Chapter 85: Chapter 85

The hall was so quiet that Evelisse could hear the faint scratching of her heartbeat against her ears. The air felt unnatural, heavy, as though someone had pulled a veil across the castle and locked it from the world outside.

She turned her head quickly, expecting Lady Marwen to question the situation—but the older woman stood utterly still, her eyes glazed as though frozen mid-thought, like a painting given the shape of life but none of its spirit.

Her breath caught in her throat.

"L–Lady Marwen...?" she whispered, inching closer, waving her hand in front of the woman’s eyes. No response. No blink. No warmth.

Her stomach twisted. Something was wrong.

And then the cold laugh echoed.

It wasn’t loud at first. Just a ripple of sound, like oil across still water. It seeped into the chamber from the shadows at the far end, drawing her gaze like iron pulled to a magnet. A figure emerged, wrapped in a hooded cloak so dark it swallowed the glow of the torches. His very presence warped the air, filling it with tension that pressed against her lungs.

Evelisse’s knees trembled. She wanted to run, to call for help, but her voice refused her. The cloaked man’s steps were unhurried, confident, as though he had all the time in the world. His presence declared: No one is coming. No one can.

"You can stop trying," the figure said, his voice deceptively smooth, almost polite. "No amount of shouting will summon your caretakers. The castle is... asleep. Shut off from prying eyes, frozen in place. Lady Marwen, included."

Evelisse’s chest squeezed tight. Her eyes darted to Marwen again, still frozen. A lump rose in her throat. "W–who are you?" she asked, hating how her voice wavered.

The figure tilted his head, and though his hood hid his face, Evelisse could *feel* the twisted smile stretching across his mouth.

"A simple messenger," he replied, "though perhaps more honest than most. I serve the one who seeks what is rightfully his. That is all you need to know."

Something shifted beside her. Caelith.

He had been quiet until now, standing near her with his usual calmness. But Evelisse noticed the way his hand moved subtly, instinctively, until he stood slightly in front of her. The boy—only ten years old—lifted his chin with quiet defiance, his silver eyes glinting like moonlight against obsidian hair.

"Stay behind me," he said softly, firm enough that Evelisse did not argue.

Her heart jolted. That quiet courage—her chest swelled painfully with it, and with fear.

The messenger let out a low chuckle, as though amused. "Ah, the little Crown Prince of Elaris," he said knowingly, his tone like dripping tar. "I must admit, you are far more resilient than most your age. That divine affinity in your blood resists my magic better than expected. Remarkable... at least for a child."

He stepped forward. Evelisse wanted to shrink back, but Caelith didn’t budge.

"Touch her," Caelith said, his young voice steeled with an authority beyond his years, "and you’ll regret it."

The messenger’s laugh turned sharper, mocking. "Oh, you are entertaining. My master was right about you."

Caelith lifted his chin, defiance sparking, though his fingers twitched toward the dagger at his belt. "Name yourself."

The hooded man chuckled. "Names are wasted on children. What matters is purpose."

The world blurred. Evelisse barely saw the man move—only felt the rush of displaced air. In an instant, Caelith was struck. Not cut. Not pierced. Just thrown. The boy’s small body flew across the hall like a rag doll and crashed against a marble pillar with a sickening thud. The source of thɪs content is noⅴelfire.net

Evelisse screamed, rushing a step forward before freezing in terror as the cloaked figure raised a finger almost lazily, and invisible force wrapped around Caelith, yanking him back into the air.

Her cry tore through her throat, but the boy coughed, blood speckling his lips as his silver eyes narrowed—not in fear, but in grit.

"You—" Caelith rasped, straining against the unseen bind, "won’t... touch her..."

The messenger twirled his hand, and Caelith’s body flung left, then right, smashing into walls, floor, furniture. Each crash echoed like breaking bones into Evelisse’s ears. She covered her mouth, tears springing hot.

"Stop it!" Evelisse screamed, her voice cracking. "Please—stop hurting him!"

But the hooded man ignored her. He toyed with Caelith, tossing him up and slamming him down again, as though he were nothing more than a puppet.

"How amusing," the messenger mused. "So stubborn, so bright... and yet so fragile. You would fight with broken bones if you had to, wouldn’t you, boy? You are useful. Which is why I will not end you."

Yet even beaten, Caelith’s gaze never left Evelisse. Even as his breaths came ragged, even as blood ran down his cheek, his silver eyes clung stubbornly to hers, grounding her in the storm.

Evelisse’s chest heaved, pain swelling so sharply she thought she might break apart.

’I can’t do anything. I’m useless. Please, Fluffy...’

Her mind reached desperately for the one secret tether she had—the magical item shop. But even before she could form the thought, Fluffy’s familiar warm voice brushed her ear.

Her heart lurched. ’But Caelith—’

"Listen. If you reveal your magical item shop, you’ll expose yourself to them. You’ll expose everything. This enemy is not someone you can allow to suspect you. Hold on."

Her hands shook violently. She wanted to scream at Fluffy, to beg, to trade her secret for Caelith’s safety—but something deep in her gut told her Fluffy was right. If she used the shop now, if she summoned anything that could look like magic, she would never be able to hide it again.

The messenger dragged Caelith closer, still suspended in the air like a doll on strings. The boy’s lip was split, one eye swelling, his breaths shallow—but his defiance did not falter.

"Strong for your age," the messenger murmured, almost admiring. "But still a child."

He turned his hidden face toward Evelisse, and though she couldn’t see his eyes, she felt the messenger’s grin.