That night, after the divine envoy vanished, silence returned—but it felt different. The air around Noctyra had changed. Even the stars seemed to pulse slower, like they too were listening.
I walked alone into the Sanctum's inner chamber, where the Veil's light drifted like floating dust. It was quiet enough to hear my heartbeat echo against the marble floor.
I thought I was alone—until the room darkened, and a figure stepped out of the still light.
Tall. Cloaked in crimson shadow. Eyes steady but kind.
My father.
"Alaric Draven."
The name left my lips like a prayer and a wound at once.
He smiled faintly, that same quiet pride I'd dreamed about but never earned. "I thought you'd forgotten how to look over your shoulder," he said.
"I thought you were dead," I answered.
"I was," he said simply. "Not in body, but in purpose. And yet, here you are—my reason returning."
His hand brushed the air between us. Light shimmered, shaping into fragments of memory: castles burning, gods arguing, and witch seals spinning across the sky.
"This is what I wanted you to never see."
I watched flame devour the vision. Armies filled the horizon—mortals and divine soldiers marching together under banners of gold and grey. At the centre of it stood Alaric Draven, his blade glowing with blood and fate both.
"The war between realms wasn't about power," he said. "It was about fear—fear that life could become too free. The gods tried to leash creation itself by dividing bloodlines. Vampire, wolf, witch—they made names to build walls."
He turned to me. His eyes looked human at last—tired. "I broke those walls. And for that, they broke me."
"What does that have to do with my awakening?" I asked.
He laughed softly, tragically and proudly. "Everything. You were conceived beneath two moons aligned perfectly once in thousands of years. The Tri‑God Balance woke inside you before you even breathed. The gods panicked. The Witch Council predicted your birth would unmake their control and recreate freedom itself."
"So they tried to destroy me."
"They couldn't," he said. "So I sealed you instead."
He lifted his hand. The air rippled, showing another memory: a small child wrapped in silver light—me—sleeping inside something alive, something that beat like a heart.
"Your mother and I forged a seal called the Blessing of Silence. It hid your power, slowed your ageing, and convinced every realm that you were ordinary. Even the heavens couldn't sense you."
"So that's why I awakened late," I whispered.
"Yes." His tone softened. "It wasn't because you were weak but because you were precious. Losing you would have ended what little peace remained. For sixteen years, the seal protected you—but also caged you."
I looked down at my hands, at the scars that were no longer. "You could've told me."
"You weren't ready to listen," he said gently. "Hope too soon becomes arrogance. Pain birthed your balance; it was the only way for you to become more than me."
Behind him, the memory flame twisted again—showing Selene Morvayne, my mother, weaving fate into the stars like music written in light.
"She knew what was coming," he said. "Selene foresaw that I wouldn't survive the war. Her final words to me were simple: 'Seal him, Alaric. Let truth wake in its own time.'"
His eyes turned distant, locked on ghosts.
"So I did. I buried my pride beside my sword and vanished, leaving you among mortals, guarded by fate. And all these years, I've watched from the border of life and memory, waiting for the seal to break."
"Why appear now?" I asked. "Why not before?"
"Because now you carry my mistakes and her wisdom," he said. "Anything earlier, and you'd have carried only wrath."
For a moment, I didn't know what to feel—anger at being hidden or gratitude for being saved. Both hurt the same.
He stepped closer, the air turning warm. His presence felt heavier than any divine pulse.
"You think the gods fear your name because of strength," he said, his shadow brushing mine. "But they fear you because of choice. You can honour blood or defy it. You can end what I began—or finish it."
"What would you want?" I asked quietly.
He smiled, eyes soft again. "To finally rest knowing my son stopped running from himself."
The words cracked something open inside me—not power, not magic, just truth.
When I blinked, the room dimmed. The memory image around us began to dissolve like morning mist.
"You're leaving again," I said.
"I was never truly here," he replied. "Only will leaves echo."
He extended his hand once more; I took it without thought. His touch felt real—warm and calloused.
"Mukul Draven Noctis," he said, voice fading like ember smoke. "One day, you'll hear the gods speak your name with respect instead of fear. Until then, remember what you carry isn't a curse or a crown—it's a promise."
"I'll remember," I whispered. "And when I see them again, I'll tell them your war isn't over."
"Good," he said with a small grin. "But fight for peace, not vengeance. That's how you'll surpass me."
Then his light broke apart into thousands of faint sparks, scattering like dust into the Veil.
When the last glow vanished, Arina appeared beside me, her voice strangely gentle. "System record updated. Alaric Draven's residual data synchronised. New artefact unlocked: "Memory of the King".
I smiled faintly through the ache in my chest. "He never really dies, does he?"
"Not until his son forgets him."
Yue Xiang entered quietly, sensing the stillness. "You found him, didn't you?"
"In a way," I said softly. "He hid me so I'd live long enough to find myself."
She touched my arm. "Then maybe now you can choose who you'll become."
Outside, the moons glowed faint gold, their light no longer harsh—only gentle, as though the world itself finally exhaled.
For sixteen years, I'd chased a question: Why me? Tonight, I knew the answer.
Because someone loved me enough to make the world forget, so that one day the world would remember again.