CHAPTER 159: THE BEGINNING OF EVERYTHING

Blood dripped from his fingers.

Warm. Thick. Still fresh.

It painted his knuckles, soaked into the torn silk of his cuffs, and clung to the hilt of the blade like it, too, was grieving.

Cassius stood motionless in the marble corridor—his breathing ragged and shallow. A gash slashed across his throat, not deep enough to kill, but far too close. His hand still trembled where the blade had nearly ended it all.

But he hadn’t done it.

Not yet.

He couldn’t.

Not while she still lay there—cold and alone. He staggered forward, dragging his feet through the empty hallway, until he reached the end.

A silver door. Carved with runes.

The air behind it was colder than any winter wind, but not as cold as the silence waiting inside.

Cassius pushed the door open and walked into the tomb. There, in the center of the room, on a slab of ice-glass, lay Lavinia.

Pale.

Still.

Gone.

Her lips were blue, her cheeks drained of life. She looked like porcelain. Like something sculpted by grief and frozen in time.

And yet—still beautiful.

Still his.

Cassius stepped forward on shaking legs. He sank to his knees beside her, the sound of metal hitting stone echoing like thunder in the quiet. He reached out with bloodstained fingers and brushed back a strand of her golden hair.

A smile—broken, soft, desperate—touched his face.

"I found it," he whispered. "I found the way, my little light..." His voice cracked. "...Papa found a way to bring you back."

A tear rolled down his cheek, falling onto the icy slab, hissing as it touched her frozen skin. The sword in his hand slipped from his grip and clattered to the ground. He bent over her, gathering her lifeless body in his arms like she was made of starlight and ash. His cloak spilled over her like a blanket of shadows.

"I will bring you back," he muttered again and again, his voice growing raw, frantic—dangerous.

"I will bring you back."

"Papa will bring you back."

His arms tightened around her as he stood, lifting her as if she were still a child asleep after a long night.

He turned and walked out of the chamber, past the dead guards who couldn’t move, past the aides who dropped to their knees at the sight of their bleeding, broken emperor.

He didn’t look at any of them. He only muttered one thing under his breath, eyes fixed on the night beyond the palace walls.

"To the Holy Temple."

The carriage door was flung open. The driver, already trembling from the sight of the blood, paled further. "Y-Your Majesty?"

Cassius didn’t look at him.

He climbed inside with Lavinia still in his arms, her head cradled against his chest like she might stir any moment.

His voice was low. Unforgiving.

"Drive. To the Holy Temple."

The driver swallowed hard. "Y-Yes, Your Majesty."

The horses galloped like they, too, could feel the weight of the emperor’s grief behind them. And when the carriage halted at the gates of the sacred mountain, the ground crunching under its wheels, a figure in white waited for him.

A man cloaked in purity.

Face hidden beneath a veil.

Eyes unreadable.

Cassius stepped out, his cloak drenched in blood, his arms still full of the daughter he had failed.

The robed figure bowed slightly.

"He is waiting for you."

Cassius didn’t respond. He simply walked forward—past the gates, past the prayers, past the holy symbols that should have burned a man with this much blood on his hands.

He walked into the temple.

Into the dark.

Toward a miracle.

Toward madness.

Toward the beginning of everything.

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[Cassius’s POV – Towards the Throne Room]

The pain. The memories.

No matter how fiercely I try to burn them away, they crawl back—clinging like ash to skin. Clawing through the cracks I’ve tried to seal.

Why?

Why does fate insist on dragging them back to me?

Why does it keep pulling her into the shadows of danger?

The fear of losing her... It never left. It just went quiet for a while—until tonight, when it roared back louder than anything.

As if waking itself were a punishment.

Pain throbbed behind my eyes, sharp and rhythmic, like something alive trying to claw its way out of my skull. I sat still, staring up at the carved ceiling of my throne room, ornate and grand—yet suffocatingly empty.

The ache in my head was nothing compared to the storm unraveling in my chest.

Memories.Uninvited.Unforgiving.

They flooded in the moment silence fell.

Her laughter—young, free, echoing through the palace halls. The softness of her voice when she used to whisper, "Papa, tell me another story."

The light in her eyes.

Gone.

I closed my eyes again.

But it was no better.

Because I saw it—again.

That room.That slab of ice.Her body, motionless in my arms.

My Lavinia.

My child.

My daughter.

Dead.

The vision clawed its way through me like a blade wrapped in sorrow. I could still feel the weight of her body in my arms—light, too light, as though the soul had been torn away. Her skin was ice. Her lips are blue. Her hands were limp.

She had died.And the world had died with her.

And now—

Now I sit here, on this throne of stone and iron, built with blood and sacrifice, and my daughter—my child—dares to slip past my walls as if she were made of mist and not imperial blood.

I exhaled, slow and bitter. The ache behind my eyes deepened.

But Lavinia... She’s dramatic. She’s lazy when it suits her. And she is, without question, reckless.

But not foolish.

She wouldn’t have risked everything for a festival. No—my daughter never moves without reason, even when cloaked in mischief.

I rubbed my forehead, the ache refusing to fade. My voice was quiet and bitter. "Looks like she’s grown bold enough... to keep secrets."

The doors creaked open.

"Your Majesty," Osric announced, walking in with his usual rigid composure. A bird—no, a divine creature—perched calmly on his shoulder.

I narrowed my eyes, every ounce of me still and sharp. "What is that?"

He didn’t flinch—he never did, but I could feel the stiffness in him. "A divine creature, Your Majesty."

I studied it for a moment longer. My voice dropped. "Alright, now tell me, why did my daughter leave the palace without authorization?"

He tensed. A flicker of hesitation in his eyes.

"Osric," I said coldly, "I am not asking you as her father. I am commanding you as your emperor. Answer me now."

He sighed. The tension in his shoulders shifted—not defiant, but reluctant. "I don’t know the full reason, Your Majesty," he began, carefully. "But..."

He frowned to himself, voice quieter. "She... she hired a guild master. Someone from the underground network."

I stilled. My hand froze on the armrest of my throne. "She what? For what reason?"

He met my gaze. "To dig into Count Talvan’s adopted daughter."

The name struck something deep in my spine. My eyes narrowed, flickering with a tension I hadn’t tasted in years. "You mean... Eleania Talvan?"

He gave a tight nod. "Yes, Your Majesty."

"...Why?" My voice came out softer. Colder.

"I don’t know," he admitted, brows furrowing as if even he didn’t believe his own ignorance. "She gave no reason. Only the order."

I leaned back slowly, my breath coiling like smoke through clenched teeth. Lavinia had never once spoken to Eleania in this lifetime. Not yet. That girl was insignificant now. Forgotten. As she was meant to be. I made sure of that.

Then why?

Why would Lavinia hire a guild master to dig up her information?

I waved a hand. "You may leave."

Osric didn’t move at first. His hesitation ticked at my nerves.

"I thought... you’d punish me," he said finally.

I met his gaze. Cold. Unmoving. "Do you want to be thrown in the dungeons again, then?"

He flinched—just a little. "No, Your Majesty."

"Then don’t speak like a fool," I said, each word like frost. "She refused to listen. She wanted to run alone. That was her mistake. But you followed. You ensured her return. That was your duty. You fulfilled it."

He nodded, slow and obedient—but the weight in his shoulders lingered. Like he knew there was more beneath this than either of us was saying.

"I do not punish men for doing what they were meant to do," I added, voice dropping, not kindly.

"Understood, Your Majesty."

He turned again but paused. Just once. "...Are you truly grounding her? For a week?"

My jaw set.

"She is not some tavern-born brat to flit through alleyways in disguise," I said, voice sharp, words measured and final. "She is the heir to this empire. Recklessness is not a luxury she’s permitted. She must learn."

Osric bowed. "Then I shall take my leave."

I said nothing.

The chamber doors closed behind him with a soft click, sealing the silence back in.

And I remained seated.

Alone.

The vision still clung to me—her lifeless form draped in my arms, the ice in her skin colder than the gods ever intended. I had held death once. I had screamed into the night.

But now... My fingers curled around the throne’s edge.

Why, Eleania?

That name should have meant nothing to her now.

That past—all of it—was locked behind the wards I’d paid for in blood and soul. She was never supposed to remember.

Not the pain.

Not the poison.

Not the girl whose death shattered everything.

I shut my eyes.

She couldn’t know.

She was never meant to know

"I made sure," I whispered to the silence. "That she would never have to carry those memories again. That this life would be hers. Untouched. Unbroken."

But somewhere beneath the surface...

Something was breaking.

And I didn’t know how much longer I could stop it.