Chapter 13 — The Year That Refused to End.
Princess Sylvaris Elowen woke before dawn.
Pale sunlight slipped through the tall window, resting against her face without warmth. Her eyes opened immediately—her body slow to rise, her mind already alert.
The second day.
If she had not returned on the first, then there was only one remaining conclusion.
She will return today.
The door opened soundlessly.
Head maid Layra entered, carrying a tray of morning tea, her posture composed, her expression carefully neutral.
“Layra.”
“Yes, Your Highness?”
Sylvaris sat up, the sheets falling away with quiet precision. “It is the second day.”
Layra lowered her gaze.
“She did not emerge yesterday,” Sylvaris continued, her voice even. “Which means the time within the forest extended beyond the minimum threshold.”
A pause.
“She will return today,” Sylvaris said, certainty replacing assumption. “Go. Retrieve her.”
Layra hesitated for half a breath, then bowed deeply. “Yes, Your Highness. I will follow your order.”
As Layra turned to leave, Sylvaris’s gaze drifted briefly toward the window.
Two days outside.
Two Years within.
If the trial had accepted her… it would not delay her further without reason.
And Sylvaris did not believe in coincidences.
-----
Inside the First King’s Tabu
Two years had passed.
Rayvaris stood before the practice field, sword lowered but still trembling faintly in her grip.
“Old man,” she said, frustration slipping through her restraint, “the dummy you made is too strong. Every time I try to push further, it shuts me down completely.”
The First King watched without comment.
It should be strong, he thought.
You are facing my wife’s replica—restricted to a mere fraction of her power.
The pressure had done its work.
Not mastery.
Understanding.
The third form no longer felt impossible.
Silver Tranquility had begun to take shape—not yet complete, but present. A flow that did not seek to strike or overwhelm, but to receive, disperse, and endure.
The form had not answered her fully.
But it had acknowledged her.
…I see it now, Rayvaris realized.
I just need time.
She turned toward the old man, lowering her sword.
“My two years are over,” she said quietly. “I understand the third form now. If I had one more year… I could master it.”
She paused, then added, more softly, “But outside, it’s already time. I should go.”
The First King regarded her for a long moment.
“Do not leave yet,” he said at last. “You may remain for one more year.”
Her eyes widened slightly. “One more year?”
I told her she failed, though she passed, he thought calmly.
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Time bends easily here. Another year costs nothing.
“Old man,” Rayvaris said, shaking her head, “I failed the trial. I don’t have the right to stay.”
“Child,” he replied evenly, “the Lunar Shadow Sword stands equal to the Flowing Moon Sword. Without mastering at least four forms, you will not defeat her.” His voice softened, just enough. “And you already stand at the threshold.”
She hesitated.
“…Is it truly acceptable for you to bend the rules for me?”
“If you leave now,” the First King said, his tone unchanged, “you will never be able to return.” He met her gaze. “Listen to this old man’s request.”
And besides… I am not breaking any rules, he added inwardly.
Rayvaris looked down at her hands—steady now, stronger than they had ever been.
“…Then I’ll stay,” she said at last. “One more year.”
The First King turned away, satisfied.
The third form had opened.
Now, it would be sealed into her.
-----
Outside the Tabu — Midnight
Midnight passed without ceremony.
Layra stood alone at the forest’s boundary, the moonlight spilling across the ancient markers and washing the Tabu in pale silver. The air was still—too still—as though even the forest itself was holding its breath.
She waited.
Her hands were folded neatly before her, posture unchanged, yet her chest tightened with each passing moment.
Her Highness was supposed to emerge today.
The second day.
No ripple disturbed the barrier.
No presence pressed outward.
Only silence.
Layra’s gaze lingered on the empty space where Princess Rynvaris should have appeared. The unease she had carefully restrained began to surface—not panic, but the sharp awareness that something had deviated from expectation.
Time within the Tabu was unpredictable.
But not without limit.
…Why hasn’t she returned?
The thought refused to leave.
Layra exhaled slowly and straightened, decision settling into place.
This could not be ignored.
Turning from the moonlit clearing, she moved swiftly back toward the palace.
Her Highness must be informed.
-------
Inside the First Princess’s Chamber
Knock. Knock.
The sound cut cleanly through the stillness.
“Your Highness,” Layra said as she entered, lowering her head, “forgive my intrusion at this late hour.”
The chamber was dim, lit only by moonlight spilling through the tall windows. Princess Sylvaris stood near the glass, her back half-turned, one hand resting lightly against the frame.
Moon was already there.
The maid stood a short distance away, posture proper, yet her unease was unmistakable—contained, but present.
“It is fine,” Sylvaris said without turning. “Where is Ray?”
Layra stepped forward, her voice controlled but quick. “Your Highness, she remains in training. That is why she has not yet returned.”
Moon’s fingers tightened at her side.
She bowed, precise but strained. “Forgive my rudeness,” she said carefully, “but may I ask where Her Highness is? You told me I would be the one to receive her.”
The words were polite.
The implication was not.
Sylvaris felt the tension settle in her chest.
Master forbade me to speak of the Tabu.
To anyone.
She turned slowly from the window, her expression composed, her gaze steady.
“Moon,” she said smoothly, “there is no need for concern.”
Moon looked up.
“She is stubborn,” Sylvaris continued, her tone light enough to pass as familiarity. “You know that better than most. She chose to continue training.”
A pause.
“One of my private grounds,” Sylvaris added. “I will retrieve her myself tomorrow.”
Moon hesitated.
The silence stretched—brief, but noticeable.
Then she bowed again, deeper this time. “As you command, Your Highness.”
“Rest for the night,” Sylvaris said. “You have done enough.”
Moon withdrew, footsteps soft against the floor.
When the door closed, the chamber fell silent once more.
Sylvaris returned her gaze to the moon outside.
The light beyond the window did not answer.
------
The next evening at midnight.
Layra stood before the Tabu once more.
The forest had settled into its nocturnal stillness, leaves unmoving, insects silent—as though the land itself acknowledged the presence of something beyond its understanding.
Moonlight spilled across the ancient boundary, tracing the unseen line that separated the world from what lay within. The air felt heavier here, dense with restraint.
Layra waited.
Her hands were folded neatly at her waist, posture flawless, yet her breathing had slowed with intention rather than calm. Each moment stretched, thin and deliberate.
She had been told to expect Her Highness tonight.
No earlier.
No later.
The Tabu did not stir.
No distortion rippled across its surface.
No pressure pressed outward.
Only silver light and silence.
Any moment now…
Layra’s gaze never left the boundary.
Time passed—not measured by clocks, but by the growing awareness that waiting itself had become an act of faith.
And so she remained.
Unmoving.
Watching.
Listening for a sign that had not yet come.
-----
Inside the Tabu.
The space was quiet—unnaturally so.
Rayvaris stood at the edge of the practice field, sword resting at her side, the weight of departure settling slowly into her awareness.
“Child,” the First King said at last, his voice calm, unhurried, “when you return to the outside world… do not forget this old man.”
She turned toward him without hesitation. “I won’t.”
A pause followed.
Then—
“Have you mastered the third form of the Flowing Moon Sword?” he asked.
Rayvaris exhaled softly. “Not yet. I understand it now—the flow, the intent. I can feel where it should exist.” Her fingers tightened around the hilt. “But understanding isn’t mastery. Give me another year… and it will be complete.”
The First King studied her in silence.
“I see,” he said gently. “Then you stand at the threshold.”
She frowned slightly. “You keep asking me that question.”
“I only wished to confirm,” he replied, “that you know where you stand.”
A lie.
You do not yet know, child…
The third form is only a gate.
Beyond it waits everything I have ever been.
The sword.
The will.
The legacy sealed within your soul.
When you master it, you will understand.
And when you do… I will already be gone.
Rayvaris looked away. “…So. How do I leave?”
The space before her folded inward.
Light gathered, shaped itself, and formed a door where none had existed.
She stared. “…Amazing.”
“Do not mistake this for generosity,” the First King said with a faint, knowing smile.
She stepped forward, then stopped.
“…Goodbye, old man.”
As she crossed the threshold, his voice followed her—quiet, weighted.
“Child,” he said, “do not trust the gods.”
A pause.
“And… forgive me.”
The door closed.
The Tabu returned to silence.
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