In the Chronohelix hideout, the celebration had given way to disciplined routine. The camp was a hub of purposeful activity: warriors trained, cooks prepared supplies, and even the children played with a quiet energy.
In a flowery garden-like spot near the graveyard reserved for the fallen of the El Vitrifex clan, Valerus was alone, deeply immersed in his training. The newly named legendary swords were extensions of his will: Apex (the Aureblade) pulsed with golden light in his right hand, and Valor (the Oathkeeper's Shadows) felt dark and steady in his left. He commanded a whirlwind of elemental energies, efficiently cycling through Water, Earth, Fire, and Wind Hera.
"I see you've mastered four elemental Hera," Athena's voice cut through the silence, as she approached him through the flowers. "That leaves only Lightning Hera as the final element."
"Well, that's what I'm trying to learn," Valerus said, bringing his furious training to a pause. He swung the twin blades to a rest, sweat darkening his tunic. He then channeled a gentle burst of Water Hera to wash the grime and sweat from his body instantly.
Athena blushed, catching her breath as she watched the display of elemental control and the physique beneath the wet fabric.
"Lord Lancelot said I should fetch you," she managed, looking away briefly. "He said the meeting is important."
"Alright," Valerus said, sheathing Apex and Valor.
Moments later, Valerus walked into the main council area with Athena and took his seat. The entire council, including the leaders of the allied Vylonian and Thorenzian clans, was seated, waiting for his arrival.
"Now, everyone is here. We can begin our meeting," Lord Lancelot El Vitrifex announced, nodding to the Elder of the new allies.
"Ahem," Zeddicus El Max cleared his throat, taking the floor. "According to Valerus and your records, you initially had four established clans from the House of El. Namely, the El Joranda clan, the El Zoranda clan, the El Drodragon clan, and the El Vitrifex clan. Is this correct?"
"Yes, Zeddicus," Lancelot confirmed. "But with the recent addition of the El Max clan, we now have five clans accounted for."
"That means we are still missing two," Zeddicus stated, his expression grave. "The El Necro clan and the El Zaa clan. And I must tell you, we have far more to worry about concerning the El Zaa clan than the El Necro."
"The Curse, huh?" Lancelot murmured, shaking his head.
"What Curse?" Valerus chimed in, his brow furrowed with confusion.
"Valerus, some of our Spies are still active in Aethelgard, gathering information, right?" Zeddicus asked, ignoring the interruption.
"Yes, Chief Zeddicus El Max," Valerus confirmed. "But what Curse are you talking about? Speak plainly."
Zeddicus and Lancelot exchanged a dark, knowing glance before Zeddicus answered. "The Curse is one that cannot be broken. Not by Hera, not by the Aureblade, and certainly not by brute force."
"So what is it? What is the Curse that can't be broken?" Valerus demanded, leaning forward.
"We call it The Curse of Zaa," Zeddicus replied.
"The Curse of Zaa? Does it have something to do with the missing El Zaa clan?" Athena asked, connecting the names.
"Yeah, that's right," Sir Lancelot El Vitrifex confirmed.
Lancelot unrolled a massive, aged scroll, carefully scanning the complex text until he found the page he was looking for.
"That's it," Lancelot said, pointing to an illustration on the parchment. He then lifted the scroll to show the assembled people of Chronohelix. "If you see anyone with this symbol—this precise tattoo—that person is a member of the El Zaa clan."
The moment Valerus saw the illustration, his eyes widened in sheer, frozen shock. "What?" he mused aloud. Athena, watching him closely, wondered why he was staring at the scroll with such intensity.
"Does it ring a bell, Valerus?" Zeddicus probed gently.
"Um, what is this Curse you speak of?" Valerus managed to ask, ignoring the Elder's question.
"Well, the El Zaa clan possesses a specialized ability," Lancelot explained. "The ability to make others do their will. They can make you say yes if they wish. They can make you kill someone precious to you with just a spoken word. It is a terrifying power, capable of bringing powerful empires and mighty kingdoms to their knees. However, it comes with an immutable price: the user's lifespan. Basically, no one in the history of the El Zaa clan has ever lived above the age of forty-seven. That is the price they pay for wielding such power, and why they are so rare."
Valerus rose up from his seat, the sound of his chair scraping on the stone floor shattering the silence. His eyes were shaking with internal horror.
"Babe, what is it?" Athena questioned, standing up quickly, alarmed by his reaction.
That tattoo, Valerus thought, his mind racing through countless past interactions. That cobra tattoo on your back. It never occurred to me, since I had no clue about your clan. Even when I learned about the House of El, I didn't know you were a member of a missing clan like me, old friend. I never knew, Caius!
Meanwhile, in the ash-laden capital of Cinder, within the cold confines of Arthur's castle, the air remained heavy with unresolved anger. The meeting with the thirteen Tetrarchs had just concluded, and all the provincial governors had departed hastily to their assigned territories.
Emperor Arthur Delacronix and Queen Lysandra Delacronix were alone once more.
"What should we do?" Lysandra asked, her calm demeanor belied by the anxiety in her voice. "We may be immortal now, but Valerus is more powerful than we are, and he now wields two legendary blades. Not to mention that we are the only ones in the entire empire with this achievement."
"Should we make everyone in Aethelgard immortal as well?" Arthur asked, ever the pragmatist searching for a shortcut to total dominance.
"No! No, no, no, no, Noooo!" Lysandra opposed, recoiling as if he had suggested cutting out her heart. "How could you possibly think of that?"
"Why not?" Arthur asked, genuinely confused.
"Use your head, Arthur," Lysandra snapped. "If everyone is immortal, they will certainly rise against us. There are countless citizens of Aethelgard who are not in support of the fact that we govern them. If they cannot die, we cannot truly hurt them, and if we cannot hurt them, they become uncontrollable."
She walked toward the high window, looking out over the perpetually snow-dusted city. "Think of the people residing in Blight and their stubborn Tetrarch. They already oppose our rule. Imagine a situation where the populace of Blight was immortal like us—we probably wouldn't be sitting on these thrones now. Control relies on fear of the end."
Arthur sank deeper into his seat, the logic piercing through his pride. "You're right," he conceded.
"Yes," Lysandra affirmed.
"So, what should we do?" Arthur asked, looking to her for the tactical solution, as he often did.
Lysandra began to think deeply, attempting to devise a way to counter the unprecedented threat of Chronohelix. Suddenly, the door to the throne room fluttered open, and a palace guard walked in.
"What's the matter?" Arthur demanded, annoyed by the interruption.
The guard didn't say a word. He walked straight toward Arthur, drew the standard-issue sword from his hip, and plunged it mercilessly into the Emperor's chest. The guard's eyes were bloodshot and reddish, locked in a terrifying, vacant stare.
"Hey!" Arthur stammered in horror, more shocked by the betrayal than the injury. He looked down at the blade protruding from his torso. "Poison?"
"What?" Lysandra questioned, already moving.
Her diamond-like Roogan eyes activated instantly. With a blinding flash of energy, she unleashed a devastating psychic blast that sent the guard flying across the room, where he struck a wall and fell, lifeless.
Arthur gripped the sword hilt and yanked the blade free, his wound already closing, the powerful, achieved immortality erasing the damage.
"What was that?" Arthur demanded, throwing the sword onto the marble floor.
"I don't know," Lysandra said, cautiously approaching the dead guard. She knelt beside the body, observing the blank, reddish state of his eyes. "It looked like he was controlled."
"Control?" Arthur stood up from the ground, his white uniform now stained with quickly fading blood. "Are you saying there is a puppet master among the Thorenzians? Did they recruit a sorcerer with a talent for mind manipulation?"
"I don't know," Lysandra said, standing up, her gaze hardening. She looked at the bloodstains rapidly disappearing from her husband's chest. "But it's possible. If so, the Thorenzians are far more dangerous than we ever thought."