire faded.
Arshya's words dissolved into incoherent muttering. His gaze dimmed. Muscles slackened. With a final shudder, his eyes closed.
Silence descended.
The tower reeked of blood and scorched flesh. Heat lingered in the air, mingling with metallic stench. Zaden swallowed hard, fighting nausea as he surveyed the aftermath. Bodies lay scattered across the crystal floor—many of his soldiers reduced to charred remains, armor fused to stone.
Victory felt hollow.
Movement caught his attention.
Querijn approached slowly, both hands lifted in cautious surrender. Her steps were measured. Her expression unreadable.
Zaden reacted instantly.
He moved between her and the remaining soldiers, spreading his arm wide to block them. "Stand down," he ordered sharply, voice raw. "No one touches her."
A blade hovered inches from Querijn's chest before withdrawing.
Zaden turned—and froze.
Jeremiah stood before him, pale as death, barely upright. Blood stained his armor. His breath came shallow and uneven.
"We have won," Jeremiah said hoarsely. "Why shield her now?"
"She saved me," Zaden replied without hesitation.
Jeremiah's eyes narrowed. "I am not blind. She wielded Abimalech's power."
"…but not like Arshya," Zaden answered carefully. "I need her alive if we intend to rule Zerdilla."
Jeremiah studied him.
"So you claim authority here?"
"You are gravely wounded," Zaden said quietly. "Do not force yourself over matters that can wait. Let me handle this."
A long pause followed.
At last, Jeremiah nodded.
Exhaustion overtook him. The remaining Kral soldiers rushed to support their king, easing his weight as they prepared to withdraw. Before leaving, Jeremiah glanced past Zaden, eyes briefly resting on Querijn standing close behind his son.
Then his gaze returned, sharp and probing.
"Confirm her reason for aiding us," Jeremiah warned. "Women are skilled at concealing intent."
"I understand," Zaden replied.
His face remained composed, yet his heart hammered violently. Jeremiah's stare felt invasive, as though it searched for secrets buried within him. Relief washed through Zaden only when his father turned away, allowing himself to be carried back toward the Netzaleh palace's crystal tower.
Zaden exhaled slowly.
For the moment, the questions had ended.
But he knew—nothing else truly had.