Daphne’s face went blank, her expression freezing mid-thought. The words hung in the air like a physical weight, and for several heartbeats, the only sound in the chamber was the low hum of the ventilation system.
The high commander’s words didn’t just challenge her understanding—they obliterated it. "Are you... absolutely certain?" Her voice trembled, each word a plea for logic to reassert itself. "This defies every biological principle, every societal norm. Is there proof—sothing beyond a directive?"
Her gaze darted to Zaeryn, then back to High Commander Lysara, searching for a tether to reality. Zaeryn stood impassive, his eyes unreadable, while Lysara’s expression remained the sa.
"I know how it sounds, Daphne," Lysara said, her tone steady. "But it’s true."
"You expect to believe that?" The words erupted from her, voice cracking like thin ice. "This isn’t just irregular, Lysara. A male—born from a princess? Resistant to the Fade? And..." Her words faltered as her gaze lingered on him, probing, as if she could dissect his secrets with a glance. "What are you? So genetic experint gone rogue?"
Zaeryn t her stare evenly. "I can see why you would think that. But I assure you, I’m no lab creation."
She squinted, studying him like a specin under glass. "I don’t believe you." Her attention snapped back to Lysara. "Do you have any proof, or is this so elaborate psychological operation to shut up?"
High Commander Lysara didn’t so much as blink. When she spoke, her voice carried that deadly quiet that ant the conversation was about to shift into dangerous territory.
"Proof?" A ghost of a smile touched her lips. "When Ysine first brought this to , I demanded the sa thing. I thought it was a mistake. A wild theory born from desperation." Her fingers moved across her console with deliberate precision. "Until this morning." She said, as the holo-projector clicked to life, casting a single docunt into the air between them. A crimson-sealed holo-letter materialized, its royal insignia pulsing like a dying star.
Daphne’s breath caught in her throat. This was the proof she wanted, and when she saw it, she couldn’t believe that this was really happening right now.
"This arrived from Princess Athea at dawn," Lysara continued, her tone now glacial. "Her words leave no room for interpretation. Zaeryn Noctis is her son. Her bloodline. And her directive regarding his protection is absolute."
The silence stretched taut as Daphne read, her eyes scanning each line with the intensity of soone searching for a flaw in an equation that could save her worldview. But there it was—etched in the flowing script of a royal hand, sealed with the princess’s own crest: "My son." She had called him that. No qualifiers, no hesitation.
That one phrase shattered a dozen theories Daphne had built to protect her sense of control. This wasn’t a mistake, or a forgery, or a diplomatic ruse.
It was proof.
And suddenly, everything about Zaeryn made a terrifying kind of sense.
Zaeryn leaned forward to read over her shoulder, his expression softening briefly. Relief, perhaps, or validation. He said nothing, but knowing that Athea cared enough to help him out of the council’s grip seed to steady him.
"So now you understand," Lysara said, dismissing the holo with a sharp gesture. "This information doesn’t leave this room. Only Lady Valerius and I know the truth of his parentage. And Valerius must never learn about his abilities. Your report will exclude everything about Vitae manipulation. Crystal clear?"
For a long mont, Daphne said nothing. Her face was a study in conflicting emotions – frustration, awe, and a potent, new form of scientific intrigue. The possibility of studying a male of royal blood, one who could manipulate Vitae, was a temptation almost unbearable. It broke every rule, rewrote every textbook she’d ever studied. But Lysara’s cold authority, backed by Athea’s absolute command, was undeniable.
"Yes, High Commander." Her voice was steady now, professional. But inside, she was already planning. Already wondering.
Zaeryn settled back in his chair with what could only be described as a smirk. "So, Chief Scientist, that ans no more treating like your favorite test subject. Tempting as I apparently am." His eyes glinted with mischief. "Though I don’t mind your... other interests."
Heat flooded Daphne’s cheeks before she could stop it. "Other interests?" But even as she said it, she knew exactly what he ant. All those tis in the lab when she’d found excuses to stand closer, to brush against him while checking readings, to let her fingers linger when taking samples. She’d told herself it was professional curiosity.
She’d been lying.
"Tempting?" she shot back, recovering her composure. "Don’t flatter yourself."
He chuckled, unfazed. "If I didn’t have a girlfriend, I might let you try."
"Regardless," Lysara cut in, her tone suggesting the personal byplay was over, "I’ve also received instructions to maintain surveillance on you, Zaeryn. Princess Athea’s direct orders. Mireille and Arya will continue their monitoring duties."
Zaeryn’s playful expression evaporated. "Seriously? That’s—I don’t like that."
"It’s your mother’s decision."
The word mother seed to hit Zaeryn like a physical blow. Was she really his mother after all. He was quiet for a long mont, processing. "Fine," he said finally, though his jaw was tight.
-----
Minutes later, him and Daphne walked through the corridors in loaded silence. The revelation hung between them like a charged field, changing everything and nothing all at once.
"I need ti to process this," Daphne muttered, more to herself than to him. "A male with royal blood. With Vitae potential that could rival a Tier One Warlady." She shook her head. "It’s like finding out gravity runs backwards."
"Join the club," Zaeryn said dryly.
She shot him a sideways look, her scientific hunger barely contained. "It’s criminal that I can’t run proper tests on you. The data we could gather..."
"Not happening." His tone left no room for no argunt.
"You know there’s more to this, don’t you?" she pressed, her voice taking on an almost predatory purr. "The how, the why—we could figure it out together."
"Absolutely not." He repeated seriously.
They’d reached the main corridor junction, and Zaeryn was about to head toward the exit—since he was now free to leave the citadel—when Daphne stopped walking and turned to him. "Have lunch with ."
The casual way she said it—like asking about the weather—made Zaeryn do a double-take. "What?"
"The cafeteria. Lunch. Now." She was already walking again, not waiting for his answer.
Zaeryn stared after her, genuinely confused. This was the sa woman who’d spent the last two days treating him like a fascinating but inferior specin. Now she was asking him to lunch like they were colleagues. Like he was an equal.
Like everything had changed the mont she’d read that letter from Princess Athea. Of course everything had changed. Zaeryn imdiately understood—now that Daphne knew he was Athea’s son, she would be foolish not to try to get along with him.
"Sure, lead the way," he responded.
The cafeteria buzzed with midday energy, filled with all types of people who worked at the citadel—scientists, agent warladies, administrative staff. There was the gentle murmur of conversations as so gossiped over their als. But Zaeryn noticed the subtle shift as he and Daphne entered together. Conversations didn’t stop, but voices lowered. Eyes lingered on him.
So stares held surprise, others indifference, and still others sothing else entirely. He’d never been here before, so that obviously explained why they were looking at him. And even those who had seen him walking through the hallways had assud he was a prisoner—to now see him walking beside Chief Scientist Daphne Virellith like an equal was surprising. He might as well have been wearing a beacon.
Zaeryn looked around briefly. Pretty faces, curves—nothing he wasn’t used to, living with Ysine and Aeris—but still, why was he feeling nervous?
"They’re staring," he murmured, though he quickly ensured that he wouldn’t be negatively affected by it. Zaeryn was handso, with dark hair and bluish eyes, so he knew there was nothing to be self-conscious about. He welcod their stares.
"Get used to it," Daphne replied, and then she grabbed his hand all of a sudden. "They’re curious." She scanned the room, then nodded toward a corner booth by the window. "There. Let’s sit with Kira."
Zaeryn looked to where she had pointed. A woman was seated at the table, her face forming into a beautiful smile as they approached. She looked at Daphne first. "Hey Daphne..." Her gaze shifted to Zaeryn. "Who’s this? Wait, don’t tell —is he the one? The one everyone’s talking about? The male who fought off the Fade and survived?"
"Yes, I am," Zaeryn answered as he took a seat.
Kira’s green eyes widened with genuine fascination. "Incredible. I’ve heard the stories, but seeing you here..." She extended her hand. "I’m Kira Thorne, xenobiology division. And you’re causing quite the stir around here. It’s unheard of for a male to survive an encounter against a fade."
"So I’ve heard." Zaerryn responded, and just then sothing occurred to him. "Wait, your last na is Thorne? Any relation to Commander Thorne?"
Kira nodded, "Yes, she is my older sister," before giving Zaeryn a chance to register her words she said, "I have to ask—what was it like? Facing the Fade?"
Zaeryn’s expression sobered. "Like staring into an abyss that stares back. And finding out you’re not as powerless as you thought."
"Do you know how many males have survived an encounter with a fade, worse, if their friend turns in front of them? Zero." Kira said with a whisper, "So, you’re definitely very different."
anwhile back in the high commanders chambers.
High Commander Lysara sat back in her command chair. Across from her, a life-sized holographic projection shimred into being: Princess Athea’s form appeared. Her features were regal, stunning , frad by an elaborate coiffure that seed sculpted from starlight. Her eyes, the sa piercing as Lysara’s own, held an undeniable hint of authority, yet they were utterly devoid of warmth.
"As per your request, Zaeryn is free from the council’s grasp," Lysara began without preamble. "Only the information you approved remains in the official files." She paused, choosing her words carefully. "Though I hope you understand the risk we’re taking. Secrets this significant have a way of surfacing at the worst possible monts."
Athea’s expression didn’t shift by so much as a micro-expression. When she spoke, her voice carried the sa asured cadence Lysara rembered from their academy days, the tone of soone who had calculated every possible outco before opening her mouth.
"It won’t, old friend." The endearnt felt hollow, a relic from a warr past. "I trust you’ll make sure your colleagues continue to lack the spine to challenge a royal seal. As far as the world is concerned, Zaeryn Noctis does not exist. And if he does, he is a political anomaly—not a blood heir. The lineage remains unspoken until I decide otherwise."
It wasn’t reassurance. It was a command wrapped in the illusion of conversation.
"Of course." Lysara kept her own voice neutral, professional. She’d learned long ago not to let her personal feelings color these exchanges.
Athea leaned forward slightly, and for a mont, Lysara caught a glimpse of sothing that might have been curiosity. "Tell —how did he react when he learned I was intervening on his behalf?"
"Not the way you’d expect." Lysara found herself studying Athea’s face for any crack in that perfect composure. And when she didn’t see any, it annoyed her. "He didn’t react. Not the way I expected. No awe. No questions. When he learned you confird his parentage... he wasn’t surprised. Or impressed. I’d even say he was slightly annoyed."
There was a pause and Athea’s eyes narrowed—not with emotion, but clinical focus. Pure calculation.
Lysara watched her in silence, her thoughts spitting venom she dared not voice: ’Nothing? Really? Not even the faintest reaction? Still the sa,’ Lysara thought bitterly. ’Even now, discussing your own son, you analyze rather than feel. I wonder if you reached out because you actually care, or simply because you can’t afford the political scandal if the world knew you mothered a male.’
Athea finally spoke. "That’s expected."
Lysara’s jaw clenched. But her tone stayed steady as she leaned forward, folding her arms."Athea," she said carefully, "as your forr friend—and the only one you’ve trusted with this—there’s sothing I need to ask." She let it hang for a mont. "Did you know? About his anomaly status?"
User Comments
0 comments from readers