Valerius stood by the window of his chambers, his gaze lingering on the distant horizon. The soft rustle of the wind against the stone walls barely registered in his mind. His thoughts were elsewhere—on Lysara.

  Her condition had worsened during the journey back to his kingdom. Despite his usual control over every situation, this time, he was faced with an illness that he could neither predict nor completely understand. But after carefully observing her symptoms, he had deduced the nature of her sickness. It was no ordinary ailment.

  Lysara’s illness had drained her energy, leaving her fragile and unable to defend herself properly, a weakness he hadn’t expected to see in the Empress of Dawn.

  A rare condition, found only in a few scattered locations. The herb needed to cure her could only be found in his birthpce—the pce where his kind had once thrived before the humans wiped them out. The idea of returning to the ruins of his origins didn’t sit well with him, but he knew what had to be done.

  Days passed, and Valerius had ventured into the deep, forgotten forests of his homend to retrieve the herb. He stood now at the entrance to the chamber where Lysara y, the freshly plucked herb wrapped carefully in his hands. It was a vibrant blue-green, its scent a mix of sweet earth and sharp, almost medicinal notes.

  As he entered the room, Lysara’s eyes fluttered open, her gaze soft but clouded by exhaustion. The once vibrant blue in her eyes had dulled, but there was still a flicker of life within her. She tried to sit up, but a sharp pain gripped her chest, forcing her back into her bed.

  "Don’t try to move," Valerius said, his tone surprisingly gentle. “This will help you. It’s the herb you need to heal.”

  He moved to her side, gently pcing the herb on the small table beside her. She watched him with an expression that was both curious and weary.

  “You’ve returned from the ruins,” she said quietly. “To bring this to me?”

  He nodded, though his expression remained impassive. “This is the only thing that will heal you. It will take time, but it will work.”

  For a moment, Lysara simply stared at him. The warmth in her gaze flickered as she processed his words, and then she offered a small, fragile smile. “Thank you.”

  Valerius wasn’t used to receiving thanks. He had never sought gratitude for his actions. Yet, for reasons he couldn’t fully expin, her words resonated with him, even if just slightly.

  In the days that followed, Lysara’s condition improved slowly but steadily. The herb, though not a cure-all, began to restore some strength to her body. Still, she wasn’t the same—her eyes, once vibrant, were clouded with fatigue, but the light in them never fully dimmed.

  Valerius watched her closely. There was something about her presence that unsettled him, something that made him question his initial assumptions. She wasn’t the emotion-driven strategist he had once believed her to be. Her every move was deliberate, calcuted even, though softened by the faint vulnerability that now lingered in her gaze.

  Yet, despite the transformation he was witnessing in her, she still refused to show weakness. She remained determined to stand strong in the face of her illness.

  One evening, as he sat in the chair beside her, observing her recovery, an idea came to him. He had studied her, observed her weaknesses, and was sure he understood her now.

  But there was one thing left—something he had yet to try.

  Lysara stirred, her eyes blinking open to meet Valerius’s gaze. She had grown used to his presence over the past few days, though the silence between them had always been thick with unspoken words.

  “Rest,” Valerius murmured as he stood and gestured for her to lie back down. “I need to perform something. It may help you regain your strength faster.”

  She hesitated. “What do you mean?”

  He didn’t answer directly. Instead, he began to chant softly, his words unintelligible but ced with a dark, ancient magic. The air around them seemed to hum with energy as Valerius’s spell took shape.

  Lysara tensed, feeling the power surge toward her, but... nothing happened.

  Confusion flickered in Valerius’s expression. He repeated the spell, this time with more force, but again, nothing. He leaned back, his brows furrowing.

  She watched him with a quiet curiosity. “What are you doing?”

  Valerius paused, his usual calm demeanor shaken for the first time. “I was attempting to manipute your energy,” he confessed. “But it didn’t work.”

  Lysara simply blinked, her eyes shimmering a soft blue as she y back, unfazed. “I told you, I can’t be controlled.”

  Valerius’s mind raced. Why hadn’t it worked? His powers, his magic—everything had always obeyed him. He could control anything.

  Yet, here she was, unyielding.

  For a brief moment, doubt crept into his thoughts. She wasn’t just any ordinary ruler.

  Days passed, and Lysara continued to heal at her own pace. As she grew stronger, she and Valerius spent more time together. They began to talk, the silence between them finally giving way to conversations that revealed more about who they were—beneath the titles, the power, and the endless battles.

  Valerius was logical, methodical, always thinking ahead. Lysara, despite being the master strategist, was ruled by her heart, her emotions often guiding her decisions.

  And through it all, they both began to see that perhaps the other had more to offer than they had first realized.

  Lysara, once a mystery, was slowly becoming someone Valerius couldn’t quite categorize. And as for her, she had begun to understand that perhaps not all battles had to be won with strength or strategy.

  Their time together, though still filled with tension, was slowly ying the groundwork for something neither of them had expected—a deeper understanding, a connection that went beyond logic and emotion.

  As the days wore on, Lysara’s strength began to return—slowly, but surely. The herb Valerius had brought for her had started its work, and though the healing process wasn’t instant, there was an unmistakable change in the air.

  The silence between her and Valerius, once heavy with tension, began to lighten a little. For the first time, Lysara found herself feeling somewhat comfortable in his presence. She wasn’t entirely sure why, but something about the way he treated her—not as an enemy, but as someone to be cared for—made her forget, if only for a moment, the weight of the world on her shoulders.

  One morning, as Lysara sat up in bed, stretching her arms above her head, she let out a small, exaggerated yawn. Her eyes were still a bit dull from her illness, but there was a spark in them now, one that hadn’t been there when Valerius had first brought her in. The glow of the blue in her eyes wasn’t as vibrant as it usually was, but the changes were more subtle now—like the shifting of clouds, delicate and soft.

  Valerius had been standing by the window, his eyes scanning the ndscape, lost in thought. He didn’t expect to hear the soft giggle that came from behind him. Turning, he saw Lysara sitting up straight in bed, her cheeks slightly puffed out as she gave him a sheepish grin.

  “What are you doing?” Valerius asked, his voice ced with curiosity.

  Lysara, still a bit wobbly but clearly trying to keep her composure, put her hands on her hips and puffed out her chest. “I’m practicing my royal posture.” She dramatically straightened her back, lifting her chin in an exaggerated motion. “Do you think I look impressive?”

  Valerius blinked, slightly taken aback by the pyful shift in her demeanor. He had always known her to be serious, a calcuting strategist—someone whose every move seemed deliberate, each word weighed carefully before it left her lips. This… was unexpected.

  “You look…” Valerius paused, unsure how to respond. “You look ridiculous.”

  Lysara burst into a fit of ughter, her eyes sparkling with mischief. The sound was light and full of life—something that made Valerius pause. He hadn’t seen this side of her before, and it caught him off guard. She wasn’t just the Empress of Dawn, the ruler who had managed to outsmart him every time. She was, in this moment, just a woman with a sense of humor.

  “Ridiculous?” Lysara gasped between giggles, clutching her stomach as she ughed. “Well, I suppose I could take offense, but I’m too busy trying to stop myself from falling over.”

  Valerius raised an eyebrow as he observed her with an almost unreadable expression. Her eyes were shifting again—the deep blue that had once been so serene had now become a lighter, brighter shade, almost childlike in its warmth.

  “Are you always like this?” he asked, his voice low but curious.

  Lysara immediately stopped ughing and tilted her head, her eyes narrowing slightly as she looked at him. “What do you mean?”

  “You’re different from the person I met before,” he replied. “Before, you were always calcuting and serious. Now, it seems like you're... different. More... pyful.”

  Lysara blinked a few times, her lips curling into a smile. “You don’t understand, do you?”

  Valerius frowned. “Understand what?”

  She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stood up, wobbling slightly before finding her bance. “I’m still me. I’ve always been me, just… with a few more yers. You see, I’ve learned something over the years. Sometimes, it’s important to let go. To not be so serious about everything. It’s okay to smile, to ugh. Even if the world seems like it’s falling apart.”

  Her eyes softened as she said the words, and the sudden shift in her mood had Valerius more intrigued than ever. He had always seen her as a fierce leader, someone who carried the weight of an entire empire on her shoulders. To see her this carefree, even just for a moment, was unsettling to him in ways he couldn’t fully expin.

  “You think you’re just changing your behavior?” Valerius asked, raising an eyebrow. “But your eyes—they look different. They keep changing.”

  Lysara paused. Her expression softened, but there was a flicker of something behind her eyes, almost like she was thinking deeply about what to say next. “You’re right. My eyes change when I’m… feeling something. When I’m happy, they get brighter. When I’m angry, they get darker. It’s just part of who I am.”

  She gave him a small, almost sheepish smile. “You’ll get used to it. It’s still me, even if my eyes change, or if I’m acting a little silly.”

  Valerius studied her for a moment, trying to make sense of her words. “So, if I see your eyes change, it’s just… an expression of what you're feeling? It’s not some trick?”

  Lysara ughed softly, her eyes flickering between shades of blue and silver. “No, it’s not a trick. It’s just who I am. I guess it’s kind of like a mirror of my emotions. But really, you can always tell it’s me—no matter how my eyes look or how I act.”

  Valerius stood still for a long moment, his gaze never leaving her. He had always prided himself on understanding everything, on being able to see through the yers of others to the heart of the matter. But Lysara? She was different. Her changes, both physical and emotional, were things he couldn’t predict.

  And for some strange reason, it only made him more curious about her.

  “Fine,” Valerius said after a pause, his voice still neutral but with a hint of something softer beneath it. “I’ll take your word for it.”

  Lysara’s smile grew wider. “Good. Because I’m not changing who I am for anyone, not even you.”

  Her pyful tone made something stir in Valerius’s chest. For a brief moment, he allowed himself to forget about the pns, the politics, and the war. In this quiet, fleeting moment, he realized that maybe—just maybe—he could learn something from her after all.

  As the days passed, Lysara’s health continued to improve, and with it, her spirits. The tension between her and Valerius gradually shifted. They weren’t allies—not yet—but they had found a strange understanding. One that allowed them to share quiet moments, even small, fleeting glimpses of the person behind the titles and battles.

  Valerius found himself intrigued, more than he’d like to admit, by the woman who was both his enemy and a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve.

  While in the nearest and vastest forest

  The night stretched endlessly, its silence broken only by the rustling leaves and the distant cries of the wild.

  Deep within the shadows of the ancient woods, figures moved—swift, silent, hungry.

  A lone scout knelt before his commander, his breath coming in sharp, controlled bursts. His eyes gleamed unnaturally under the dim moonlight, reflecting something primal.

  "They are unaware," he murmured. "They don’t see us coming."

  The commander stood tall, his silhouette blending into the darkness. His presence alone was suffocating, a pressure that made the air feel thick with dread.

  "And the Pureblood?" the commander asked, voice low and guttural.

  The scout hesitated. Just a flicker.

  "He is real."

  The silence that followed was not of shock—only confirmation of what they already feared.

  A slow, deliberate breath filled the space between them.

  Then the commander bared his teeth in something that almost resembled a grin.

  "Good. Then we move at dawn."

  Around them, the darkness shifted. Cwed hands tensed. Eyes gleamed.

  And as the wind carried the faintest scent of blood and ruin, the beasts began to prowl.

  The hunt had begun.