Chapter 206: The Throne Waiting for a Corpse

[Silthara Palace — Malika’s Private Residence — Continuation]

Silence answered Levin’s question; not a single serpent dared speak afterward because no one inside the corridor possessed an answer powerful enough to comfort him.

Only thunder echoed beyond the palace walls, and only rain continued mourning across Silthara.

Captain Raevahn remained kneeling deeply before Levin, head lowered and ashamed because perhaps for the very first time he realized the empire they had protected so faithfully had always been cruel toward its consorts.

And yet, even after all that pain, Levin slowly stopped trying. Rain shadows flickering softly across Zeramet’s robes. Then quietly without turning around, he spoke, "...I will not leave the palace tonight."

Raevahn immediately lifted his head slightly, relief flickering faintly across his exhausted face. But then Levin continued.

"...however..." Silence stretched heavily through the residence.

"I have no desire to become the mother of this empire anymore."

The words echoed softly and coldly like funeral bells beneath the storm. Levin slowly looked down at his trembling hands, still clutching Zeramet’s robes tightly as his voice cracked faintly afterward.

"I did not come to Zahryssar for its throne. I came here..." A painful breath escaped him. "...to become the bride of my alpha."

Thunder roared violently outside.

BOOOOOOOMMMMM!!!

"My existence within this kingdom..." His fingers tightened against the robes. "...has always been because of him."

Then slowly Levin turned his head slightly, his blue eyes dead and empty, exhausted beyond grief itself.

"And until Zeramet returns... I refuse to become the mother of Zahryssar."

Silence.

Absolute silence, because now Levin was rejecting the empire itself. Not loudly, not rebelliously, but through grief, through love, and through refusal.

And somehow that made it hurt even more. Then without another word, Levin turned away again, still barefoot, still wrapped inside Zeramet’s robes, and still carrying the scent of an emperor the world had already declared dead.

And slowly he walked back toward the chamber.

Step.

After step.

After step.

Until finally the doors closed behind him.

CLACK.

And immediately afterward, thunder exploded across Silthara once more, as though the heavens themselves raged beside him.

***

[The Next Day — Prince Sarash’s Chamber]

SLAMMMMM!!!

The chamber doors burst open violently. Sarash stumbled inside, barely managing to stay upright; his breathing came out ragged and uneven.

Painfully shallow.

Then suddenly his legs finally gave out.

THUD!!!

Sarash collapsed face-first onto the cold chamber floor, a weak gasp escaping him afterward. Blood soaked heavily through the torn remains of his robes. The back of his shirt was almost entirely destroyed from the lashes.

Long crimson marks still burned across pale skin violently. For several moments he could only lie there gasping and trembling.

Not from weakness but from pain too deep for the body alone. Then slowly something horrifying began happening.

SWISSSHHH...

WHOOSSSHHH...

The wounds upon his back began healing, the torn flesh closed slowly, the blood disappeared, and the bruises faded as if the pain had never existed and as if his body itself refused to let him remain broken.

And that...that was the cruelest part of all because although the wounds vanished, the agony remained, not upon the flesh but within the heart.

Sarash remained collapsed against the floor silently afterward, eyes unfocused, breathing hollow, and then a voice echoed through his memories once more.

Soft, gentle, and broken voice of his mother.

"You were born blessed with self-healing abilities, my son..." The memory blurred faintly like old grief soaked in tears as her voice trembled softly. "If I had been an empress...perhaps this power would have become a blessing but for the child of a concubine..."

The voice cracked completely.

"...it becomes a curse."

Sarash’s fingers slowly clenched against the floor.

"They will use you. They will hurt you, and no matter how much pain they inflict..." A broken sob echoed through the memory.

"...they will make you continue surviving."

Then finally the woman whispered the words that haunted him forever.

"So make sure you die first. You must die, my son, no matter what...Die, and only a prime silver alpha serpent can grant you the death." Sarash shut his eyes tightly afterward like he could still hear her crying beside him.

But then another memory surfaced, far colder and far crueler. Golden eyes staring at him without mercy. Zeramet’s voice echoed sharply through his mind:

"I shall grant your wish to die." A pause, cold and emotionless. "But not until I become satisfied with you."

Sarash’s entire body stiffened afterward because somehow even now he could not escape either brother.

One used him through cruelty. The other, through survival and trapped between them, Sarash no longer knew whether he truly wished to live.

Or whether he had simply forgotten how to die.

Then softly, almost soundlessly, he whispered against the cold floor as a trembling breath escaped him.

"...I need...to find a way to die."

And inside the dim, lonely chamber, the prince who could heal every wound remained unable to heal the one inside his heart.

***

[Council Chamber — Evening]

The great council chamber of Silthara had descended into restless whispers.

Nobles stood gathered beneath towering obsidian pillars while silver lantern flames flickered against walls engraved with the ancient history of Zahryssar.

The atmosphere itself felt wrong, heavy, and unstable, like the empire stood upon the edge of something catastrophic. And the nobles whispered quietly among themselves fearfully.

"He truly returned from death..."

"But how is that even possible?"

"I recall Malik Zeramet buried him personally..."

"Silence."

Another noble immediately hissed. 𝙛𝓻𝒆𝓮𝒘𝙚𝙗𝒏𝙤𝙫𝓮𝒍.𝓬𝒐𝙢

"Do not forget he is soon to become the next Malik."

And immediately the whispers died. Meanwhile, near the front of the chamber, Sharukh Varoth remained seated silently.

Beside him, Rakhane leaned lazily against his chair, hair spilling across one shoulder, while the black eyepatch over one eye only made him appear more dangerous.

And nearby Arkhazunn stood expressionless beneath the lantern light, and none of them spoke. Because none of them trusted what was about to happen.

Then suddenly the chamber doors opened violently. Immediately, the herald’s voice echoed throughout the council hall.

"BOW BEFORE CROWN PRINCE SLYVARAKH AND PRINCE SARASH!"

And just like that, Slyvarakh entered the chamber, silver imperial robes dragging across the black marble floors behind him. The corrupted black-and-silver scales near his throat shifted faintly beneath the skin.

Rotten, cracked, and monstrous. Yet somehow the more corrupted he appeared, the more terrifyingly regal he became.

Behind him Sarash followed silently, head lowered and expression unreadable. Though anyone watching carefully could notice how exhausted he looked.

How hollow his eyes had become. Immediately every noble bowed, not deeply and not loyally, but enough to survive.

Slyvarakh slowly walked toward the elevated throne platform and the moment his silver eyes landed upon Zeramet’s imperial throne something hungry surfaced inside them.

Not grief, not nostalgia, but a dangerous possession. A slow smirk spread across his face afterward, and then instead of sitting upon the imperial throne directly, he seated himself upon the lower ceremonial chair beside it.

One leg crossed elegantly over the other like a serpent already waiting for the crown. Meanwhile, Sarash positioned himself silently behind him like a shadow, like a personal guard, and like someone who no longer belonged to himself.

He looked at the serpent bowing in front of him...and he smirked, looking at the scene as if it were healing his soul from deep within.

"What a beautiful sight," he mumbled to himself.

Then softly Slyvarakh spoke. "Raise your heads."

Immediately the nobles obeyed, and suddenly the entire chamber became deathly silent because now everyone could feel it clearly, the empire was already shifting toward him.

Then Slyvarakh leaned slightly against the chair. Silver eyes sweeping across every noble slowly and carefully.

Predator-like.

"As all of you are already aware..." His voice echoed calmly throughout the chamber. "...the body of the previous Malik Zeramet has yet to be recovered from the western cliffs."

Silence spread heavily afterward. Rakhane’s visible eye narrowed slightly. Arkhazunn remained expressionless but did not interrupt.

Then slowly Slyvarakh continued, "However...an empire cannot remain suspended between uncertainty and grief forever."

Several nobles visibly stiffened afterward because they already understood where this conversation was heading.

And then Slyvarakh finally declared as his silver eyes darkened faintly. "Tomorrow...we shall perform the final rites of Malik Zeramet."

The chamber froze.

"Even without the body. He at least deserves peace in heaven; we cannot delay his peace for long."

Whispers immediately erupted across the chamber.

"Nobody...?"

"But the Malik may still—"

SLAM!!!

Slyvarakh’s pheromones exploded across the chamber violently, rotten silver pressure crashing down upon every noble like suffocating sandstorms.

Immediately everyone fell silent again, and some nobles were visibly struggling to breathe. Then slowly Slyvarakh leaned forward, his silver eyes now sharp enough to cut flesh.

"We will proceed under the assumption..." A terrifying pause followed. "...that the Malik is dead."

The words echoed like execution bells; behind him, Sarash’s fingers twitched faintly, but he remained silent and obedient.

Then calmly, almost beautifully, Slyvarakh smiled again as his gaze slowly lifted toward Zeramet’s throne hungrily.

"And on the day following the imperial rites...I shall ascend the throne of Zahryssar."

The lantern flames flickered violently afterward.

"I will devote my entire existence..." His silver eyes gleamed dangerously. "...to serving this empire with everything I possess."

Silence, heavy and terrifying because no one inside the chamber could decide what frightened them more, The possibility that Zeramet was truly dead or the possibility that Slyvarakh was finally about to become emperor.

Meanwhile far beneath the western cliffs golden eyes slowly opened wider within endless darkness and somewhere deep underground something monstrous began moving toward the empire that had already started burying its king alive.