It had been a long while since Querijn last walked through the palace corridors wearing a crimson gown.
As far as her memory reached, the final time she had worn it was when her mother still lived—when laughter had not yet been replaced by whispers, and when her father had not become consumed by the crystal fragments of the Sky that twisted the minds of Qaissaran, Netzaleh, and nearly everyone across the continent into something unrecognizable.
Servants paused as she passed. Some stared too long, caught off guard by her composed elegance. Their reactions unsettled her more than she expected. What surprised her even further was the fact that these palace attendants were still allowed to remain under Zaden's rule. For a brief moment, hope flickered within her chest. Perhaps this meant something good still survived here.
Her wandering thoughts halted when she reached the towering doors of the throne room. Two Kral soldiers pulled them open in silence.
The first thing she saw was Zaden, seated casually upon the throne—her father's throne.
Querijn straightened her posture and stepped forward with measured confidence, walking along the long red carpet stretching toward the dais. Stone pillars flanked her path, each crowned with blue crystal that bathed the chamber in a cold, luminous glow. Her eyes never left the Prince.
Zaden, for his part, appeared momentarily spellbound.
The doors closed behind her, sealing the room in stillness.
Querijn crossed her arms and tapped her heel against the marble floor. Zaden said nothing.
"Well?" she asked flatly. "Did you summon me just to stand there until you forget how to speak?"
Zaden coughed, visibly embarrassed, then laughed under his breath.
"You look… stunning, Princess Querijn. I always knew you were radiant in a gown."
She shrugged lightly, turning her face aside to hide the warmth creeping onto her cheeks.
"If there's nothing important, I'll return to my chambers."
"Don't be so stiff," Zaden replied, rising from the throne. "I only wanted this conversation to feel… simple. Casual."
"You met the Qaissaran representatives," she said.
"I did. That's why you're here."
"So you were serious."
"Entirely." Zaden gestured toward the throne. "Would you like to sit? It belonged to your father."
Querijn shook her head, but before she could protest further, Zaden moved quickly, grasped her wrist, and guided her down into the seat. She gasped as he stepped close, blocking her escape.
"Well?" he teased. "Comfortable?"
"The Qaissaran are dying, Zaden," she said quietly. "Whoever sits here matters less than whoever can save them."
Zaden smiled faintly, eyes drawn to the thin crystal fragment tracing her temple.
"Yes… what this land needs—what Qaissaran needs—is someone who truly understands the Sky. Someone who knows how to tame its crystal without being devoured by it."
Querijn turned her face away, fingertips brushing her cheek.
"I understand what you're implying, Prince."
"Who granted you that control?" Zaden asked, pointing gently. "Abimalech, or Isaiah?"
"Both."
He blinked. "Both?"
"You promised to listen," she reminded him. "And to help."
"I need proof."
"I can provide it," Querijn said calmly. "But first, I want your reason."
"Is that necessary?"
"It is to me. I betrayed my father and my sister for this."
Zaden nodded slowly.
"Isaiah was born from my father's blind hatred. I could have sacrificed Qaissaran to strengthen Isaiah's crystal towers, just as he commanded."
"But you didn't."
"…Because I refuse," Zaden said. "My mother and my brother died when the Sky 'cursed' us with its fragments. Yet my mother never taught me to slaughter innocents to justify vengeance. Unfortunately, my father hears nothing beyond his own rage."
"Your intent is honorable," Querijn said softly. "You should take pride in that."
"That's what makes this unbearable," Zaden admitted. "Qaissaran now look to me as their savior. I pretend I have answers, while my promises are hollow. If I delay any longer, those who follow Isaiah under my command will suffer. They are my responsibility—but that doesn't mean I should purchase their survival with innocent lives."
He exhaled deeply, eyes locking onto hers.
"I truly need your help."
"I will help you," Querijn said without hesitation.
She took his right hand and placed it upon the armrest of the throne. Blue light seeped from her palm, spreading across his skin. Zaden stiffened as she murmured,
"Magnus, Isaiah."
The silver armrest shimmered, dissolved into blue motes, then reformed into a silver dagger now held by both of them.
"You can wield Isaiah?" Zaden asked, stunned.
"Tighten your grip."
"What—?"
"Lenatzeach, Abimalech."
Green flame erupted along the blade.
Zaden stared, speechless.
Querijn laughed softly at his expression.
"Abimalech and Isaiah are merely extensions of the Sky," she explained. "We waste time arguing whether its gift is a blessing or a curse, forgetting its true intention."
"…And what is that intention?" Zaden asked after a long pause.
"To return to it," Querijn replied. "Not to Isaiah. Not to Abimalech."
"I still don't see it," Zaden admitted. "If returning means becoming crystal constructs like your father's creations, I refuse."
She shook her head, smile restrained.
"No. Returning so that the crystal plague loses its meaning entirely. This teaching doesn't come from either of our fathers—it comes from a Netzaleh who understood the Sky's will."
"A Netzaleh?" Zaden frowned. "Who?"
"Lizzie Gideon."
"Gideon…" Zaden murmured. "They're infamous. My father despised their ideas. He expelled them before I could hear their doctrine. Had they remained, this city might already be saved."
Querijn's expression dimmed.
Zaden quickly cleared his throat.
"So that explains why the crystal never consumes you."
"You're correct," she said. Rising from the throne, she closed her hands over his, extinguishing the green flame. "Isaiah and Abimalech must unite, Zaden. Only then does the Sky shield you from its affliction."
"And the obstacle?" he asked.
"Your heart."
"My heart?"
"The Sky rejects those devoted to only one path," she said gently. "You must accept both."
She tightened her grip, fully sealing the blade.
"…You must learn Abimalech's power."
Zaden crossed his arms thoughtfully.
"I never imagined someone bound to Isaiah could summon Abimalech as well. You'll teach me, then?"
Querijn nodded.
"There's more after that. But first, you must master it. You rule here. The Sky will not save people led by a ruler unworthy of them."
Zaden traced the crystal along his cheek.
"So the 'greater task' you mentioned… it involves changing Zerdilla's crystal tower?"
"Yes, Prince. You understand the consequences."
"Waging war against our fathers sounds like courting disaster," he said honestly, sinking back into the throne. Unease clouded his gaze.
"I'm here," Querijn whispered.
He reached out without thinking, fingers brushing her sleeve. Her eyes appeared dull despite the smile she offered, grief carefully hidden.
"I'm sorry," he murmured. "I hesitate while you've already sacrificed everything. When do we begin Abimalech's training? Tomorrow?"
"Yes," she replied, stepping away. "Tomorrow."
She turned, voice cool once more.
"That's enough for tonight, Zaden."
He watched her leave, standing midway before stopping himself.
Only then did he realize—Querijn was walking away with sorrow clenched tight behind her composure, refusing to let her pain become another weight upon his resolve.