Chapter 16: Chapter 14. The Light That Faded

The golden-plated royal chariot rumbled down the wind-swept stone path, its wheels tracing a quiet rhythm beneath the night-blue sky. Twin banners of the Cloud Clan flanked its crest, fluttering like regal wings. Inside, Prince Caelondor sat in stiff silence across from his father, the only sound between them the soft hum of enchantment runes powering the chariot’s levitation.

Zephyrion Caelondor sat with the air of a war-forged statue—back straight, arms crossed, eyes locked on the distant road ahead. His presence was as heavy as iron, his silence even heavier.

“Why did you choose to bring me?” Prince finally asked, voice low but edged. “You usually prefer to dine alone with dignitaries.”

The king did not look at him. “You are heir to the Cloud Clan. You’ll soon have to learn to face foreign hands and veiled tongues.”

Prince's jaw tightened. “And what if I preferred the truth over veils?”

Zephyrion’s glance flicked to him, cool and wordless. Then he said, “You’d best get used to disappointment.”

Prince looked away, biting back the words bubbling behind his tongue. His gaze drifted down—to the pendant resting against his chest.

It was small, round, and forged from skycrystal—the kind that shimmered like frozen lightning. It glowed faintly with a soft azure hue… or at least, it had.

His breath caught.

The glow was fading.

Slowly, steadily, the vibrant blue of the pendant dulled to a pale, lifeless gray.

“No...” Prince whispered his pulse spiking. He clutched the pendant tightly. “Mother said this pendant would always glow…everywhere I go, as long as she is with me.”

A sharp coldness clawed at his gut. He turned to his father.

“Father—something’s wrong.”

Zephyrion didn’t respond.

“I said something is wrong! This pendant—Mother gave it to me the day Selphira was born. She said it was linked to her energy. That no matter how far I was, I’d always know that—”

“That’s enough,” Zephyrion snapped, his voice like thunder behind steel. “Do not speak nonsense before you’ve learned what the world truly is. You are not a child anymore.”

“But I know! I can feel it!” Prince insisted, desperation sharpening every word. “Something’s wrong with her.”

Zephyrion turned his head slowly, his expression carved in disdain. “A royal does not act on feeling. We act on proof. Control yourself.”

Prince slumped back in his seat, the cold pendant still clutched tightly in his hand. His father turned away once more, as if nothing had happened. But Prince’s breath would not steady.

He had never felt fear like this.

The chariot arrived in the glowing courtyard of the Southern Emissary’s Villa, its lights gentle and golden, its garden filled with exotic blooms and flickering lanterns that danced like fireflies.

Servants greeted them with slow bows. Courtiers in polished robes awaited with practiced smiles. The air was thick with honeyed wine, roasted meats, and the scent of floral incense.

Prince moved like a shadow behind his father—offering curt nods, repeating rehearsed greetings, even forcing a half-smile when introduced to the emissaries from the Southern Tribes. Toasts were made. Speeches exchanged. Platitudes shared across a banquet table laced with silk.

But he tasted none of the food.

His mind was far away.

His hand never left the pendant beneath his robes.

Eventually, as the final cup was raised and the final bowl emptied, a steward stepped beside Prince with a bow. “Your Highness, the guest room has been prepared. Lord Zephyrion requests that you rest.”

Prince nodded politely.

He allowed himself to be led to the marble guest chamber with moon-glass windows and velvet cushions, dismissed the steward with a wave, and sat stiffly on the edge of the bed.

Then waited.

Minutes passed.

The silence inside was suffocating.

And then—with a silent flash—he moved.

He crossed the room in a blink, opened the window with quiet fingers, and swung over the sill. His boots hit the grass with barely a sound.

A few steps later, he ducked behind a cluster of hedges, narrowly avoiding the gaze of two patrolling guards. His heart pounded. His pendant was now fully gray.

He sprinted toward the lower courtyard stables, slipping between shadows and garden walls. There, a lone gray horse stood half-asleep under the starlight. Prince moved fast, tightening the reins, whispering apologies to the creature.

“I need you tonight,” he muttered.

He leapt into the saddle, clenched the reins—and sparks surged from his palms. Small arcs of lightning curled along the horse’s hooves.

“Fly.”

With a thunderous crack, the horse shot from the stable like a bolt from the heavens, its gallop enhanced with bursts of crackling speed.

Prince didn’t look back.

All he saw was the fading light in his palm…

And the memory of his mother’s voice echoing in his ears:

"No matter how far you are, my light will always reach you."

The night wind howled past Prince Caelondor’s face as the royal horse tore down the moonlit path, hooves crackling with residual sparks of energy. The trees whipped by in a blur, branches clawing at the sky. He leaned low, pressing close to the animal’s neck, the pendant in his hand pale and colorless now—its once vibrant blue replaced by an ashen grey, like the last breath of a dying flame.

"Wherever you go," his mother had said, placing it gently around his neck, "this light will glow with my love."

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

He gritted his teeth.

“I should’ve stayed,” he hissed through the rush of wind.

The gates of the Cloud Palace appeared in the distance, silent sentinels under the silver moonlight. The guards at the entryway jolted at the sound of the approaching storm.

“Your Highness? We weren’t expecting—” one called, stepping forward.

But Prince didn’t answer. He didn’t slow. He shot through the gates like a bolt of lightning, his expression carved from ice and fury.

He dismounted with a single leap, letting the horse stagger to a halt behind him. His boots struck the polished marble floors of the grand hall as he stormed inside.

The palace was far too quiet.

His footsteps echoed off the high ceilings like the ticking of a breaking clock.

He ran—past the dining hall, empty. The sunroom, deserted. Her garden terrace, dark. Not there. Not there either.

He turned sharply, bounding up the spiral staircase two steps at a time, his breath ragged, his heart pounding like a war drum.

He flung open the door to Selphira’s chamber—and froze.

There she was.

Safe.

Sleeping.

Her chest rose and fell softly, and the moonlight brushed her face with silver. Her doll was still clutched in her arms. Unaware. Untouched.

Prince backed away, breath catching, then turned.

His mother wasn’t with her.

He tried her chamber next. Empty.

Panic began to claw at his throat now. Something was terribly wrong. Where is she? Where—

Then, a shiver.

A cold, unnatural pull, like a string being drawn taut within his chest.

He turned slowly.

And faced the door to the King’s private sanctum.

Two guards stood stationed there, eyes widening as they saw him approach.

“Your Highness,” one said quickly, stepping forward, “This is Lord Zephyrion’s chamber. None are permitted without express—”

Prince didn’t stop.

“We’re under orders, Prince Caelondor—please—”

Still, he walked. His boots struck the stone with slow, deliberate force. The guards moved to block him, but he slipped between them in a blur of movement, hand outstretched.

With a cry, he shoved the heavy double doors open—

—and the world stopped.

Moonlight filtered through the wide balcony windows, cold and pale. It bathed the grand chamber in a sterile glow, washing the ornate tapestries and golden furnishings in silver-blue.

And at the foot of the King’s throne, crumpled like a broken statue beneath a god’s altar—

—lay Queen Elysera Caelondor.

Motionless.

Her silver-blonde hair spilled like liquid starlight over the stone.

Blood pooled beneath her, stark crimson against the cold marble.

And impaled through her chest—

—was the Sacred Spear of the Storm King.

Prince didn’t breathe.

He couldn’t.

His feet faltered beneath him. He staggered forward a few steps, collapsing to his knees beside her. One trembling hand reached out—brushed her cheek.

Cold.

Her skin was cold.

And yet so familiar.

“Mother…?” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “Wake up. Come on…”

But she didn’t stir.

His hand slid to the spear, gripped it, as if pulling it free might bring her back. But he didn’t move it. He couldn’t.

The tears came before he realized. Silent streaks down his face, hot against the growing numbness.

He pressed his forehead against her shoulder, breathing shallowly.

Not like this…

The guards had stepped inside now, frozen at the doorway. One gasped under his breath. The other whispered a rehearsed curse of disbelief.

They made no move to stop him.

Prince’s eyes lifted to the weapon embedded in her chest. The King’s Spear—an artifact never drawn outside times of judgment or battle. No one but Lord Zephyrion himself could wield it.

And it had been used here.

Inside the throne room.

Against his mother.

He felt his body convulse with a breath that turned into a choke.

Then came the memories.

Her laughter in the garden.

Her kisses before bed.

The warmth of her hand over his.

The stories she read to him and Selphira under moonlight.

The way she brushed his hair and whispered “my brave boy.”

Her arms.

Her voice.

Her smile.

All of it…

…gone.

Stolen.

And lying in blood at the foot of the throne her husband once shared.

He turned his face slowly—toward the portrait on the wall. The massive image of his father, carved in pride, lightning haloed behind his stern expression.

Prince’s lips trembled.

His eyes—wide and broken—burned now with something far darker than grief.

Anguish.

Hatred.

And sorrow, so profound it became a scream in silence.

He stared at the image of Zephyrion Caelondor, eyes red, cheeks stained, soul shattered.

The air in the Sky Tribunal hung still, thick as thunderclouds about to break. All eyes were on the chained figure at the center of the court, where Prince Caelondor stood with his head bowed low, the weight of silence pressing in from all sides.

The presiding judge’s voice rang out once more—measured, cold, unrelenting.

“Prince Caelondor… You have heard the charges levied against you. Do you now offer a defense in your name?”

A pause.

Long.

Deafening.

Even the wind outside seemed to hold its breath.

Prince said nothing at first. He remained motionless, eyes half-lidded in shadow. Somewhere beneath that silence, the chains around his wrists trembled faintly—not from fear, but from something far deeper. Something festering.

Inside his mind, a storm raged.

“What do I have to say?”

His vision blurred. Not from tears—but from memories.

Ivan.

Ivan’s eyes. That flicker of disbelief.

The flash of silver—too fast to scream.

The spear, glimmering like moonlight through a broken window, suddenly jutting from his stomach.

His body, weightless. Flying backward.

Ten meters.

Over the cliff.

Gone.

No farewell. No warning. No time.

Just—gone.

Sky, bloodied and gasping.

Taigami, screaming his name.

The vines of mist.

The air ripped apart by lightning.

And above all of it—his mother’s smile, radiant and untouchable, already fading from the world long before the spear had found her chest.

He saw her again—cold on the marble floor, moonlight pouring across her body like the sky mourning its own queen.

His jaw clenched.

The silence grew unbearable.

Even the nobles began to shift in their seats.

And then—Prince lifted his head.

The courtroom held its breath.

“I am guilty,” he said, voice quiet but clear.

A murmur swept the tribunal.

“I did attack the palace guards… on the night I fled. I assaulted them with force, without royal sanction, without cause approved by court.”

Gasps. Heads turned.

“I did activate the Royal Transportation Module illegally… I used it to enter Human Clan territory, outside the bounds of diplomatic mission or protocol. I ran.”

Even the elders leaned forward now, exchanging looks of stunned disbelief.

“I apologize,” Prince continued, his voice calm. Too calm. “I truly do. For those offenses, I take full responsibility.”

Murmurs exploded into whispers, spreading like wildfire through the marble amphitheater.

“He’s admitting it—?”

“What is he doing?”

But then—Prince raised his voice, and the entire court fell still.

“…But as for the crimes committed against my friends—against the so-called ‘outcasts and peasants’ that I chose to stand beside—” he looked up, eyes burning now, a deep and dangerous black, “—I do not apologize.”

He stepped forward despite the chains, his voice growing darker, louder.

“For what you did to Ivan—a boy who smiled brighter than the sun even on his worst days. For Sky—bleeding and broken, protecting us when your knights came to slaughter him. For Taigami—dragged into our mess, yet never once turning his back.”

He turned slowly—toward the high dais, toward where Zephyrion Caelondor sat beneath the grand Caelondor crest.

“And for my mother—Queen Elysera Caelondor, butchered like a traitor in her own home, stabbed with the very weapon forged to protect her.”

The whispers died instantly.

Prince’s voice rose, raw and shaking now, fury boiling from deep inside his soul.

“For her… I will never forgive you.”

He looked directly at the king.

“I swear it on her grave, and on every drop of blood I’ve bled since.”

And then—he shouted.

“All of you here will pay with your lives! For what happened to them, for what you allowed to happen! Every last one of you—your gold, your robes, your banners—none of it will protect you when the reckoning comes!”

A wave of panic swept the hall.

Gasps.

Cries.

A noblewoman clutched her pearls. One of the councilors stood halfway, shouting, “He threatens the court!”

The judge banged his staff thrice, voice thundering above the chaos.

“SILENCE!”

He turned to Prince, his face like carved stone, his voice colder than winter air.

“I have heard enough.”

A moment of chilling stillness followed.

“Given the witness of this court, and the charges hereby confirmed… I, Justice Highwind of the Cloud Tribunal, acting under the authority of the Sky Crown, do pronounce judgment.”

He paused.

The Orb of Judgment dimmed slightly above the court, flickering like a dying star.

“The heir of House Caelondor—Taelos Prince Caelondor—is hereby…”

A silence dropped like a blade.

“...SENTENCED TO—”