River rested on a black velvet couch dustier than the Eastern deserts, observing the taller woman as she stood completely still in front of a wall, silent, watching. Her mane of scarlet curls was catching in the dim orange light of the candle, making it seem like her head was on fire.

He took another swing out the bottle he was offered and let the fiery taste burn him all the way to his gut. It didn't help much with the scorching hot pain on his abdomen, yet it was better than biting through it like he used to. River sighed softly as not to disturb the thick layer of dust he was sitting on. If he sneezed now, his bowels would be all over the floor.

He poked a grubby finger at his gash, the skin hot and swollen, stitches pulling painfully with each breath. The sight of it—bloody and misshapen—made his head spin, nausea rising with every glance. Remel's sorry job of stitching could send Wolfram into a self-induced coma; each stitch varying in depth. River wiped beads of sweat off his brows, bracing himself for the infection that was bound to occur.

Now that he thought about it, Remel did look a lot like Aithan Alistair. The height, the shade of their hair and the sharp yet serene features all pointed that they could be nothing but siblings.

Three years ago, Adler Alistair's reign saw a miserable end when Raven Alistair was crowned as the new king. No one knew where this disgrace of an heir came from or how he managed to slay eleven of Alistair children.

Adler Alistair, the late king of South was the father to ten children. Nearing his end, four more showed up to the Battle of Southern Ring; the three-day long blood bath that took place in the Crucible of Legends. The underground arena was better known by its moniker- Viper's Pit.

Only two people made it out of the hellhole. Raven, the victor and Aithan, who refused to participate for some mysterious reason.

River vaguely remembered a few of the defeated heirs. The eldest was named Yaqir, a necromancer. He could summon the dead and command them to do his bidding. The second son, Kaiden, possessed unrivaled physical strength. Rumor has it that he once accidentally knocked down a tower of Azure Fort just by running into it.

Third in lineage was Aithan Alistair, the most promising heir. River had not heard much about him except he was a competent ruler, even as a prince. The only other significant Alistair child was Atasa. He was infamous for his ability to manipulate the souls of people.

River knew that Southern Royal family had one princess. She was often overshadowed by the glory of her brothers so much that she was rarely mentioned. He recalled Valor once mentioning that Alistair princess lived in seclusion, much like River himself, because of her weak divine essence.

Raven Alistair's emergence as the victor took the nation by storm. He had been making new headlines since and no one really questioned what became of the princess. Many, including River, assumed that she was sent to greet her holy ancestors first before her army of brothers followed.

River never knew the said princess was Aithan Alistair's twin sister. Likewise, he was quite shocked to find that she was alive and well, living under an assumed name, right here in Frostgate.

The boutique was difficult to locate, even with Aithan's detailed directions, particularly with Northern soldiers hunting him down like a runaway chicken. Five days was enough for them to reach Queensend. Remel confirmed that the first stage of the plan was successful. Azize was safely removed from the palace.

River's heart tightened at the thought of his niece. What followed was the sour taste of betrayal.

He rubbed his temples, days of exhaustion finally catching up to him. The wine clouded his brain as he drowsily watched Remel, waiting for her to snap out of her dreamlike state. River felt that waiting for her to speak first was the smarter move.

Groaning, he chugged the last of the liquor, hoping it would warm him a little. He placed the empty bottle next to a life-sized mannequin with a soft clink, wondering why on earth there were so many of them.

He vaguely recalled a few in the boutique downstairs, but this floor was swarming with them. Besides the creaking couch that smelled like rats, the hall was filled with this odd assembly of fifty-something dummies draped in red clothing.

The gathering was unnerving. Arranged in various poses, they looked eerily lifelike in the dimness. One lay on the wooden floor as if dead. Another seemed frozen mid-dance. One was crouching, wooden head tucked between stiff knees.

There was even one keeping River company on the couch, an uncanny companion. She sat with one leg draped over the other, her frame reclined against the armrest. One stiff hand supported her featureless, oval face while the other lay awkwardly on her lap.

River tilted his head, eyes narrowing. There was a good chance he was hallucinating, but he could swear this wooden doll felt eerily familiar. It reminded him of someone, though his foggy mind refused to elaborate who. He could almost picture a face that perfectly matched the sultry silhouette, a voice even.

From the corner of his vision, River saw something move.

It was gone when he turned to look.

Having spent his whole life in the dimness of the East Wing, he was certain he hadn't imagined it, no matter how delirious he was from pain and hunger. He saw it—a dark figure crawling from one dummy to another with inhuman speed, as if it were a fabric thrown across.

River's widened eyes darted from one wooden doll to another, trying to see what in holy spirit that was. But the desolated hall was still and quiet, as if it was nothing but a drunk hallucination.

"Shh.." Remel hushed, startling him out of his skin. "Calm down."

River gulped, trying his best not to panic. He knew the words were not spoken to him, yet he obeyed, nonetheless.

Remel glanced at him, eyes drooping. One of them was amber colored, like Aithan's.

The other was brown.

She floated over to him, her long black skirt rustling along the wooden floorboards. She lowered down at him, her thin mouth turned downwards in a frown.

"Your arm will rot off" She stated flatly, pointing at the festering bruise on his forearm that has spread up to his bicep. It was the size of a coin when Wolfram noticed it six days ago, but now it had claimed almost all his arm.

"I'll live" River shrugged nonchalantly.

"I know"

He loathed how she was hovering over his head. When Aithan does it, it feels like a giant tree sheltering you. Remel was more like a storm cloud blocking the sun and all happy things. They stared at each other for a short while in tense silence.

"He will be here any minute" Remel stated, glaring at the gnarly wound. "He will take you."

River sighed, breathing in a mouthful of dust. "I do not intend to resist. How much time can you buy?"

Pursing her lips, Remel looked to her right. "A day"

River nodded slowly, blue eyes shining with determination.

Two people fell back into uncomfortable silence.

Discovering that Lucian Verlice went against his words had initially been a huge blow. River felt as if heaven struck him, charring him inside out.

It was not the Northern King's dishonesty that rattled River. To be frank, he never expected his father to be a man of honor and protect the vow he made. Yet, somewhere deep in his heart, River believed that the King had a silver of love reserved for Valor, if not for himself.

River sighed, glaring down at his hands. He wanted to erase the feeling of Valor's hammering pulse from his skin. Heaven knows he did not mean to choke him the way he did.

It was not Valor he wanted to choke.

River fisted his hands, trying to calm himself down.

Remel gazed to her right, entranced by the flame dancing across the wall. "I swore never to use my divine essence again."

Aithan issued several warnings when he sent the younger to his twin. One being how Remel constantly mumbled to herself. Then about her violent outbursts. That one time she gouged out her own eye. About how she is the closest thing the history has seen to a God since Divine Judgement.

River scoffed a little at the thought. Remel slowly turned her head with a scowl at the sound.

"That's rude" She stated flatly. "Stop constantly bitching about others in your head."

"Technically, it's not your divine essence so drop your righteous act" River replied with equal amount of enthusiasm. "I don't care how you do it or what dead sibling you have to offend. The soul must be sealed away."

Remel's face scrunched up like a dried raisin. River rolled his eyes at her expression. "You never said not to bitch out loud."

"You know too much" Remel growled. "That's never going to end well."

"Look who's talking" River quirked an eyebrow. "Miss I-Know-Everything dare judge this lowly mortal for being a curious and using his brain a little?"

Her brown colored eye twitched, lips tightening into a firm line.

"We are too similar that it's hilarious" River slurred, eyes unfocused from liquor. "At least you know what you did to end up like this."

Remel stared deep into River's azure eyes, making him feel naked. River hated this Alistair princess; her ability to see and know everything, including secrets he himself was not aware of.

He also loathed her eyes, each one the color of people he admired the most, yet devoid of any warmth.

"Do you believe gods exist?" Remel questioned, her voice barely above a silky whisper.

River felt the question was rhetorical, given she already knew his answer.

"No" he whispered back.

Gods may exist to others of his descend, not to him.

Remel curved her lips to what River could only guess was a smile. "I'll let you in on a secret, Godling."

The candle went out.

In the darkness of the boutique, Remel's amber colored eye shone down on him like a star of doom. With a chill he realized there had been no wind.

"They do"

River gripped the armrest, swallowing down a scream.

It was not the voice of the tall woman.

In the furthest, darkest corner of the room, there was a peculiar wooden mannequin.

One hand bent at the elbow and raised behind its oval head; the other was extended like it was pointing at something. Its torso slightly twisted sideways and feet apart, the red-cladded model seemed frozen mid dance.

It dawned on him that it was not dancing.

River could hear the click of everything falling into place; the blurry face he had been trying to drowsily grasp at suddenly becoming crystal clear.

He had seen this stance before. Then, the extended arm was pointing at him.

Now, it aimed at a glowing pair of emerald eyes in the dark.

Author has something to say

Author is alive.

Author apologizes for ghosting beloved readers. This chapter had been rotting in Author's docs for about two months now.

As for why the story has taken a sudden genre shift from fantasy to supernatural.. it will be explained soon.

Also, Aithan had a twin?!

For those who can't remember what happened an eternity earlier, it's clearly mentioned in the character index that Ai and Rae have another non-dead sibling. Also, it was mentioned offhandedly in early chapters that Alistairs had one princess. 

This Author never mentions things "offhandedly".

Author knows that story makes absolute zero sense right now, but bear with the poor author.

Kudos to @Arkhane_Remirez for summoning this author back from dead.

As compensation, this author now presents a part of Airam date she wrote but never published.

The reason was that this hinted to a plot point author eventually re wrote as a flashback. Also Wolfram asks questions he was not supposed to ask that early in the plot. That's very Wolfy of him so I never published his date as revenge.

The draft is also coincidently titled as "UNTITLED PART 69"

Enjoy and forgive author for going MIA.

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Wolfram scraped the bottom of his fifth cup of dessert, determined to scoop out the last remaining drop. Had he not been in public, he would have licked the cup clean, manners be damned.

"What drug they put in here?" he mused, his mouth still tingling with the dark purple, creaminess that melted on his tongue, tightening his cheeks with the sweetness.

"Fruico, honey, milk" Aithan listed, fondly watching Wolfram's pale eyes sparkling in sugar rush. "Shall we get you another?"

Wolfram's grin widened in response and another cup was promptly ordered.

'Verlices don't sit right with me,' Wolfram suddenly remarked as they waited for dessert.

Aithan laced his fingers together on the table, his amber eyes focused on Wolfram with undivided attention. Taking that as a cue to continue, Wolfram leaned a little closer over the table.

"When Kai was born," he softened his voice, ensuring their conversation remained private, out of prying ears. "our father had great expectations of him. He was the first born and the crown prince, like wise the next king."

Aithan nodded in understanding.

"His divine essence was rather late to mature, much like himself." Wolfram's lips tugged in a small frown. "Even by the time he was ten, he showed no sign of possessing divine powers or intelligence."

Aithan couldn't help but smile faintly at Wolfram's constant jabs at his older brother. 

"Cyra Schulz was a king first, then a father." Wolfram waved his fan around, face souring at the memory of his late father. "So, he went for a second marriage and had me."

"I see," Aithan replied, his eyes down cast. "So was Adler Alistair."

Wolfram's eyes widened, catching the taller man in a rare moment of vulnerability. He felt like he had unknowingly grazed a sore spot in Aithan Alistair's heart.

Wolfram gave his cold hand a tight squeeze and continued. "He got the son he wanted. A weapon. One that could kill anyone at will."

Aithan draped his palm over Wolfram's much smaller one and interlocked their fingers together. "You are not a weapon."

"I'm not, now" Wolfram bit the inside of his bottom lip drawing blood. "If Einar Ashford did not exist, it would have been a very different story. For both me and Kai."

The waitress interrupted them at this moment. Witnessing them holding hands and having a hushed conversation, she settled the dessert cup on the table and hurried away.

"A decision was made to make me the next king." Wolfram stabbed his spoon into the cold fruit pulp with a hearty laugh, finding the idea incredibly funny. "Kai was stripped of his title and privileges, becoming a laughingstock overnight."

He took a large mouthful, humming in delight at the rich taste. Whatever bitterness he was feeling over past disappeared, like fog under the morning sun. "Einar, I'm sure you've heard of him, was the only one who had his back during that period."

"He is a remarkable swordsman." Aithan wiped a purple stain off Wolfram's bottom lip, making him blush redder than a ripe tomato. "I fought him once."

"The point is," Wolfram sighed, inhaling the rest of his beloved dessert in two spoonfuls. "He was shoved off his pedestal, simply because his revolting battalion of monsters were fashionably late to make a dramatic entrance."

Aithan's head drooped, gaze falling on their joined hands. "If you are weak, it's over for you. That's the way of heavenly bloodline."

Wolfram jumped a brow, and he nodded eagerly.

"Exactly! So, tell me," he paused, watching Aithan's eyes narrowing as he too, came to the same realization. "Why is River Verlice still alive?"

A heavy silence fell as unease crept up on them like a giant, slithering python, slowly squeezing air out their lungs.

"I'm glad he is alive to meet an amazing friend like me, don't get me wrong" Wolfram chuckled, trying to lighten the air. "Considering how he was not even named; it makes more sense if Lucian Verlice killed him at birth."

"Maybe he couldn't bring himself to do that" Aithan suggested, rubbing circles on back of Wolfram's hand with his thumb. "Riv is his flesh and blood after all."

'That's a possibility,' Wolfram agreed, deciding to drop the subject.

But he couldn't quite shake off the notion that there was something Verlices were hiding from the rest of the world. Yes, it made sense that Lucian Verlice didn't get rid of his powerless son solely out of love for him. It also explained why Riv was confined since childhood - to conceal the black mark of siring a deviant, one who had no claim to heavenly lineage.

Nevertheless, to Wolfram, the entire situation appeared akin to an incomplete puzzle, lacking several crucial pieces. Perhaps he was overanalyzing it, but the Verlice family seemed to him like an unfinished portrait, where the addition of a few more brush strokes could completely transform the final masterpiece.

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