Hans fell to his knees.

  A broken sound escaped his throat as he stared at his king’s motionless body. His hands clawed at the floor, his shoulders shaking violently as sobs wracked through him. He could not look away. He could not accept it.

  Behind him, Eva thrashed wildly against the ropes.

  The coarse fibers cut deep into her wrists, biting into torn skin as she struggled harder and harder. Blood streamed down her hands, dripping onto the marble below.

  She screamed. “Eyan—!” Her voice cracked completely. “Eyan… EYAN!”

  Her cries were no longer words—only pain.

  Hans snapped back to his senses. He scrambled to his feet, tears blurring his vision as he rushed toward her. His hands shook uncontrollably as he pulled out a knife and slashed through the rope.

  It snapped apart.

  Eva collapsed forward instantly, her body giving out as if her bones could no longer hold her.

  She didn’t stand. She didn’t even try. She crawled.

  Her eyes were fixed on only one thing. Eyan.

  Her hands slid through the blood pooling across the floor as she dragged herself forward, her breath coming in broken, uneven gasps.

  “Eyan…” she whispered weakly, her voice barely there.

  She reached him and fell beside his body.

  Eva wrapped her arms around him, pulling his lifeless form against her chest. His head lolled against her shoulder, too heavy, too still. His warmth was already fading.

  “Eyan, wake up,” she begged, her voice cracking apart. “Please… open your eyes… please.”

  She laughed weakly through her tears, as if disbelief might change reality. “This isn’t funny,” she sobbed. “Please stop… you scared me enough… wake up now…”

  He didn’t move.

  Her hands flew to his face, trembling as she brushed blood from his lips, smoothing his hair again and again.

  “Please…” she begged. “Say something....Say my name.....Call me Princess like you always do…”

  Nothing.

  With shaking desperation, Eva pressed her ear to his chest.

  Silence.

  No heartbeat.

  No breath.

  A sound tore out of her that barely sounded human.

  She clutched him tightly, rocking back and forth, her forehead pressed against his shoulder.

  “NO… NO… NO…” she cried. “DON’T GO… PLEASE DON’T GO…”

  Her voice broke into hoarse sobs. “DON’T LEAVE ME ALONE,” she whispered desperately. “I DON’T KNOW HOW TO LIVE WITHOUT YOU…”

  Hans covered his mouth as he cried openly, unable to stop the sounds escaping him.

  Eva’s trembling hands found his.

  Cold.

  So cold it terrified her.

  She shook her head violently, tears falling onto his unmoving face.

  She lifted his lifeless hand and pressed it against her stomach, holding it there as if willing him to feel something—anything.

  “Don’t go…” she sobbed. “Please… don’t go…”

  Her voice cracked completely. “Your child needs you,” she cried, clutching his hand tighter. “Your child needs his father’s warmth… his voice… his love…”

  Her breath hitched. “You promised…” she whispered. “You promised you’d come back to us…”

  She waited.

  But his chest did not rise.

  His fingers did not move.

  Nothing.

  A broken, animal sound tore out of her throat. “NO…”

  “NO, NO, NO—PLEASE…”

  Her sobs turned wild, unrestrained, slipping into something raw and shattered.

  She pressed her forehead to his chest, screaming into him as if her pain could wake him.

  Her grip loosened.

  Her strength failed.

  And slowly—so slowly—her body gave up.

  Eva collapsed against him, her cheek resting over his silent heart.

  Tears still clung to her lashes as darkness claimed her. The hall echoed with nothing but grief.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  --------------------------------------------------------

  (The Magic Tower of Velmoria)

  The air trembled.

  Runes etched into the tower walls flickered violently, their glow unstable—as if the world itself had drawn a sharp, terrified breath.

  A magician burst into the chamber, robes fluttering, lungs burning.

  “Master—” he gasped, clutching his chest. “What is this… this anonymous energy—can you feel it too?”

  Luca stood by the arched window, eyes narrowed, the wind stirring his hair as unseen magic pressed against his skin like a living thing.

  He exhaled slowly. “I feel it.”

  Then—A grim, knowing curve of his lips. “So… the Dragon King has awakened.”

  The magician swallowed hard.

  Luca turned, his cloak whispering across the marble floor. “Take care of the Magic Tower.” His voice hardened. “I’m going to the royal palace.”

  The magician dropped to one knee. “Yes, Master.”

  Luca raised his hand.

  Magic spiraled outward—ancient symbols blooming into the air. A teleportation circle ignited beneath his feet, humming with raw power.

  Without hesitation, Luca stepped forward— And vanished.

  The circle opened again.

  This time, upon the grounds of the royal palace. The air was heavy. Oppressive. Charged with dread.

  Luca staggered half a step as his eyes lifted to the sky.

  Zeradros.

  The Dragon King’s colossal form loomed above Velmoria, black scales devouring the light, blue eyes burning like judgment itself. His wings eclipsed the heavens, his presence crushing, ancient, absolute.

  Luca’s breath caught. “…Magnificent,” he whispered—awed, terrified, undone.

  Then movement below drew his attention. Rows of armored soldiers marched forward in perfect formation. Banners foreign to Velmoria snapped in the wind.

  At their head stood Prince Velco.

  His voice rang out, sharp and triumphant. “Seize the royal palace.”

  The ground cracked. A blast of magic struck the earth before the advancing knights, exploding into raw heat and blinding light. The soldiers skidded to a halt, shields raised, panic rippling through their ranks.

  Luca stood between them and the palace, eyes blazing. “Take one more step,” he said coldly, “and I will burn every last one of you alive.”

  Silence fell.

  Prince Velco stepped forward alone, utterly unafraid.

  His smile was calm. Calculated. “You must be the Master of the Magic Tower,” he said smoothly. “That spell… there’s no mistaking it.”

  Luca’s jaw tightened.

  “Yes,” he snapped. “I am the Master of the Magic Tower.”

  Velco inclined his head mockingly. “An honor to meet you,” he said. “Master Luca Veyren.”

  Luca’s magic flared dangerously. “Shut your damn mouth,” he growled. “And tell me why your army is standing on Velmorian soil.”

  His eyes sharpened. “Are you here to declare war?”

  Prince Velco chuckled. “This isn’t a declaration of war,” he replied lightly. “I’m simply… reclaiming what’s already mine.”

  Luca laughed—a short, bitter sound. “Velmoria doesn’t belong to you,” he said. “It belongs to its king.” He stepped forward, voice rising with fury. “You think you can march in here and take it by force?”

  “You think you can win against the Emperor?”

  Velco laughed. A sound full of cruel amusement.

  “Emperor?” he echoed. “Are you referring to Emperor Eyan Lucien Therald…?”

  He paused.

  Then smiled wider. “…The one who died just moments ago?”

  The world tilted.

  Luca’s face drained of all color. His heart slammed violently against his ribs.

  “What,” he whispered, “did you just say?”

  Velco’s voice was almost gentle. “Just now,” he said, “the former king—King Thalor Therald and the current Emperor of Velmoria, Eyan Lucien Therald, both died.”

  Luca shook his head slowly, disbelief clawing at his chest. “No,” he breathed. “You’re lying.”

  Velco shrugged. “I’m not,” he replied. “Their bodies are inside the palace.”

  That was all it took. Luca turned sharply. And ran.

  His heart pounded wildly as he sprinted toward the palace doors, magic roaring in his veins, dread swallowing every breath.

  Luca burst into the royal palace—then froze at the sight before him.

  Eyan lay sprawled on the cold marble floor, his body drenched in blood. Eva was clutched tightly against his chest, unconscious, her face pale and still. Beside them, Hans knelt desperately, shaking her shoulders.

  “Your Majesty,” Hans pleaded, his voice breaking. “Open your eyes… please.”

  Luca took a step forward. Then another. His breath trembled, shallow and uneven. When his knees finally gave out, there was no cry—only the dull sound of him sinking to the floor.

  “…Eyan,” he whispered.

  The name fell from his lips like a prayer that would never be answered.

  Tears slid down Luca’s face, silent and unrestrained. He pressed his trembling hand to the ground, staring at the blood, at the stillness, at everything he could not change.

  The palace did not echo with screams.

  It mourned in silence.

  --------------------------------------------------------

  “Princess…

  Princess…”

  Eva opened her eyes slowly.

  She was lying beneath a wide old tree in a peaceful garden. Sunlight filtered through the leaves above, scattering gold across the grass. The wind moved softly, carrying the scent of flowers and memories.

  And there he was.

  Kyel stood a few steps away, his dark hair swaying with the breeze, his presence warm and achingly familiar. He looked real—too real for a dream. He smiled, the kind of smile that always made her feel safe.

  “Princess,” he said gently, “we came here for a picnic. You fell asleep.”

  Eva turned onto her side, watching him, her eyelids heavy. “I want to sleep a little longer,” she murmured. “It feels peaceful here… you should lie down too.”

  Kyel came closer and brushed her hair away from her face, his touch lingering as if he was memorizing her.

  “I can’t,” he said softly. “I don’t have much time...i have to go.”

  Eva frowned and looked up at him. “Where are you going?”

  “Somewhere faraway.”

  “When will you come back?”

  Kyel’s smile trembled, just barely. “I won’t be able to,” he admitted. “But you’ll be alright.”

  Her heart sank.

  Eva reached out and clutched his sleeve. “No… don’t go.”

  Kyel gently loosened her fingers, one by one, his touch careful, loving. He stood and walked toward the light filtering through the trees. Halfway there, he stopped and turned back.

  “I wanted to see you one last time,” he said quietly. “To tell you something properly.”

  Eva rose unsteadily, tears gathering in her eyes. “Kyel—”

  “I love you,” he said, his voice steady despite everything. “I always did. Loving you was never a lie.”

  Kyel smiled at her—the same smile she fell in love with, filled with warmth and sorrow. “Goodbye, Princess.”

  Her breath broke. “Don’t say goodbye,” she pleaded. “Please… stay.”

  Light wrapped around him, soft and forgiving, and his form slowly faded—like a memory refusing to stay.

  Eva ran forward, reaching for him. “Don’t leave me alone… please… come back…”

  But the garden was already quiet.

  “Eva.”

  She stopped.

  Turning around, she saw Leo standing behind her. His expression was heavy with sorrow.

  “It was a farewell,” he said softly. “He came to say goodbye.”

  Her breath caught. Memories rushed in like shattered glass—

  “” Prince Velco’s voice echoed. “

  Then Leo’s voice, calm and deliberate— “

  Eva’s chest burned. “It’s your fault,” she said quietly.

  “If you hadn’t told me to ask for that cursed ring… he wouldn’t have died.” Her voice cracked. “You took him from me.”

  “Eva—” Leo stepped forward, tears filling his eyes.

  “Don’t say my name,” she snapped, her voice shaking. “I don’t want to see your face.”

  Tears spilled freely now.

  “I want to leave,” she whispered desperately. “I don’t want to be in this dream anymore.”

  Leo grabbed her hands, sobbing. “Eva, listen to me—”

  She tore her hands away and shoved him back. He fell to the ground.

  “Don’t touch me,” she said, trembling with anger and grief. “I won’t listen to anything you say.”

  Her voice dropped to a whisper that hurt more than a scream. “I hate you.”

  Leo stayed on the ground, crying silently.

  “Get me out of here,” Eva said. “Now.”

  The world around her began to fade.

  And then—

  Eva’s eyes opened once more.

  The dream was gone.

  But the pain remained.

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