Simore's eyes flew open. He stumbled back, almost losing his footing. “By the gods…” His voice was a whisper, but it seemed to shake the very walls. “She lives.”

The Empress’s hand flew to her lips; Serox’s face went pale, his breath catching in his throat. Around the room, the frozen silence broke into gasps, sobs, and frantic murmurs.

For the first time in days, the grief in that chamber shifted — not gone, but pierced through with a single, trembling thread of hope.

EPISODE EIGHT
RISING FROM FALL

Sigel’s hand came to rest lightly on Simore’s shoulder, her fingers warm against the cold tension in his frame. “Brother,” she said softly, her tone measured, almost coaxing. “Our sister’s passing is… most unfortunate. But we can do nothing now. Let her rest.”

Simore’s head jerked up, his eyes flashing. “Sigel!” His voice cracked through the air like a whip, startling her. He seized her wrist and pushed her hand away, his own trembling.

“Brother Simore—”

“No!” His breathing quickened, panic threading through each word. “Her hand… it moved.”

Sigel blinked at him, her brow knitting. “What nonsense is this?”

“I saw it.” His voice had lost its edge, but the urgency only deepened. “I swear on the gods themselves, I saw Sterlla’s hand move.”

Her gaze searched his face, reading the raw fear and confusion etched there. “You are in mourning,” she said gently, though a faint, unreadable curl touched the corner of her lips. “Grief plays cruel tricks upon the mind.”

“This is no trick!” Simore stepped closer, his tone almost desperate now. “Look at me, Sigel. I am not raving. I know what I saw.”

The chamber seemed to grow smaller around them. Neither moved, their eyes locked — his blazing with conviction, hers shadowed with doubt… and something else she kept carefully veiled.

Between them, the air felt taut, as if a single word might tear through the fragile barrier between grief and impossible hope.

The chamber stood in stillness, the only sound the faint crackle of the torches against the walls. Orion became the key to break the silence then. “Your highness, my lord,” he directed his words to the Emperor. “Sterlla did move. With all that exists in truth, I swear upon, she did move. Her fingers twitched. Believe us, Your Highness.”

“Fetch the physician,” the Emperor ordered at last, nodding at Orion, his voice heavy but resolute.

When the physician arrived, he paused at the threshold, his dark eyes sweeping over the gathered faces before resting on Sterlla’s still form. He stepped forward with measured grace, bowing his head to the Emperor. “Your Majesty, my lord,” he murmured, then knelt beside the bier.

Simore stood at his side, fists clenched at his sides. “Please,” he urged, “tell them I am not mad.”

The physician said nothing, only reached for Sterlla’s delicate hand. His fingers, steady from decades of service, pressed lightly against her skin. A long moment passed. His brows drew together.

The Empress shifted uneasily. “Sir?” she asked, her voice wavering.

The Emperor’s tone cut through the silence. “Speak plainly. What do you find?”

The physician’s lips parted, but the words caught in his throat. His gaze lingered on Sterlla’s chest, and his hand moved to rest lightly above her heart. Then, in a voice scarcely louder than a breath, he said, “Your Majesties, my lord and lady… she is breathing.”

The words struck the room like a peal of thunder.

Orion took a step forward, eyes wide. “I told you!”

A chorus of gasps and startled murmurs rippled among the courtiers. The Empress’s hand flew to her mouth, her eyes shining with disbelief.

The Emperor, ever a master of composure, felt his own heart falter. “Breathing?” he repeated, as if by saying it again he could bind the impossible truth to reality.

And there she lay — their daughter, their princess — the veil between life and death trembling, the entire court suspended between dread and wonder.

[Emperor Serox's bedchamber
Three days prior]

The chamber remained dim, the lone flame of a tall candelabrum casting restless shadows along the gilded walls. Serox stood by the window, hands clasped behind his back, watching the rain streak across the glass.

Linone entered quietly, bowing. “Your Majesty, our lord, the court still awaits word. Shall we… announce it?”

Serox’s gaze did not leave the darkened city below. “No,” he said firmly. “The world will hear nothing of this. Not yet.”

Linone hesitated. “It is the passing of our crown princess, sire. To keep such silence—”

“To keep silence,” Serox interrupted, turning at last to face him, “is to spare them the madness that would follow.” His eyes, sharp even through his grief, held Linone still. “You know what the people will say. That shadows walk among us. That the Devil himself reached into this palace.”

Linone’s jaw tightened. “They would fear.”

“They would tear themselves apart,” Serox corrected. He moved to the center of the room, his voice lowering. “This remains within these walls. Let them believe all is well. Let them sleep without fear gnawing at their hearts. And let us have one last hope.”

For a moment, Linone said nothing, then bowed deeply. “As you command, Your Majesty.”

When the chamber was silent once more, Serox exhaled, his shoulders sinking ever so slightly. The world outside would know nothing — not of Sterlla’s stillness, nor of the breath that returned to her. Their grief would be theirs alone.

Year 374...
Xiones Castle...
November 13th...

The castle, once shrouded in mourning, had begun to breathe again. Footsteps returned to the marble halls, and the faint strains of music drifted from distant corridors.

In the great hall, Simore leaned against a cushioned chair, a blanket around his shoulders. His complexion had regained some color. Linone was by his side, pouring him a cup of herbal tea.

“You’re walking more each day,” Linone said softly.

Simore gave a faint smile. “And thinking less about… that night. But the guilt—”

“Guilt heals slower than wounds,” Linone interrupted gently. “But it does heal.”

Across the room, Orion stood speaking with Serox. His brow was furrowed, though he straightened at the Emperor’s approach.

“You’ve carried much in the past weeks,” Serox said.

“I had to,” Orion replied. “If I’d left the capital, I’d have felt as though I’d abandoned her twice.”

“You didn’t abandon her,” Serox said firmly. “You stood guard over her kingdom when she could not.”

From the doorway, Seradole entered with a sheaf of documents. “The council awaits our word. They’ll want to hear why this palace seemed to have ceased attending duties. Although peace has returned our family, the court must know why the royals remained behind closed doors for the past few weeks so.”

“Peace?” Sigel’s voice drifted from the far end of the hall, her expression unreadable. “Perhaps. But shock still lingers.” She met Seradole’s eyes briefly before turning away.

In the courtyard beyond the open windows, Adena tightened the straps on her gauntlets, barking orders to her teams. “The princess is back. That’s all my soldiers need to know. Now we protect her as if the heavens themselves had sent her twice.”

The moonlight spilled silver over Therasus, and the halls of the royal palace sang alive with muted conversation and hesitant laughter.
Linone moved quietly among the royal family, offering food, warm words, or simply a listening ear.

On the balcony, Serox stood with Seradole, looking out over the city lights.

“We almost lost her,” Seradole murmured.

“But we did not,” Serox replied, his tone steady. “And tonight, that is enough.”

Somewhere inside, laughter rang — fragile, but real. And for the first time in the past few nights, the palace felt alive.

Year 374...
Xiones Castle...
November 15th...

Sigel’s gaze was locked on her reflection, eyes dull, lips pressed in a thin, unmoving line. The mirror gave nothing back but a hollow version of herself. Behind her, the maids lingered by the walls, uncertain whether to speak. Even the sound of their skirts shifting seemed too loud.

Adena broke the stillness first, her boots soft against the carpet as she approached. “Lady Sigel,” she said gently, brushing a loose lock of hair back behind Sigel’s ear before beginning a neat braid.

“Forget it, Adena.” Sigel’s voice was sharp enough to slice the air. “There is no saving me now.”

Adena froze mid-braid, confusion tightening her features. “What do you mean?”

Sigel flicked her fingers toward the door. The maids scattered without a word, leaving the chamber sealed in tense silence.

“They’ll send me away,” Sigel said at last, her tone heavy, her eyes still on the mirror. “The Emperor, the Empress… they’ll see to it that I’m banished from this empire.”

Adena stepped around to face her. “Why would they do that?”

Sigel finally looked at her, the faintest tremor in her lips. “Don’t you resent me, Adena? I know you do.”

“For what exactly?” Adena’s tone turned cold, though her eyes stayed steady. “For your words to me? Your little performance at the hearing? Or is it because you’ve stopped addressing me as ‘Lady Adena’?”

Sigel hesitated. “…All of them. Ade— Lady Adena.”

Adena’s reply came quick and firm. “Then hear me clearly: none of that has harmed me. Not yet. My title is still mine. This house still respects me. And you would do well not to mistake silence for weakness.”

Without waiting for a reply, Adena turned on her heel and left, her footsteps fading down the corridor.

Sigel remained still for a heartbeat, then rose abruptly. She swept her arm across the dressing table, sending perfume bottles and silver combs clattering to the floor. The sharp crack of breaking glass rang through the room.

Breathing hard, she tore the sheets from her bed, pillows tumbling to the carpet. Her fingers dug into the fabric until her knuckles whitened.

Then she stilled. Slowly, a smile crept across her lips — thin, deliberate, and dangerous.

“You’re right, Lady Adena,” she murmured to the empty room. “None of my actions have harmed you. Not yet.” Her gaze darkened, fixed on something far beyond the chamber walls. “But the palace will change. I’ll see to it myself. And you, Sterlla…” she let the name hang in the air, her smile curling further, “…you will see me.”

The room lay in wreckage around her, but Sigel stood in the center of it like a queen before her coronation — a queen of her own making.

Year 374...
Xiones Castle...
November 16th...

The morning sun poured through the open window, its warmth brushing against Sterlla’s cheeks. Her eyelids fluttered, lashes quivering before her eyes slowly opened to a world blurred by light. The first shapes she recognized were the worried faces of her maids, hovering at her bedside as if afraid to breathe too loudly.

“Princess…” one whispered, her voice trembling with disbelief.

Sterlla blinked at them, her lips parting to speak, but the moment was stolen as the maids exchanged gasps and hurried for the door. Their slippers pattered against the floor as they rushed away, no doubt to announce her awakening to the entire household. Only two remained, their presence steady beside her, hands folded in front of them as though guarding her from the very air.

The door burst open.

“Sterlla!”

Simore’s voice cracked through the stillness. He all but stumbled into the room, crossing the distance in uneven strides before falling to his knees at her bedside. His head dropped into her lap, arms trembling as they clutched her gown.

“Brother Simore!” Sterlla’s voice was soft, startled. She reached to lift his chin, searching his face. “Are you unwell?”

His breath came in uneven bursts, tears brimming in his eyes. “I—” His voice faltered, and he swallowed hard before the words tumbled out. “I am so glad… so glad you are here. You cannot imagine… Sterlla, my dear sister, do not—do not ever think of leaving me again.”

Her heart clenched at the desperation in his tone. She threaded her fingers gently through his hair, brushing away the tears that clung stubbornly to his lashes. “I am here,” she murmured, though uncertainty prickled at the back of her mind. “I am not going anywhere.”

More footsteps echoed in the hall. In moments, Serox and Seradole appeared in the doorway, their composure faltering the instant their eyes fell on her. They crossed the room quickly, each taking a place beside her and wrapping her in an embrace that spoke of days—or perhaps weeks for them—of fear.

“Sterlla,” Serox whispered against her hair, his usually firm voice quivering.

Seradole’s hands framed her face as she looked into her daughter’s eyes. “My child… my precious girl.”

Sterlla returned their embraces, her arms wrapping around them in warmth, yet her mind was clouded. Why did they all look as though they had faced the edge of despair? Why were their voices heavy with the weight of something she could not yet see? The answers lingered just out of reach, hidden behind the veil of their relief.