The palace courtroom was heavy with silence. The crystalline torches burned steadily along the walls, casting soft pools of silver light across the empty chamber. But despite their glow, the air felt dim and oppressive, as if shadows clung stubbornly to every corner.
A week of searching had come to nothing.
Zavrok stood at the center of the hall, his shoulders stiff, his breath measured yet strained. Across from him sat Astrid, the Dragon Queen, her expression perfectly composed, but her eyes betraying the weight of disappointment. Aelina lingered at Zavrok's side, her worry etched into every line of her face, while Elva leaned quietly against a carved pillar, arms folded, her gaze lowered.
The silence was unbearable. It pressed down on all of them, a reminder of the failure none wished to speak aloud.
At last, Astrid's voice broke through, clear and sharp as a blade drawn from its sheath.
"I am not sure what to say," she admitted, her tone holding both weariness and irritation. "If he is not in the Dragon Realm, and we have scoured the other empires, then there are only two places left where he could possibly be." Her piercing gaze fixed on Zavrok. "The Land of the Dead. Or the Devil- and Ghost Realms. Tell me, Zavrok—have you sent anyone there?"
Her words cut through the stillness, and the sound of them hung like a threat in the chamber.
Zavrok's jaw clenched, his mind flashing to the truth he'd uncovered this week. Elva had confided in him during a weary night by a campfire in the east, her voice low as she revealed her mother's scheme: a marriage to bind Thalorien and the Dragon Empire, a union to bury centuries of blood and fire. Aelira had heard it too, straight from Astrid's lips during a tense moment in the western ruins. The queen had spoken of peace, of a wedding to heal old wounds, her words smooth as silk but heavy with intent. Aelira, though she'd half-expected it, had been stunned to hear it confirmed. She'd pushed back, insisting such a decision needed Zavrok and their children's voices, and later relayed it to him over a crystal-call, her tone laced with unease.
The knowledge weighed on him heavily. It explained Astrid's keen involvement in Zhavrik's disappearance, her sudden eagerness to lend aid. Was it truly compassion, or ambition masked as sympathy?
He forced his expression into one of neutrality. "No," he replied at last, his voice low. "We have not sent anyone to the Devildom or the Ghost Realm. But…" he exhaled, his face shadowed by fatigue, "…seeing as two months of searching have yielded nothing, perhaps it is time. I will speak with my father upon my return, and we will dispatch a recon team into those realms."
He rose to his feet as he spoke, his movements rigid, betraying the storm inside him. Fear for Zhavrik clawed at his chest, a raw, gnawing terror that left him unsteady. He didn't want to spark a conflict with Astrid—not now, when her aid had been undeniable. Swallowing his pride, he clasped his hands, a gesture he'd never offered a dragon before, and forced gratitude into his voice., "Your Highness, thank you for your aid in the search. Whatever the outcome, your efforts will not be forgotten. We will send a token of appreciation from our land once I return. I ask that you accept it."
Astrid's smile was faint, unreadable. Her silver hair shimmered under the torchlight, her presence unnervingly calm.
Turning to Elva, Zavrok added, "And you as well, Elva. Thank you for everything. I had hoped to part under better circumstances, but for now, Aelina and I must return home. We have preparations to make, and an expedition to form."
Aelira reached out, her hand brushing his arm before she spoke. "We're grateful, both of you," she said, her voice warm but threaded with sorrow. She met Elva's golden eyes, a silent nod passing between them, a bond forged in years past.
The Dragon Queen's voice rose again, smooth yet carrying a subtle edge.
"It is nothing, truly," Astrid said, tilting her head slightly, her gaze sharp as a hawk's. "I only hope you find your son soon. Be strong, Zavrok. I do not believe anyone would dare harm a Thalerion." Her lips curved in a smile that was too practiced, too perfect. "And if you require assistance, I can lend some of my personal guards to aid in the search across the other realms. More hands, after all, can only quicken the search."
Her offer lingered like a web spun with threads of silk—delicate, beautiful, and dangerous.
Zavrok's eyes narrowed slightly, though he kept his tone polite. "Your kindness is appreciated, Your Highness. But this is something my family must shoulder. We will manage."
Aelina lowered her gaze, silently agreeing. Both she and Zavrok knew the cost of accepting such aid. Astrid's hand in their affairs would only tighten her grip around their family.
And so, with restrained courtesy, Zavrok and Aelina offered their final bows. Elva inclined her head in farewell, though her eyes lingered on Zavrok a moment longer, as though silently urging him to tread carefully.
Then they departed, leaving the Queen alone in the hollow courtroom. For a moment, Astrid simply stood there, her smile fading, her silver eyes glinting with cold calculation.
---
The journey home took three days. Though weary, Zavrok insisted they travel slowly, checking the outskirts of other regions along the way, ensuring no trail was overlooked. Yet every lead was barren, every path a dead end.
On the seventieth day since Zhavrik's disappearance, they finally returned to their stronghold. The familiar sight of their home should have been comforting, but the air was heavy with dread.
Inside, they gathered Varadon and Lystriel. The old couple listened grimly as Zavrok and Aelina recounted every detail of the fruitless search. By the end, the hall was silent once more, the weight of despair pressing on them all.
But silence did not last.
Zavrok stood, resolve hardening in his eyes. "We cannot waste more time. Father, we should begin assembling the recon team at once. If Zhavrik is truly in the Devildom or Ghost Realm, then delay could cost us dearly."
Varadon nodded, his voice gruff. "I'll summon our best. We'll need wards against spirits and demons. This won't be easy."
Just as the preparations were being discussed, a sudden knock thundered at the heavy doors. The sound echoed through the hall, sharp and urgent.
"Enter," Varadon commanded.
The doors creaked open, and a knight stepped inside, clad in black armor polished to a gleam. He dropped to one knee, his voice ringing clear.
"My Lord," he announced, head bowed low, "a messenger has arrived from the Imperial Palace. He carries a letter sealed with the Emperor's own mark."
Zavrok and Varadon exchanged glances, unease flickering in their eyes.
A letter, from the Emperor himself—at such a time?