Lucas tightened his arms around Nyx one last ti, holding her with the tenderness of a man who wanted to shield her from a fate he could not yet speak of. He whispered softly into her ear that everything would be alright, that she need not surrender to despair, and though his words carried no explanation, they held a firmness that gave them weight. Nyx, moved by his quiet assurance, lifted her face to his and kissed him once more, a kiss that trembled between hope and resignation. When at last she pulled away, she pressed her hand gently against his cheek and gave a faint smile before turning toward the door.
Her voice rang out clearly as she called the servants back into the chamber. They hurried inside, bowing quickly, their arms laden with silks and ornants. Nyx’s composure returned almost instantly, her tone cool and steady as she dismissed Lucas with a few graceful words. "That is all I wished to tell you," she said, her gaze lingering on him for a heartbeat longer than necessary. Lucas inclined his head in understanding, saying nothing more.
As the servant girls surrounded Nyx once again, lifting fabrics and fastening jewels, Lucas turned and left the chamber. The echo of the door closing behind him seed to seal away the fragile mont they had just shared, leaving him with the weight of her despair and his own unspoken resolve.
He did not pause as he left the princess’s wing of the palace and moved toward the great hall where the king held council.
Inside, the atmosphere was as he had expected: a gathering of grave faces seated around the long table, each man and woman of the council intent on the matter at hand. At the head of the table sat the king himself, stern and imposing, his eyes fixed on the parchnt before him. It was clear from the fragnts Lucas overheard that the discussion concerned the terms of alliance with the King of Rus, whose arrival was now imminent.
Among those gathered was Henrietta, seated at the king’s right hand, her presence commanding attention. She appeared calm. Lucas stepped forward, his figure drawing sudden notice, and bent into a respectful bow before the king.
"My king," he said firmly, his voice carrying through the hall, "I must have your attention at once."
The murmurs around the table swelled imdiately. The elders frowned, their expressions darkening at the interruption. A few exchanged sharp glances, displeased at what they deed insolence. It was not customary for anyone, least of all one so young, to break into the council’s deliberations unbidden. Their mutterings carried thinly veiled disdain, but Lucas did not falter. He stood tall, his eyes unwavering, unshaken by the weight of their disapproval.
At the head of the table, the king lifted his gaze at last, his sharp eyes narrowing on Lucas. There was a brief silence before he spoke, his tone asured and commanding. "Very well, then. You have my ear. Speak quickly, for our ti is not endless."
Lucas straightened from his bow, his eyes steady on the king as the murmurs of the council continued to ripple through the hall. He ignored the weight of their disapproving gazes, ignored the faint scoffs and the tightening of lips that silently accused him of arrogance. He knew he had little ti, and that he needed to speak with precision before the king’s patience thinned.
"Your Majesty," Lucas began, his voice firm and carrying across the chamber, "you once told that you would not entertain the thought of any alliance with the Empire of Lechia. You said their influence was dangerous, their reach too vast, and their intentions too unclear."
The elders stirred uneasily, so exchanging glances of warning, others glaring at Lucas outright. It was no small thing to bring up a matter the king had already dismissed, and it sounded to their ears like a direct challenge. Yet Lucas pressed on without faltering, the conviction in his tone silencing at least so of their whispered protests.
"I do not forget what you said," he continued, his hands clasped firmly behind his back. "And I do not dismiss your reasoning. But I also rember that you gave your word...that if I were ever to bring you sothing beyond the ordinary, sothing of such worth that it could tip the balance of power in our favor, then you would hear out. And today, I have co to claim that promise."
The hall fell quiet for a heartbeat, the weight of his words hanging in the still air. The king’s eyes narrowed slightly, the steel of his gaze sharp, and Lucas could almost sense the man’s mind turning behind that asured silence.
At last, the king leaned back in his chair, his expression difficult, though there was a flicker of recognition in his eyes. He rembered the conversation, even if he had spoken the words with reluctance, thinking the matter would fade.
"I recall it," the king said slowly, his deep voice cutting through the stillness like the toll of a bell. "But you also recall my answer. I made it clear that this kingdom would have nothing to do with Lechia. I have not changed that stance, and I do not intend to. Their empire is vast, their hunger greater still, and I will not see our kingdom swallowed in the shadow of their banner."
Several elders nodded vigorously in support of the king’s declaration, their relief almost palpable that the sovereign stood firm against what they considered dangerous foolishness. Yet Lucas did not shrink beneath the weight of those words. He inclined his head in acknowledgent, but his eyes never wavered.
"Yes, my king," Lucas replied. "I rember well that you said those things, and I do not deny the caution behind them. But I also told you then that if you allowed the chance, I would return to you with sothing incredible, sothing that could grant this kingdom not only the respect of Lechia, but leverage in any agreent we choose to make with them. An advantage, not a submission."
There was a faint stir among the council, uncertainty breaking through their disdain. A few frowned but leaned forward slightly, curiosity sparking against their better judgnt.
The king remained still, his jaw set, but his eyes lingered on Lucas with that piercing sharpness of a man who had learned, over the years, that dismissing so voices too quickly could lead to costly mistakes. Lucas had a way of upending expectations, of pulling truths and results from places no one else thought to look.
"You have tested my patience more than once," he said, his voice low but commanding, "yet I have also seen that you are not without substance in what you bring. Very well, Xavier. Proceed. Show this incredible thing of yours. Show what you claim can place us on higher ground, even against Lechia."
Lucas nodded once, solemnly, the faintest trace of determination flashing in his eyes.
He steadied himself as every eye in the chamber bore down on him. His words carried not only the weight of his conviction but also the audacity to challenge the very course the kingdom was preparing to take. He drew in a calm breath, his voice ringing clear and deliberate as he addressed the throne directly.
The elders shifted uncomfortably, their muttering voices rising into a low hum of disapproval. To them, Lucas was not rely overstepping his place, he was threatening to unravel weeks of delicate planning, the culmination of council debates, argunts, and concessions. Several of them scowled openly, the older among them shaking their heads as if the boldness of youth was a dangerous fla that ought to be smothered before it spread. One elder, his robes heavy with the insignia of long service, leaned toward another and whispered loud enough for others to catch, "The boy has begun to believe he can decide the course of nations, simply because his skills in cultivation and alchemy are rare. He toys with fire he does not understand."
Lucas heard them clearly, but he did not so much as turn his head in their direction. Their disdain ant nothing to him. He was not here to seek their favor, nor did he intend to bend to their doubts. His business was with the king, and with the king alone.
"Your Majesty," Lucas said again, his tone unshaken, "I have practiced an art that few have even dared to study, and fewer still have grasped. It is the art of stepping through space itself. Teleportation."
The word hung in the chamber like a bolt of thunder. The grumbling among the elders ceased at once, silence swallowing the chamber in the wake of his declaration.
The king’s eyes widened, his body leaning forward slightly as if to make certain he had not misheard. "Teleportation?" he asked, his deep voice cutting through the sudden hush. "You claim you can bend space?"
Lucas inclined his head. "I do not claim mastery. I will not stand here and say that the technique is perfected. But I can say this: I can move from one place to another in the blink of an eye. I have tested it. I have felt the shift of space. Though the art is not yet polished, I have already begun to shape it."
For a heartbeat, disbelief flickered across the king’s stern face, but it gave way almost instantly to sothing else, sothing fierce and alive. The king’s fingers, resting on the arm of his throne, twitched slightly before curling into a tight grip. His breath ca heavier, not with anger but with the sudden rush of exhilaration. His hand trembled against the carved wood of the throne, and though he tried to steady it, the faint shake betrayed the storm within him. He was not a man easily surprised, nor easily moved, yet he knew well enough the weight of the na that had just been spoken aloud.
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