Chapter 133: Halfway Through
"The pace wove its progress far too slowly," Lucia responded, his silver eyes fixed onto the dark polished floorboards of the study. "Most specifically following the hour my hands extracted that young child from the darkness, my soul registered the pained realization that my timeline had wasted precious seasons. Evaluating the severity of her structural lacerations, her frame had clearly endured imprisonment within that stone cage for at least six moons of the calendar. If my outriders had un-earthed those hidden tracking lines earlier down the timeline, by what logic would her spirit have been forced to shiver across such an endless, hopeless wait?"
He lifted his head, his gaze meeting Lansseax's complicated, deeply moved expression, his jaw tightening as his gritted teeth forced the words past his lips. "A narrow confinement cell measuring less than ten meters in altitude and twenty paces across its circumference, a stone square barely massive enough to accommodate a dragon's body when spread flat—by what law of nature can such a structure be deployed to lock her silver hide away for three winters, five cycles of the sun, or even a total lifetime? How can an un-vouched, sub-human parasite like Maxwell—an entity whose soul scores as vastly worse than a wild swine or a feral hound—still possess a living dragon heart actively beating inside his thoracic cavity? Since the formal closure of the Unification Campaigns, how many innocent souls across this continent who legally should have flourished beneath the sovereign protection of Farum Azula have been ruthlessly broken and bled in the dark?"
Lucia drew a long, chest-heaving breath, as if straining every nerve to forcefully expel the scorching, volatile resentment and burning fury surging through his venous channels. As the cycles turned across this world, the faint, lingering traces left upon his consciousness by his previous existence were becoming increasingly subtle; what currently inhabited this physical vessel was unequivocally the proud, un-bending soul of an Ancient Dragon.
"Yet, absolute zero fraction of this systemic tragedy tracks back to your own name, Sister Lansseax... without your sacrifice, without the un-yielding scepter of Lord Placidusax, perhaps the Ancient Dragon Dynasty would have completely, systematically collapsed into ashes during those ancient wars."
He wove a slow, heavy shake across his head, his baritone dropping into a quiet, deeply respectful register. "My own eyes have monitored the specific manner certain ancient elders of the Farum Azula high councils look upon my divinity, and my spirit has personally experienced the stagnant, decayed atmosphere of our homeland—an architecture rotting from its roots like an ancient, twisted cedar tree. Your own life record has already expended entirely too much of its vitality strictly to support such a crumbling dynasty up to this immediate watch."
"Consequently, my scepter lacks the capacity to wait a single secondary watch regarding this matter. Whether the cause turns to those non-human tribes who have endured an identical, tragic fate as that child, or targets the collective mass of our people who have never let the honor of Farum Azula down, yet have been thoroughly, ruthlessly let down by the negligence of Farum Azula instead... whether your heart judges my maneuvers as impatient and reckless, or evaluates my actions as disregarding my own personal survival—at least across this night, my steel is conformed to see this purge through to its absolute end."
Entirely beyond their conscious monitoring, the freezing winter wind whipping outside the high study windows had intensified its velocity considerably, and thick, goose-feather snowflakes pattered continuously against the glass panes like soft iron hail. Lansseax quietly gazed at the silver-haired youth fronting her desk, the profound, shifting emotions reflected within her pupils as elusive, deep, and impossible to decipher as the rising morning mists hovering over the wide waters of Liurnia of the Lakes.
Following an extended, dense watch of total silence across the quiet room, she finally let out a soft, long-delayed sigh, her baritone emerging with a gentle, bittersweet warmth. "Back on that historic afternoon near the grand gates of Dectus, my heart initial realized how un-yielding and formidable your internal will had grown. And from that exact cross of the clock, my tongue continuously desired to remind your spirit to desist from carrying such an intense, suffocating anxiety. Your lifecycle remains so exceptionally young... and the absolute totality of our civilizational goals can be methodically executed step by single step down the calendar."
"Yet, with the variables having compressed our front to this immediate checkpoint, there appears to manifest zero requirement to repeat those old administrative warnings," she murmured, a faint, self-deprecating smile curving her lips. "Your intellect undoubtedly parses the layout without my voice laying down the parameters: your operational choices on this night will exert a profound, irreversible ripple effect that reaches far beyond the immediate settlement of these subterranean crimes. Assuming our strategy successfully navigates every hurdle tomorrow morning, the absolute totality of the Golden Dynasty's conservative peerage will fully process the terrifying threat your name presents to their ancestral monopolies, and even the public diplomatic goodwill Lord Radagon recently broadcasted through the seal will rapidly evaporate into thin air."
"Following the closure of this night, there will preserve absolute zero secondary queries like 'this specific watch' or 'the upcoming cycle.' Having resolutely chosen to walk this specific path, your boots will inevitably intersect violent dangers, dark conspiracies, and high-fatality obstacles a hundred times more perilous than any trial your steel conquered in the past... and the laws of the realm record absolute zero turning back."
Lucia calmly took a slow sip from his porcelain teacup without releasing a single syllable into the space; across this specific cross of data, an absolute, dignified silence constituted the premier response his posture could hand-deliver.
Sister Lansseax gently closed her eyelids, her calloused fingers rising to rub her temples to ease the deep fatigue pulsing behind her brows. Following a brief watch of quiet contemplation, she exhaled a long breath into the air, pushed her high-backed mahogany chair backward, and stepped gracefully around the perimeter of the desk. Lucia wove an immediate impulse to rise to his boots parallel to her movement, but her slender, warm hand lightly pressed down against his shoulder, gently anchoring his frame to the seat.
In the very next second, she smoothly, tenderly wrapped her arms around the youth from behind, her long, snow-white tresses cascading like pristine frost over his pauldrons. Her smooth, cool forehead rested softly against Lucia's cheek, and her voice emerged as a quiet, intimate whisper directly beside his ear:
"Then... let our boots walk this path side-by-side, until our line successfully touches the absolute terminal end of this road."
Lucia felt his spine and neck muscle groups violently freeze across a single tick of the clock, an immediate, un-controllable flush of heat rushing straight up to color his cheeks a vibrant crimson. Fortunately, his newly awakening Dragon King's physical vessel—a legendary biological chassis that had merely begun to unfold its un-capped evolutionary parameters—scored as truly extraordinary across every layer of anatomy. This intense, sudden surge of internal blood and vital qi was completely, flawlessly suppressed into absolute tranquility within the literal blink of an eye, ensuring that, at least across the surface presentation of his posture, zero anomalous signals escaped to the air.
Once his pulse re-established its disciplined baseline, his heightened senses could clearly, viscerally register that Sister Lansseax's subtle aura had mutated into a configuration that rose vastly heavier, longer, and more deeply anchored than her standard presentation—looking exactly like a weary, multi-thousand-league traveler who had finally, at long last, isolated a peaceful sanctuary corner to rest her heavy burden following an endless journey. Perhaps it was strictly across this immediate microsecond that his presence had hand-delivered a genuine, un-shakable conviction to her heart, proving she no longer stood entirely alone in guiding the vast, crumbling vessel of the Ancient Dragon Dynasty forward through the dark.
On the parallel flank, Lansseax smoothly un-clamped her arms, stepping back across the rug. However, when measured against the Ancient Dragon Prince who had nearly turned to solid stone under the sudden affection, the High Priest of the Dragon Cults displayed a vastly more serene, perfectly composed demeanor. She casually reached out her fingers to smooth the minor, wrinkled folds decorating Lucia's silver-embroidered tunic, her cadence light and practical. "My person will desist from accompanying your carriage to the Eternal Palace on this night, strictly to avoid generating an optical illusion suggesting our house is applying an excessive, un-courtly military pressure to squeeze the cabinet of the Golden Dynasty. It registers as infinitely more optimized for your own voice to handle the negotiations fronting the thrones."
"My mind parses the strategic rationale, Sister," Lucia acknowledged, his cadence steadying.
"Then step forward without hesitation!" Lansseax smiled warmly, her palm delivering a light, reassuring pat against his shoulder. "My boots have merely just rushed back from the outer provincial tours, and there manifest thousands of high-priority administrative tasks demanding my pen across the main temple chapters. Once your business concludes within those high halls, your scepter will undoubtedly find itself multiple times more occupied across the upcoming suns. My person will return to the sanctuary now to prepare the groundwork."
Having delivered the farewell, she pivoted her silk vestments and departed the private study, her silent silhouette dissolving into the quiet corridor in the literal blink of an eye.
Lucia rose slowly from his seat, returning to his chair as he granted his cognitive engines several long minutes to achieve total emotional equilibrium. Although the immediate personal interaction had un-rolled along an unexpected vector, the paramount objective governing the night still required his absolute, un-divided focus: navigating the high court at the Eternal Palace.
Several long hours had cleared the calendar since his dragon form and Prince Radahn had violently materialized within the subterranean drainage culverts, yet the inner councils of the Eternal Palace had maintained an absolute, eerie silence without releasing a single imperial decree. The tactical equation was painfully clear—their divine Majesties were hyper-vigilantly waiting for his physical arrival, while his own strategy was patiently awaiting the delivery of a few critical physical items that would ultimately, decisively tilt the balance of the grand chess match.
Roughly fifteen minutes down the clock, a disciplined, rhythmic knock resonated against the heavy oak study door, and Captain Aegis's firm baritone cleared the wood. "Your Royal Highness... the heavy carriage arrays and the honor guard have finalized their preparations."
"Let our vanguard launch the transit immediately."
Escorted directly by Captain Aegis and an elite, iron-clad detachment of ten veteran Storm Knights, Lucia's high-born carriage accelerated along the dark stone avenues, passing smoothly through half the sprawling perimeter of the Golden Temple before arriving fronting the monumental, star-lit gates guarding the Eternal Palace.
The elite imperial guardsmen patrolling the palace threshold appeared to have received explicit, non-negotiable executive commands from the higher chambers long before the carriage wheels touched their pavement. Despite the hour settling into the absolute dead of night, the royal sentries desisted from executing standard bureaucratic inquiries or checking letters patent, immediately swinging the heavy iron grates open to authorize Lucia's entourage to enter the sacred grounds to pay his respects.
Upon clearing the majestic inner archway to enter the quiet rear sanctuary where Queen Marika and the Lord Consort Radagon maintained their private residences, the Head of Internal Palace Affairs—Shabriri—stepped fluidly out from the shadow of a marble pillar. His features mapped his signature, nauseatingly obsequious smile as his spine bent into a profoundly deep, sweeping court bow, his raspy voice emerging like oil across silk. "Your Royal Highness... His Majesty the Lord Consort wove an explicit directive commanding my person to await your arrival across this threshold for quite a considerable watch of the night."
Lucia's brow subtly twitched; his mind had wove an immediate impulse to query which specific sovereign had issued the command, yet before his tongue could release the syllables, Shabriri smoothly un-rolled a secondary layer of information, his tone sweet. "Across this night, the absolute totality of the nation is engaged in raucous holiday celebrations, and their Majesties have both chosen to indulge in an unusually late rest. Her Majesty Queen Marika is currently quietly admiring the rare winter blooms within the secluded rear gardens, while His Majesty Lord Radagon is actively processing critical state papers inside the eastern side hall. My office queries... which specific divine sovereign does Your Royal Highness desire to pay your primary respects to first?"
Lucia went momentarily motionless, a minor flash of tactical surprise crossing his mind. My tongue has desisted from releasing a single query, yet your mouth has already laid out the choices?
However, his intellect decoded within a microsecond that this immediate, dual option did not originate from Shabriri's personal arrogance, but constituted a calculated, highly subtle diplomatic probe hand-delivered straight from the sovereign thrones above. Although the official had temporarily served as Radagon's private envoy during their previous transaction, within an environmental crisis of this gravity, the entity actively testing his political alignment might define Radagon, could represent Marika, or might even format a joint, tacitly agreed-upon trial orchestrated by both rulers operating behind the curtain.
Yet, for the silver-haired Ancient Dragon Prince, this diplomatic trap did not constitute a puzzle worth wasting a single drop of strategic anxiety over.
"Guide my steps to the rear gardens initial," Lucia commanded, his countenance remaining entirely expressionless, his baritone completely un-fused as he met the courtier's gaze.
"As your divinity dictates." Shabriri's features preserved that exact, sickeningly obsequious smile—as if his dark, hidden calculations had already flawlessly predicted the precise choice Lucia would execute—as he smoothly pivoted his silk-draped frame to guide the Empyrean's boots toward the secluded, snow-dusted pathways of the royal gardens.