Tyron had no time to think.

He simply run toward the light, and instinct alone kept his legs moving. Behind him came the sound of something shattering, a burst of heat and mana, something exploding. He didn't look back. He couldn't. All he could do was run upward, toward the staircase that spiraled into the dim glow ahead.

But before he could reach it, the way up was blocked, rubble, smoke, debris. Instead, a crack in the crumbling floor was open beside it, revealing another passage above. The ground out of it was tilted dangerously, half-collapsed, glowing with lines of gold that crawled over broken seats and scattered debris.

Suddenly, a voice cut through his confused and anxious thoughts.

"OLGA!"

That was the princess's voice.

Tyron's heart hammered. He wanted to stay where he is, to hide, he'd always been a coward, and he knew it. But he remembered the promises he made, to the old man Diego back in Hinnom… and to Diego's daughter, Iris. 'He promised he would come back.'

He had begged the tenth prince to take him to the capital, promising to heal his highness in return. Yet, the prince had accomplished feats that seemed impossible for someone who was previously asleep for days and covered in bandages.

By the time they reached the temple, the prince appeared not only completely recovered, but also capable of anything, rendering the initial promise pointless. Tyron owed them all.

So he clenched his jaw, swallowed his fear, and ran straight into the collapsing passage.

The tilted floor made it almost impossible to stay upright. He stumbled, catching himself against broken furniture tangled in vines glowing with golden runes. His boots slipped again and again as he climbed over the wreckage, until the it opened into what looked like a hall, or what was left of one.

Across the massive, gaping center, his eyes found a figure.

For a moment, he didn't recognize her. The flickering mana light made her golden hair appear to be turning green, and he wasn't sure if his eyes were playing tricks on him.

The princess stood, bleeding from a wound at her temple, her face pale but her stance firm. Tyron followed her line of sight, his breath catching when he saw the source of her focus.

Above and across from the princess stood Olga, Lenko's sister, holding a drawn bow with an arrow pointed at her.

"Hey!" Tyron shouted, his voice cracking as he stumbled forward.

The princess' head turned slightly toward him, her eyes flashing in faint recognition, but Olga didn't waver. The bowstring snap.

The arrow flew.

Tyron tried to run faster, but the tilting floor keep sending him sliding toward the gaping center. He caught glimpses, the flash of mana, the glint of an arrow in flight, and then…

A surge of crimson burst across his vision, spiraling and snapping through the air like ribbons. The arrow met the wave, and stopped.

Tyron froze, gaping. The strips caught the arrow and twisted, cracking it. The next moment, those same crimson whipped toward him. He flinched, panicking, but before he could react, they wrapped around him.

His breath hitched. They pulled tight, then lifted him, clean off his feet. In a single, fluid motion, they drew him away from the collapsing edge and dropped him gently beside the princess.

"Wh-what happened?" he gasped, his chest heaving. "Why is she attacking her highness?"

The princess didn't answer immediately. Up close, Tyron realized the crimson weren't ribbons, they were the carpets, alive with her mana. They moved, coiling and hardening until they clanged against the next volley of arrows like a woven shield.

The sound echoed through, clang, clang, clang.

The princess lowers her hand. Her ruby eyes, narrow with resolve, shifted downward, toward the crater. Tyron followed her gaze.

There, amidst the ruins, was the largest cage, torn open and half-melted by mana. That was where the child had been. The one whose mana had detonated and destroyed half the undercroft when the prince had tried to free her.

Tyron swallowed hard. He could see now just how vast the damage was, the crater stretched far wider than he imagined. It made him think of the porters who had found them. There was nothing left of them now. Only dust and ash.

Then he heard a voice, faint and shock.

"Sister…?"

Lenko.

He sounded lost, confused. He turned to find Olga, Lenko's sister, lowering her bow. Her features were a mask of conflicting emotions.

Tyron felt it before he saw it, a pulse of mana, familiar and heavy. His eyes darted to Lenko. In his hands glimmered something fistfull but unmistakable.

His mother's heart.

He froze.

He couldn't believe it. After all that fruitless searching, the thing they needed had probably been sitting with Mr. Genevra the entire time. So why they'd come through the undercroft, why the prince had risked everything.

Had he hoped it would be among the auction items and beasts? But seeing it now, mana pulsing faintly in Lenko's trembling hands, Tyron realized the prince must be looking for something else.

Then, everything happened at once.

The princess staggered, her mana flaring wildly as she tried to keep her balance. Olga's bow turned, arrows nocked, aimed at her own brother. Lenko stood frozen, still holding the heart.

The air tensed. Mana swirled.

The bowstring snapped.

Tyron felt it, like heat shifting in the air. The space beside Lenko pulse, and in a breath, the tenth prince appeared.

Tyron could hardly believe it.

After hours of crawling through cramped spaces, prying open crates, and evading cages, after explosions, blood, fire, and a storm of arrows… they were finally all here.

But their reunion brought no relief. Only ruin.

His highness didn't hesitate. With a sudden motion, Muzio shoved Lenko backward, straight into the crater below.

Tyron's eyes went wide. He saw the boy's shock twist into betrayal as Lenko fell, his voice rising in a curse that echoed through the hall.

The princess flinched, just slightly, but her gaze wasn't on Lenko. It was fixed on something deeper in the crater. Her eyes narrowed, sharp and cold.

Then came the sound, steel clashing, a blur of movement above them. Tyron looked up just in time to see Muzio's figure moving fast, intercepting Olga.

Her eyes burned wild, her lips twisted in a snarl. The princess's mana surged again, and the air thickened with mana. The carpets that had once protected Tyron came alive once more, dozens of crimson strips lashing through the air.

They wrapped around Olga, binding her arms, pulling her bow away.

But still Olga struggled, thrashing and hissing like an animal desperate to reach her weapon.

Tyron barely kept his footing as the floor lurched beneath them. The princess staggered, and he caught her by the arm before she could fall.

Her weight was surprisingly light, her body trembling with exhaustion. He realized then that the floor under their boots had to glow, his shoes clung slightly to it, as if drawn down by the threads of mana.

That was when Muzio appeared leap towards them. His expression was grim, his voice low and firm.

"You need to leave. Now."

The princess met his gaze, defiant. "I'm not leaving while Olga is like this," she hissed, breath ragged. "And you haven't given me my part of the deal."

Tyron blinked between them, feeling the tension.

His highness clicked his tongue and, with a frustrated sigh, unclasped his cloak. He draped it over her shoulders, the movement surprisingly gentle. Tyron instinctively reached to help, straightening the fabric as the prince pulled the hood down to shadow her face.

"Suit yourself, Saint," Muzio muttered. "But don't interfere. Don't waste any more mana. Even if you are… the Saint, you're not a bottomless pit."

His gaze shifted downward, toward the crater. His frown deepened, hard and cold. The princess followed his stare.

"Whoever's down there," she murmured, "they did something to Olga. Something that made her lose her mind. They used… something small. Sharp."

Tyron's eyes widened. "Knives?" he breathed.

He and the prince exchanged a look, a silent understanding. The mage hireling.

Before he could say more, something flashed across his vision, bright and metallic.

A knife.

It came spinning from the dark, too fast to see who had thrown it. His highness moved instantly. His dagger was out before Tyron even blinked. The weapons collided with a violent clang.

For a moment, everything stilled. Then Muzio's expression changed, from alertness to something darker. Murderous.

Mana flared around him, raw and bright. His eyes glowed, and his entire body seemed to burn from within, the air trembling with heat.

Tyron staggered back from the sheer force of it, even while standing beside the princess, who herself was still radiating her own mana.

"…Aisha."

The prince whispered the name under his breath, low, almost through gritted teeth, and before Tyron could react, he was gone.

"…fuck."

A curse escaped the princess's lips, a sound that would have stunned Tyron under any other circumstances. But in that moment, all his attention was riveted on the shocking sight in the crater below.

His highness had reappeared there, standing over Lenko, who lay sprawled beneath him, the dragon child held protectively in his arms. The prince's dagger was drawn, its edge glinting cold.

And the blade was poised against Lenko's throat.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.