Serpent Emperor's Bride

Chapter 158: The Bond that will Never Break

[Silthara Palace — Malika’s Private Chamber — Moments After]

The doors burst open not with grace but with urgency. Naram entered first. robes shifting, hands already moving, eyes sharp with trained calm.

Behind him, attendants followed only to halt the moment they saw Zeramet, standing at the center, holding Levin tightly in his arms.

No one spoke because the air itself warned them—this was not a moment to falter.

"...Move." Zeramet’s voice came low, deadly, and immediate.

The attendants scattered aside, clearing the space. Naram stepped forward without hesitation and without fear as Levin groaned in pain in Zeramet’s arms.

"...Place the Malika down, Malik."

Zeramet did not move for a fraction. He only stared at his consort, who was huffing and groaning in pain, clutching his abdomen. He could not move.

"...Malik." Naram’s tone sharpened but still professional. "...If you wish to save both Malika and the heirs—"

And that was enough. Zeramet moved at once, careful and precise—lowering Levin onto the bed as though the world itself might fracture beneath a single careless motion.

And yet even then his hand did not leave him, not for a breath, not for a moment. He brought Levin’s hand to his lips and pressed a kiss against it, not ceremonial, not distant but desperate.

"...Consort..." His voice lowered, breaking beneath restraint. "...Nothing will happen."

Levin stared at him, breath uneven and chest rising, falling, and fighting.

And then a single tear slipped free from his eyes and his voice trembled, "...It feels...as if Malika Ninsara’s fate has found me ..."

A breath broke.

"...I will lose them..." His fingers tightened weakly—"My children ..."

And something shattered, not in the room. In Zeramet, but before it could surface, Naram’s voice cut through, firm and grounded.

"Malika—no... There is no bleeding. " His hands moved faster now yet never carelessly—"...That means the eggs are not shattered; we still have time."

His gaze lifted sharp to Zeramet. "Malik...we must summon the High Priest immediately."

Silence, and then it broke.

"—GET THE HIGH PRIEST—NOW—!!!" The command did not echo; it struck through stone, through bone and through the very spine of the palace.

Raevahn and Varesh did not wait; they did not speak. They moved, running. Faster than duty allowed because this was no longer duty; this was survival.

***

[Meanwhile, at the same time on the corridor—Outside]

Footsteps collided with silence as Lady Arinaya rushed forward, drawn by the voice, by the command, and by the fear that even the Malik could not conceal. She reached the threshold and froze.

Because inside, the empire was breaking.

"...Everything will be fine..." Zeramet’s voice repeated low and unsteady again and again. "...Everything will be fine."

But Levin groaned. Pain threading through every breath. Naram’s hands moved quick and measuredly. His fingers pressed gently against Levin’s abdomen, feeling the tension, the resistance, and the unnatural pull within.

"His body is fighting itself..." he murmured—"...and something else too...but why does it feel as if something has stopped?"

At the foot of the bed, Lyresaph and Asha stood silent and watching. They were not moving and not breathing because instinct had already told them something was wrong.

"Malika—" Naram’s voice rose slightly, urgent now. "—do not close your eyes."

Levin’s lashes fluttered heavily.

"...Stay with me... We still have time."

Levin tried, he did, but his body did not obey. His eyes slipped shut.

"—No," Naram’s voice sharpened. "... Stay awake."

Energy surged beneath his faint but growing hands, and then Zeramet’s gaze shifted slowly from Levin to the two creatures.

And in that moment—something changed, not grief or fear. A fury, cold, violent, and unforgiving. The kind of fury that does not shout. It ends.

"...Lady Arinaya." His voice came low and too calmly.

She flinched, stepping forward and bowing. "...Yes, Malik."

Then—

"Arrest them." A deadly silence. "...Take those two—"

His gaze did not leave them—"...and throw them into the dark cages. A small and suffocating cage."

The chamber stilled.

"They should not step out—" His voice lowered further— "...until I decide."

Lyresaph trembled, and Asha lowered her head, not resisting, not fighting, because even they felt it, the judgment.

Arinaya hesitated just once.

"...Malik..." Her voice careful—"...I do not believe their intent was to harm —"

"—Do you wish—" Zeramet turned, and the air dropped. "...for me to end your entire bloodline?"

Silence shattered deeply. Arinaya bowed instantly. "I apologize, Malik."

No more words, no more resistance; she turned, eyes hardening not in agreement but in obedience. The knights stepped forward, hands firm and taking hold of Lyresaph and Asha.

Neither resisted, neither struggled. As if they too believed they had failed.

And just like that, they were taken and dragged away into shadow, and still Zeramet did not look back, because all that remained in his world was the one lying before him, fighting and fading.

"...You will not leave." He whispered more to himself than to Levin. "...Not you, not them."

And beneath that vow, the palace held its breath, because when this storm ended, someone would not survive it, and...and just like that, Levin’s lashes lowered slowly.

very slowly.

"Malika—no...!" Naram’s voice broke its composure for the first time. "...do not close your eyes—stay with me."

"Consort—!" Zeramet’s voice cut through, not controlled, not measured. "...stay awake...consort—"

But the eyes closed, and the world stopped. Silence did not fall. It froze; Zeramet did not move or breathe. He stared down at him, at the stillness, at the absence of response, and for a moment he was no longer a Malik.

Only a man who had seen countless still bodies before.

"...Why—" Naram’s voice trembled slightly, hands moving again faster now. "... He is not bleeding... then why...?"

His fingers pressed again, more carefully, more deeply, and then they stilled.

"...Why does it feel...as if everything inside...has gone quiet?"

Silence.

Zeramet did not react; he could not because in that moment he remembered every consort, every body, and every grave he had walked away from unshaken and untouched.

Until now his hand hovered over Levin, not touching. As if afraid that contact would confirm it.

"...No."

The word did not rise; it broke.

****

[Within Levin’s Dream — Between Day and Night]

There was no palace, no walls, no sound—only endless sand stretching beyond sight—beneath a sky split in two.

One half is the sun, blinding, and the other is the moon, cold and watching. And between them, Levin lay upon the desert still until his eyes opened slowly.

Confusion lingered for a moment too long. Then an understanding struck. His hands moved quickly, desperately to his abdomen.

"...No..."

He touched again and again, but there was nothing anymore.

"...I did not bleed..." His voice trembled, breaking; his breath caught. "...so why... Why is there nothing here...?"

The sand did not answer, and the sky did not shift; only silence remained, and then—GROWL—deep and ancient. It echoed across the desert.

Levin froze, and slowly he turned, and there it stood. A massive and unyielding golden dragon. Its scales shimmered beneath both sun and moon—as if belonging to neither.

Its gaze fixed on him watching and knowing. Levin could not move, not out of fear but out of something else, a recognition. His hand lifted without command, without any thought.

"...You..." He stepped closer, slow and uncertain. "...you look...sad."

The dragon growled again, lower this time, and then it leaned forward. Its head was lowered, resting against his palm, warm, alive, and real.

Levin’s breath softened as his fingers brushed its scales. "...There...you are calmer now...aren’t you?"

The dragon’s eyes flickered. Something ancient shifted within them before it lowered itself beside him, resting. As if it had waited only for this.

Then a sound, soft and metal.

Clink...

The sound of an anklet. Levin turned, and she appeared, a woman clad in Zahryssar’s ancient silks, her silver hair flowing like moonlight itself. Her presence was familiar.

Too familiar.

She stepped closer, her gaze studying him, not cold, not warm but knowing. Her eyes drifted to his abdomen, then back to him, and she smiled softly.

"...How are you... son?"

Levin stilled.

"...Who—" The question faltered because something within him already knew. The dragon shifted beside him, closer and protective.

The woman’s gaze lowered to his neck, to the pendant resting there, to the Sirrash heart. It pulsed faintly and was alive.

"That bond..." she murmured—"...cannot be broken, not again."

Levin’s brows furrowed—"... What do you mean—?"

She did not answer, only stepped closer, her voice lowering gently. "...You are not empty; do not mistake silence... for absence."

The dragon huffed softly, agreeing. Levin looked between them with confusion, and his voice cracked, "...Then why...why does it feel like I lost them?"

The woman’s smile softened just slightly. "...Because you have not yet learned...how to feel what is yours."

Silence and the desert wind stirred faintly as she said, "You will understand, but not now."

Levin stepped forward, asking, "But...who are you?"

This time she did not answer directly, only lifted her hand, hovering just above his cheek, not touching, yet felt.

"...You will know me... when the time demands it, but remember this..." Her gaze deepened. "...one bond...will never break."

The dragon’s eyes burned brighter as if sealing those words, and the desert shifted slowly. As if preparing to return him.