He felt his jaw tighten slightly, stubborn determination filling him once again. For now, he'd accept it. But he'd remain vigilant.
Mikhailis stared quietly at the blank space on his chest, fingers instinctively drifting back to the spot where the brand had burned him. His brows knitted deeper, forming a tense line that spoke clearly of his quiet frustration.
"…This is just like before we ca to Serewyn," he muttered softly, voice tinged with unease. He looked toward Elowen, seeking confirmation in her eyes, silently hoping she'd contradict him, even though he already knew better.
Rodion's response felt heavy, clinical, yet there was sothing else beneath it—a subtle edge that implied the AI's own unease about their situation. Mikhailis took another slow breath, exhaling quietly as he processed Rodion's assessnt. He had hoped things would be different this ti; hoped for a clearer answer, perhaps even an end to the quiet dread he carried inside him.
Elowen carefully placed the cloth back into the bowl of warm water, the faint sound of droplets hitting the porcelain softly echoing in the quiet of the room. Her fingers lingered briefly at the edge of the bowl, gripping it just a little too tightly, as if attempting to channel her uncertainty into sothing tangible. Her golden eyes fixed onto the blank, unmarked skin of Mikhailis's chest with a piercing intensity that left no doubt she shared his sense of foreboding.
"Then it hasn't left you," she whispered softly, almost reluctantly, as if she hoped that speaking aloud wouldn't make it true. "It's hiding."
Mikhailis groaned softly, throwing his head back slightly against the pillows in a half-hearted show of frustration. "Great," he sighed, his voice weary yet tinged with a bitter humor. "Like a cursed mole I can't get rid of."
A mont of silence stretched gently between them, the quiet ticking of a distant clock filling the emptiness of their thoughts. The silence felt heavy, charged, as if both were reluctant to break it and address the uncomfortable truth hanging between them.
Yet, Mikhailis knew avoidance wouldn't get them anywhere. He slowly tilted his head to look at Elowen, eting her concerned gaze. His voice softened considerably, taking on a more serious and thoughtful tone. "Where does this brand even co from?"
Elowen's expression shifted imdiately, turning from quiet worry to sothing deeper, sothing ancient, filled with quiet solemnity. She leaned back slightly, drawing in a deep, slow breath, preparing herself to share a truth she'd clearly hoped she'd never have to discuss.
"There's a myth," she began carefully, her voice barely above a whisper, her golden eyes distant as though seeing through centuries rather than just a few feet of empty air. "An old one, buried deep. Most don't speak of it anymore—not even in Serewyn's royal court."
Mikhailis's attention sharpened, body leaning slightly toward her, signaling his silent eagerness to listen. The world around them seed to still, narrowing into this single mont, this hidden secret she was finally revealing.
"Long ago," she continued softly, her voice growing stronger, more confident as the tale unfolded, "there was a monarch whose na has been lost to history. He ruled during an age when Serewyn wasn't the united kingdom it is now. Instead, it was a fractured land of mist-covered cities, each fighting against the others. To bring unity, this monarch turned to sothing ancient, a being beyond understanding nad Vekaros, the Mist Warden."
Elowen's voice dipped lower, filled with a strange mixture of reverence and dread. "Vekaros guarded the thin boundaries between worlds, a guardian of doorways no mortal was ant to open. He granted the monarch a gift—the brand of mist. Those bearing it could touch the veil separating realms, opening doors that should forever remain closed."
Mikhailis shivered involuntarily, the imagery vivid in his mind. His skin prickled with unease at the idea of unknowable, infinite realms lurking just beyond perception. "Sounds healthy," he muttered quietly, injecting a slight edge of sarcasm to offset his discomfort.
Elowen didn't respond to his joke. Her eyes held a weight far heavier than humor. "But the gift changed those who carried it. The monarch's descendants—those born with the blood of mist—were unpredictable. So vanished entirely, disappearing without warning. Others had visions, nightmares. So even tore holes in reality, releasing horrors upon their own people."
"Classic royal parenting," Mikhailis whispered bitterly, "if you can't raise them, erase them."
Elowen gave him a stern, reproachful look, lips pressed into a tight, unamused line. "But so things can't simply be erased," she said, quieter now, almost regretful. "So truths, so legacies, always resurface, no matter how deeply they're buried."
Mikhailis's heart quickened, unease filling his chest anew. Beside him, Elowen had visibly stiffened, her shoulders tensing, eyes wide as though she had just pieced together the last crucial fragnt of so long-forgotten puzzle.
Her next words were nearly inaudible, trembling softly on the edge of revelation. "If this is true…" She hesitated, her gaze locked onto his, eyes deep with hidden implications. "Mikhailis, you don't just carry faint Silvarion Thalor blood."
She reached out gently, fingers brushing softly against his hand, almost as if confirming he was still real, still here.
"You carry royal Serewyn blood as well."
Her voice resonated in the quiet room, each word heavy, profound, carrying implications that hung thickly in the air between them. Mikhailis stared back at her, speechless, his mind racing, replaying her words as reality gradually sank in.
His thoughts spiraled, questions forming and unraveling rapidly. The implications stretched far beyond him personally—they touched kingdoms, destinies, the fates of countless others who had vanished without explanation. He suddenly felt a deep sense of responsibility pressing upon him.
He'd spent so much of his life dismissing royal intrigue, running from expectations, wishing only for simplicity. Now, fate had tangled him tighter into its web than he'd ever imagined possible. It wasn't just about him anymore; it was about history repeating itself, hidden cycles, lost kingdoms, and the power to touch forbidden worlds.
His gaze drifted downward again, returning once more to the empty skin on his chest. That blank space now felt like a hollow mystery, deeper and far more dangerous than he'd ever realized. He clenched his jaw, determination slowly rising within him.
He t Elowen's eyes once more, finding quiet strength reflected there. He knew she understood the gravity of this revelation as deeply as he did.
And yet, despite the heavy weight pressing on his shoulders, Mikhailis felt sothing else—a strange sense of purpose. If this mark had chosen him, if it truly hid royal blood from two kingdoms within his veins, perhaps there was a reason for it. Perhaps he wasn't ant rely to survive, but to change things—to uncover hidden truths and rewrite futures.
Elowen's gentle squeeze of his hand told him clearly she would remain beside him. Whatever ca next, they would face it together.
"That would explain why my nose always tingles when I'm near politics," Mikhailis joked weakly, offering a faint, strained smile.
But Elowen didn't respond to his humor. Her golden eyes were grave, shadowed by an intensity he rarely saw from her—a stark seriousness that imdiately wiped away any lingering traces of levity from the mont. Her lips parted slightly as though searching for words that wouldn't co, a quiet tension drawn across her usually serene face.
Mikhailis leaned back slowly against the pillows, exhaling a quiet breath. He felt a quiet anxiety begin to churn gently inside him. He had always considered the brand a consequence of external forces—sothing forced onto him by the Technomancers or so mysterious group lurking in the shadows. But this revelation changed everything he knew. It had always been inside him, dormant, waiting for the perfect storm to reveal itself.
Rodion confird it with clinical detachnt.
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