novelraw Chapter 143: The Heir of a Fallen House
Chapter 143: The Heir of a Fallen House
[Silthara Palace — Inner Hallway — Continuation]
Silence did not move. It held a heavy, unyielding watch. The question lingered quietly in the air, impossible to ignore.
"Why did you kill my mother?"
No one spoke, not Iru, not Raevahn, and not even Arinaya. Because there were moments within an empire where authority did not answer first—
Truth did.
Levin stood still; his gaze remained on her—small, unshaken, and burning.
"...You believe I killed her." His voice came out quiet, not defensive, not offended, simply... acknowledging.
Nayra’s chin lifted slightly.
"You did."
No hesitation, no fear.
"She is gone," Nayra continued, her voice tightening—not breaking, "...and everyone says it was because she offended you."
A pause. Her fingers curled slightly at her sides, small fists holding something far heavier than her years.
"...So I came to ask you."
Silence stretched again, but this time it shifted. She stared at him, not like a child, not like someone seeking comfort but like someone demanding truth.
And then—GROWL—!!!
The sound cut through the corridor, loud and unmistakable. For a heartbeat, no one moved.
Nayra froze, her eyes widened, and her posture stiffened, and slowly—very slowly—a faint flush rose across her face.
Iru blinked once. Raevahn turned his head—just slightly. Arinaya lowered her gaze. And Levin—Levin’s lips curved, just a faint smile, rare, quiet, and almost hidden.
"...Iru." His voice came out calm and composed—yet threaded with something lighter. "Prepare something for her...It seems we will be having a longer conversation than expected."
Nayra’s head snapped up immediately.
"I am not hungry—!" She protested at once, her voice quick, sharp, defensive, and then—
GROOOOWL—!!!
This time, louder, longer, and more unforgiving. The silence that followed cracked.
Raevahn looked away. Iru pressed his lips together. Even Arinaya’s shoulders shifted—just slightly.
Nayra’s face burned; her lips pressed tightly as she turned her head to the side, as if the corridor itself had betrayed her.
"...That—" she muttered, voice dropping, "...does not mean anything."
A pause.
Another small, traitorous sound threatened—she shut her eyes tightly.
"...Alright..." Her voice came quieter now, lower, reluctant. "...Maybe... a little hungry."
That was enough. A soft breath escaped Iru—almost a laugh, though he masked it quickly.
"As you wish, Lady Nayra," he said, bowing slightly, though warmth had slipped into his tone. "I shall ensure it is prepared...properly."
Nayra huffed, crossing her arms, attempting to reclaim what little dignity remained.
"I did not come here to eat," she insisted, though her voice had lost its earlier edge. "I came to ask—"
"And you will." Levin’s voice entered smoothly, respecting and grounding the conversation. He stepped forward. Just slightly.
"But questions asked on an empty stomach..."A faint pause. "...rarely lead to clear answers."
Nayra glanced at him suspiciously and unconvinced.
"...That is not true."
Levin’s expression did not change. "...Then you may test that theory. After you eat."
Silence. Nayra narrowed her eyes as if measuring him and weighing him. Then she turned her head away again.
"...Fine." A beat. "But I am not eating because you told me to. I am eating...because I decided to."
A faint flicker returned to Levin’s eyes—not amusement alone, but something softer and quieter.
"As you wish."
Iru stepped away at once, already issuing quiet instructions to the attendants who had frozen moments before.
The corridor began to breathe again. Raevahn finally released the last tension in his stance. Arinaya watched, silent and observant.
And at the center of it stood Levin and the child who had come to question him, not enemies, not yet, but no longer strangers either. Something had shifted: the space between them, and somewhere within that space, the beginning of something new had quietly taken root.
***
[Silthara Palace — Malik’s Private Office — Same Time]
The chamber did not feel like a place of governance. It felt like a place where decisions were made before they became law. At the center of the room, upon a low obsidian table—rested the heart.
The Sirrash heart is no longer exposed and no longer raw. It now lay contained within a circular vessel of dark crystal, sealed beneath layers of spellwork. Its faint glow pulsed softly—alive, restrained, and dangerous.
And beside it—a pendant, smaller, refined, and crafted with precision. A fragment of the same heart, embedded within silver that coiled like a serpent, protecting its core.
Zeramet stood before it, silent and watching.
"...So this..." His voice came low, measured. "...will be worn by my consort."
Arkhazunn inclined his head slightly.
"Yes, Malik."
His tone carried no hesitation—only certainty. "After studying the temple’s hidden scriptures, I discovered a method... to divide the heart without diminishing its essence."
A faint pause.
"...The spell fractures not the power... but the form."
Zeramet’s gaze lowered toward the pendant, thoughtful and calculating.
"One fragment..." Arkhazunn continued, stepping closer, "...to remain with the Malika."
His fingers gestured lightly toward the pendant.
"And the rest—" His gaze shifted to the sealed vessel. "...preserved."
A faint hum of approval left Zeramet.
"Wise."
Arkhazunn allowed himself the smallest curve of a smile. "We may not encounter another Sirrash Omega Queen’s heart again... To waste such a relic would be...unforgivable."
Zeramet’s eyes flickered—briefly, sharply.
"Not wasted." His voice lowered. "...Guarded."
Silence.
"Since the heart owner is Malika," Arkhazunn added, "...its lineage will follow him...and the child he carries."
Zeramet’s gaze did not move, but something in the air did.
"...As it should." He reached forward and lifted the pendant. It rested against his palm—small, yet heavy with something far greater than its form. Power, legacy, and possession.
"Seal the remaining fragment," Zeramet ordered. His voice carried no room for alteration. "Freeze it. Place it within the deepest imperial treasury."
Arkhazunn nodded once. "It will not be touched without your command."
"And this—" Zeramet’s fingers closed slightly around the pendant. "...belongs to my consort."
A faint smirk touched his lips, not pride, not satisfaction. Something more dangerous.
"The greatest relic we have claimed."
Arkhazunn’s eyes gleamed—just slightly. "...And perhaps the most useful."
Zeramet’s gaze flickered toward him.
"...Useful?"
A pause.
Then, without hesitation—"I intend to experiment with it."
Silence. Zeramet stared at him, long and unblinking. "I did not grant permission."
Arkhazunn’s expression did not falter.
"...You will." He gave a slight tilt of his head. "...Eventually."
A breath passed.
Zeramet exhaled—slow, restrained. "...You presume much."
"I am usually right."
Another silence.
Then—
"...Proceed."
Arkhazunn inclined his head. "Of course."
He lifted the sealed vessel with care, drawing it into the folds of his robe. "I shall secure it personally."
Zeramet gave no reply. Arkhazunn turned and stepped toward the exit, and just as he crossed the threshold—Impact!—a figure halted abruptly before him.
Captain Varesh.
"Oh—!" Varesh stepped back immediately, bowing with precision. "My lord, I apologize—"
Arkhazunn’s hand lifted and rested briefly against his shoulder, light and unbothered.
"It is nothing." His voice softened—just slightly. "...These things happen."
Varesh stilled. For a fraction of a moment—too brief for most—his fingers twitched and his breath caught.
A faint warmth rose along his cheeks.
"Yes...my lord."
Arkhazunn moved past him, unhindered, and as he stepped into the corridor, his gaze lifted.
Nabuarsh, standing further ahead, still and silent.
"...Nabuarsh." Arkhazunn’s tone shifted—lighter, almost familiar. "Where do you wander so quietly?"
Nabuarsh did not meet his eyes. "...Matters of duty."
A pause.
Arkhazunn smiled. "I see."
And without waiting, he followed. Varesh remained where he stood; his gaze lingered, not on Nabuarsh, on Arkhazunn. Watching him disappear. It was as though he was watching something he could not reach.
Something he desires but ought not to desire.
Silence returned.
"Why are you here?" Zeramet’s voice cut through it.
Varesh straightened instantly, turned, and bowed low.
"My Malik."
Zeramet remained where he stood, the pendant still in his hand.
"...Speak."
"There has been...a disturbance." Varesh’s voice steadied. "From the Malika’s private corridor."
Zeramet’s gaze sharpened.
"Lady Nayra..." Varesh continued. "...She entered without permission."
A faint crease formed between Zeramet’s brows. "...She approached him?"
"Yes, Malik."
Another pause, longer and heavier. Zeramet turned. The pendant disappeared within his grasp.
"...Very well. I will go."
And just like that—the stillness broke, because where Malika stood—something unexpected had already begun.
***
[Silthara Palace — Malika’s Private Courtyard — Later]
The courtyard did not carry the tension of the halls. Here—Light rested softer, air moved slower, and for a fleeting moment, power did not suffocate... it simply watched.
At the center, upon the low diwan, Levin sat—composed as ever, yet no longer distant, before him a small table, and upon it—Food.
Lady Nayra sat across from him, small, straight-backed and trying. She held the spoon carefully—too carefully—as though every movement had to be measured. Every bite taken with quiet dignity.
The moment she thought no one noticed—She ate faster and messier. Her small fingers nearly abandoning the spoon altogether before she caught herself—Straightened. Cleared her throat softly, and returned to composure.
Levin watched, not openly, not indulgently but he saw everything. Nayra glanced up and their eyes met.
She froze immediately—Her posture corrected, her chin lifted just a little higher and her expression hardened—an imitation of strength.
Levin’s gaze softened barely.
"...Did you like the food?" His voice was quiet and even.
For a second she forgot and her face lit, bright and unfiltered.
"Yes—!" she said quickly, nodding, her voice carrying genuine delight. "It is... very delicious."
A pause, then she remembered she have to act like an Lady of the house. Her lips pressed together and her shoulders straightened again.
Levin exhaled softly, not quite a laugh but close. "I am glad, the food suited your taste."
Silence returned but it did not settle the same way. Nayra’s fingers curled slightly in her lap, her gaze dropped and then lifted again.
She looked at him longer this time studying him, and then—
"...You do not look like a monster." The words fell simply and innocently.
The courtyard froze. Every attendant stilled, every breath halted, and then—
"...Then why...?" Her voice tightened, not breaking—but holding. "...why did you kill my mother?"
A sharp inhale cut through the silence.
"Lady—!" one attendant gasped. Another lowered instantly, head bowed in shock.
Iru stepped forward at once, his expression tightening—his voice sharp, controlled, and carrying the weight of law.
"Lady Nayra." The air shifted. His gaze hardened—not cruel, but firm.. "You will mind your words. To call the Malika of Zahryssar a monster and taking to him informly...is no different than speaking treason within the empire itself."
Silence struck harder this time.
Nayra flinched not from fear of punishment but from being... corrected. Her fingers tightened, her small jaw clenched.
"...I did not mean—" She stopped and swallowed. Then lifted her chin again. "...But I asked the truth."
Her voice was quieter now but it did not retreat.
"I only asked... why. Am I not allowed to know about my mother’s death?"
Silence.
Levin had not moved, not when she spoke, not when the court reacted. Only now—His hand lifted, a small gesture.
Iru stopped immediately and stepped back. The courtyard obeyed, and Levin—Looked at her, not as Malika, not as judge but as something far more difficult.
"...Finish your meal." His voice came low and steady. "...You cannot ask questions on an empty stomach."
Nayra hesitated, then slowly—She reached for the spoon again. This time—She did not pretend and Levin watched. Because answers would come but not before she had the strength to hear them.
***
[Silthara Palace — Malika’s Private Courtyard — Later]
The meal had ended But the silence had not. It lingered between them, around them and within them.
Nayra sat still now, her plate pushed aside, her small hands resting in her lap—no longer reaching, no longer pretending.
Only waiting.
Her eyes lifted again, steady and unwavering.
"...So," she asked, her voice softer now—but no less firm, "...will you tell me?"
Levin did not answer immediately, he studied her and the weight she carried... far too early.
Then—
"...Do you know what treason is?" His voice came calm and measured.
Nayra blinked once then nodded.
"I know. It is..." she began carefully, recalling what she had been taught, "...when someone betrays the empire."
Levin’s gaze did not leave her. "And what does that betrayal mean?"
She hesitated just for a moment. and then—
"It means..." her fingers curled slightly, "...to harm the serpents... the Malik... the Malika...Anyone who intentionally harms the imperial family... commits treason."
Silence.
Levin exhaled faintly. A shadow of something—approval, perhaps.
"...Correct." A pause and then— "...That is what your mother did."
The words did not rise, they fell heavy and unavoidable. Nayra froze completely. Her breath stilled, her gaze locked onto him—Not blinking not moving.
"...Did she...?" Her voice faltered, not breaking—but thinning. "...Did she harm you?"
Levin did not answer, before he could—Arinaya stepped forward.
"Yes...She did." Her gaze lowered slightly—not in doubt, but in acknowledgment of truth. "And that... is why the Malik passed judgment upon her."
The courtyard shifted again, not louder, not sharper but heavier.
Nayra stared at her then slowly—her shoulders dropped. Her small hands loosened and her voice came quieter and fragile now.
"...But...She was only angry...Angry at the Malik..." Her lips trembled slightly. "...for killing my sister."
Silence, not ordinary silence. This one changed something.
Levin’s brows drew together just slightly. "...Your sister?"
The air tightened, even the attendants went still and even Iru went silent because something had just surfaced. Something... not recorded here.
Arinaya’s eyes shifted, her mind moved faster than her breath. Then—She stepped closer leaning just enough that her voice would not carry beyond Levin.
"...It seems..." she whispered carefully, "...she speaks of Lady Zyraeth Naharash...one of the former consorts of the Malik."
The name settled like a forgotten echo and with it—The past shifted.
Levin did not move but something in his gaze darkened, because this this was not just grief, this was a thread, and threads when pulled—Unravel everything.