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CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

DAX

T he past few days had been a whirlwind of disastrous revelations for Dax. The king wasn’t just a tyrant in silk robes, he was a cursed monster wrapped in human flesh. Dax despised everything about the palace.

The flowers, the bees, the insects and the incessant laughter. Another hard truth Dax had learned about nobles: they wasted hours circling the same empty words at long tables, calling it a council. That was how he had uncovered the king’s twisted offer, his life spared in exchange for the ashes. But beneath the promise lay something darker. The king was dying. Cursed. Something we have in common, he thought.

The king had not even tried to hide it. What haunted Dax wasn’t just the man’s blackened veins or the tremors wracking his skeletal frame. It was how he could teeter on death’s edge one night, only to appear decades younger, restored, almost invincible by morning. Keegan had finally let the truth slip. The king’s life hinged on the sapphire. Without it, death would claim him. Cursed. The word echoed in Dax’s mind like the beat of a war drum. The king’s desperation made him dangerous but also predictable. And yet, despite every revelation hammering at his skull, Dax was no closer to finding the ashes. Nobles glanced at him as he strode down the corridor, their gazes brushing against him like static sparks. He yanked irritably at the collar of his stiff formal shirt. He hated how the fabric clung to him, hated how it made him look like one of them. But even Dax had to admit he cut a striking figure in the polished attire. He could feel the eyes of women trailing after him, their whispered giggles. The king’s curse remained a mystery, but Dax had pieced together enough from Keegan’s cryptic words. Without the sapphire, the king risked not only death but eternal damnation. That was why they provided Dax with a ship, soldiers, and enough resources to search the seas. Two map fragments were hidden somewhere in the palace library, but instead of guarding them and securing the location, the king’s adviser had ordered most of the soldiers to protect the prince. And Keegan, in her usual cryptic way, had felt the ashes were in the city, warning that they might reveal themselves during the upcoming royal ball.

Nonsense. Inefficiency. Stupidity.

In his mind, chaos brewed with morbid clarity. Dax knew exactly how he would handle this if it were up to him—ransack every house, loot every shop, line up the people of Eldoria, interrogate them with a sword to their throats until someone coughed up the ashes. But of course, they wouldn’t allow that.

That was when Dax realized how deep the king’s desperation ran. His curse had to stay hidden. If word spread, it could destroy the kingdom’s illusion of power. But Dax didn’t want the ashes for the king. He wanted them for himself.

All he needed was to play along, earn the king’s trust, and then take everything. Patience wasn’t his strength, but he could endure it for victory.

That’s why he agreed to this farce of a feast, dragging himself toward the king’s hall in cursed formal attire. Another pointless discussion awaited.

Suddenly, the doors swung open wider. The guards stiffened as Dax entered. The king sat regally, his presence radiating authority despite the sickness creeping beneath his skin. Keegan stood beside him, ever-watchful, her dark eyes gleaming.

"Step forward, Dax."

Suppressing a grimace, Dax obeyed. Captain, he wanted to correct but held his tongue.

"I see you’ve received my gift," the king said, gesturing at Dax’s formal attire.

"Unfortunately," Dax replied, his tone laced with disdain. He leaned back, resting his hands on the edge of a table behind him.

"Did Commander Roderick inform you of your duties for this evening?"

Dax exhaled sharply. "Yes. I’ll be at the ball, keeping an eye on His Royal Highness."

"Good. The prince’s safety is as crucial as the ashes."

Finally, the king mentioned the ashes. Dax’s frustration flickered, but before he could speak, the king continued.

"I have another gift for you," the king said, exchanging a glance with Keegan, who gave a slight nod.

A guard stepped forward, stopping directly in front of Dax.

"Kill him," the king ordered abruptly.

Dax’s eyes narrowed. "What?"

"Kill this innocent young guard."

Dax hated being underestimated. Without hesitation, he stepped forward and met the king’s gaze, who regarded him with detached boredom. He drove his sword into the guard’s abdomen, twisting the blade cruelly. A faint gasp escaped the guard’s lips before he crumpled to the floor, lifeless.

Dax withdrew his sword, flicking off the blood with a sharp motion before wiping the blade clean. He wouldn’t risk letting the blood corrode it. Keegan clapped her hands, her eyes gleaming with frenzied delight.

"Congratulations," said the king, his tone devoid of warmth.

Dax sheathed his sword and rested both hands on the pommel, fixing the king with an unflinching stare. "Why? You know killing isn’t an issue for me."

The king raised a hand, his expression sharpening. "You misunderstood. I wasn’t testing whether you could kill or follow orders without hesitation." He leaned forward, his voice turning cold. "I wanted to see how far you’d go for your own gain. Whether you’re willing to crush anyone to ensure your survival… and obtain the sapphire at any cost."

Dax’s heart pounded in his chest, but he kept his expression blank.

"Men like Sir Beron and Lord Commander Roderich throw themselves into the fire for the crown," the king said.

"Idiots ready to die for a throne they’ll never sit on," Dax thought bitterly.

The king’s lips curled into a cruel smile. "But to get what I want…" He turned toward Keegan, nodding at the enormous chest nestled in the shadows. Dax hadn’t noticed it before. How had he missed something so obvious?

Keegan moved silently toward the chest, opening it with deliberate care. A blinding blue light spilled out, brilliant and cold. Dax squinted, his pupils contracting painfully as the light clawed at his senses. He turned his head, a chill crawling up his spine.

"To retrieve something like this, orders aren’t enough," the king continued, his voice distant but relentless. "You need something stronger. A deeper reason. And there is not better motivation than death."

Dax’s mind teetered on the edge of clarity and madness, the king’s words wrapping around his thoughts like a vice. He forced himself to look again, adjusting to the light.

The faces of the king and Keegan had vanished into the glow. The chest itself seemed to swallow the room, an abyss of velvety black that cradled a single gem brilliant blue, radiant, and alive with a cold, unforgiving light. It seemed to devour everything around it, like a star burning in a void. The sapphire… Dax felt it in his bones, a magnetic pull vibrating down his spine. This was no ordinary stone. It looked like half a heart, its jagged edges as if broken or torn. Strange patterns writhed across its surface, shifting and rearranging in rhythm with the beat of his heart. The gem seemed alive, brimming with power. Dax’s heart answered with a strange, haunting melody, pulsing in sync with the gem’s glow. Inside, swirling white streaks intertwined with dark tendrils. The blue light flickered softly, as though the sapphire had a heartbeat—like something ancient and dangerous lay trapped within.

The air grew cold. A thin mist clung to his skin, and a shiver ran through him. Still, he couldn’t tear his eyes away. Suddenly, Keegan slammed the chest shut with a sharp thud, the sound ringing like a thunderclap. The light vanished instantly.

The king circled the massive wooden desk, each footstep echoing heavily on the marble floor. From his pocket, he drew a vial of crimson liquid. "These past few days, Keegan has been watching you," the king said. "You’re dying, Captain."

The words sliced through the air, cold and final. His icy gaze locked on Dax, and they echoed in his mind. But Dax didn’t fear death. Since childhood, he had faced its cold grip, lived with its whispers. The tremors, his constant curse, had haunted him for years, yet he had always fought back, defiant. Death could brush against him, but it would not claim him. He had sworn to be the exception, to deny its fatal kiss, just as it had taken his mother. Not out of courage, but pure selfishness. Only Dax had the audacity to mock death, to meet its gaze and sneer: "Death can claw at my skin, whisper in my ear, but she won’t take me. Not today. Maybe not ever."

"Your tremors… your illness… it’s far worse than you think," whispered a cold, ghostly voice in his mind. He could have sworn it was Keegan, though her lips never moved. Her piercing eyes seemed to slice through his soul, as if she could read his thoughts.

"As long as I hold this half, I remain the gem’s supreme master," the king declared. "It pains me to admit, Captain, but beneath your savage exterior and barbaric habits, you’re clever. You must have deduced my… condition. The Ancients cursed me. I am both death and life. And I assure you, no cure exists for your illness."

"You’ll draw your last breath on a night like this, within a year at most," Keegan added, her voice chilling, echoing like a distant whisper. The words struck Dax like icy blows, his chest tightening painfully.

"Let’s hope I find your precious ashes and sapphire soon," Dax retorted, his tone steeped in fatal irony. "Perhaps then, you’ll be kind enough to gild a dying man’s final days in gold." "I told you I had a gift," the king said, coldly amused. "Know this—death is not the end." He downed the crimson liquid in one motion and stepped toward the chest. Dax frowned, wary. Keegan began to murmur inaudibly, her incantations curling through the air like unseen threads, sending a chill up his spine. Without a word, she reopened the chest as the king loomed over the lifeless guard.

The sapphire’s blue glow erupted, casting ghostly rays across the room. The king murmured something, his eyes turning pitch black—two voids swallowing all light. A luminous blue filament snaked out from the gem, threading through his veins, winding up his arm and into his chest. With a sudden flick of his hand, he directed the glowing strand toward the fallen guard. It shot into the corpse’s mouth with violent force, while a dark tendril seeped out in return, swirling into the sapphire like smoke.

A sudden wind whipped through the room, ruffling Dax’s hair before vanishing as abruptly as it came. He stood frozen, watching the macabre spectacle unfold. His heart pounded a grim, foreboding rhythm, like a mournful drum in a funeral march.

The dead guard gasped. His body trembled, then jerked upright, breathless and alive once more.

The king had just raised a man from the dead.

Dax’s head spun, his blood thundering in his ears. Too many questions swarmed his mind, but one truth was clear—the king was a monster. Dax blinked, eyes locked on the guard who had moments ago been lifeless, now standing steady as if nothing had happened. His pale skin was now flushed with life, healthy, unmarred by Dax’s blade. He resumed his post without so much as a stagger.

Panting, the king turned toward Dax, who, for once, was genuinely shocked.

The king spoke again, "Bring me the ashes and my sapphire, and I will make you a living, free man. If there’s any trace of weakness, affection, or worse, mercy within you, get rid of it. It is better to live a life of regrets, surrounded by wealth than to face a swift death in poverty."

As he turned to leave, he muttered with icy irony, “Thank you for the valuable advice…”

He didn’t wait for the guards. He shoved them aside and opened the doors himself. The air outside hit him like a wave, fresh, freeing. He lifted his head, closed his eyes briefly, and inhaled deeply, a shiver crawling down his spine as he cracked his neck.

He opened his eyes. Ahead, servants bustled about, making final preparations for the evening’s event. Further away, a few nobles of Eldoria had already arrived, their laughter drifting on the breeze. No one was whispering.

Dax turned his head left and spotted a figure seated on a chair, one leg bouncing nervously, a letter clutched tightly in his trembling hands. Even without hearing his voice, Dax recognized Prince Jace by his pale blond hair. The prince looked anxious, his sweaty hands fumbling with the letter.

Dax exhaled sharply, watching him with disdain. All of this masquerade, the guards, the chaos—was for him.

Straightening his posture, Dax began walking toward the ballroom, where the royal family’s entrance awaited. Commander Roderich would be expecting him there. As he passed, the prince didn’t lift his head.

“Good,” Dax thought. His job was to protect the prince, yes. But until the ball officially began, Dax didn’t care enough to acknowledge him.