Chapter 1209 A Crowned Prince, Again
Chapter 1209 A Crowned Prince, Again
Giant Garden, once a vibrant testament to the natural world, now stands as a chilling symbol of chaos. Rumors swirl amidst the ruins, painting a picture of a world forever altered. Though the ruling elite of Yalen desperately seek to suppress the truth, word has spread like wildfire, carried by the terrified remnants of the once mighty Yalen Army.
The Empyrean of Yalen, a figure shrouded in myth and secrecy, has emerged from centuries of seclusion. For generations, the Empyreans have ruled with whispered promises of stolen powers and the illusion of eternal order. Yet, in Giant Garden, this facade of invincibility crumbled.
Witnesses claim the Empyrean's arrival was a desperate gamble – a bid to end the life of Arthur Netherborne, the enigmatic outsider who has defied the Empire at every turn. However, this confrontation did not end in the Empyrean's triumph, but in his abject defeat.
Reports are fragmented and laced with terror. They tell of an outsider wielding impossible powers, black lightning that tore through the Empyrean's defenses, and of a storm unlike any seen before. But it is not the raw power that chills the soul, but the aftermath.
The Empyrean of Yalen is no more. Slain, not on some glorious battlefield, but in a humiliating rout before his own forces. Yet, even death has not brought silence.
The Yalen Army speaks in terrified whispers of a new power that has taken hold of Giant Garden. Spectral forces, remnants of the outsider's wrath, linger. Those who dare approach describe a chilling sight – a field of vibrant flowers blooming amidst desolation, a grotesque mockery of life amidst the ruins.
As the news took the world by storm, a heavy silence filled the palace of Yalen. The throne room of the Yalen Palace, once a symbol of unchallenged might, crackled with tension and dread. Before the ornate throne lay a coffin, a crude, hastily assembled box that mocked the grandeur of the room. Inside, draped in what remained of regal finery, lay the Empyrean of Yalen, his once commanding form now forever silenced.
The Empyrean of Sourna, his presence a vortex of barely contained rage, had delivered this gift. With a final, contemptuous glare at the young Yalen King, he had vanished in a burst of raw power, the echo of his departure leaving a lingering chill in the room.
The King, a man thrust into a power he had never been groomed for, stared at the coffin and then at his advisors. "Can we... can it be used?" His voice was a hoarse whisper, the words seeming sacrilegious even as he uttered them. "Can... my father's remains grant us the power to survive?" Before any could formulate a response that danced around the monstrous question, a rift in space tore open. Guards surged forwards, weapons drawn, as two figures emerged – Sier, the exiled prince of Yalen, and Zas, the spectral mage whose teleportation talents had once been deemed too dangerous by the Empyreans.
A wave of panic surged through the room. The King watched, a flicker of fear masked by a scowl, as his men closed ranks around his estranged son.
Sier laughed, a sound devoid of its once familiar warmth. "Relax," he chided the guards. "I came here not to raise a blade against my own kin… however misguided they may be." With a dismissive wave of his hand, the tense atmosphere eased slightly, the guards unsure of what to make of this return.
The King leaned forward, suspicion etching his features. "What do you want, exile?" he spat, the hatred in his voice a stark contrast to the concern he'd feigned moments ago. Sier didn't flinch. His gaze cut through his father and landed squarely on the coffin. "I came for power," he declared, his voice an unwavering promise. "My grandfather's remains hold the key to our survival." The King scoffed. "I will not defile his memory to appease your delusions of grandeur."
Sier's grin was sharp, predatory. "And who will wield this power you seek, father? Alfred, your youngest, fell to the Nameless. Caleb, kidnapped by Oriole. Nera, vanished for years. Tell me, who is left?"
Silence descended, a heavy weight that underscored the King's desolation. He had heirs, but no legacy. "You want the crown again, boy?" The king's voice was a mocking hiss.
Sier's violet eyes fixed on his father, an unreadable intensity swirling within them. For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, "Yes," his voice was a mere breath, but it resonated with undeniable conviction. Sier raised a hand. With a shimmer of otherworldly light, the throne room was filled with illusions. Soldiers, beasts, even spectral forms flickered into existence, a silent testament to a power unlike any Yalen had wielded in centuries. "Granted to me," Sier declared, the pride echoing through the hall, "by the Seer Guardian, the ancient source of our lineage's strength."
A flicker of something akin to awe – perhaps even desperation – flared in the Yalen King's eyes. Never in his wildest imaginings had he considered his exiled son capable of wielding the power of the Seer Guardian, the ancient, almost mythical source of their family's lineage.
"Why now?" he demanded, his voice a mix of suspicion and grudging admiration. "Why return after years of exile, and with such power at your command?"
Sier made no attempt to veil his true intentions. "I came for what is rightfully mine," he declared, his voice cutting through the tension, "the crown of Yalen. There is no reason for my banishment now. I possess the Legacy of Seers, the true strength of our bloodline."
The King fell silent. Faced with his son's irrefutable power and the cold ambition blazing in his eyes, his choices were limited. The Empyrean, the foundation of the Yalen Kingdom's might, was gone. News of his death would spread like wildfire, and the vultures would begin to circle. The other two Kingdoms within the fragile Yalveran Union, always resentful of Yalen's dominance, would seize this opportunity to pillage their treasures, to carve up the kingdom.
A bitter sigh escaped the King's lips. This was not the legacy he had envisioned, but survival, even at the cost of pride, was the only path left. "Very well," he rasped, the word heavy with defeat. "But first, tell me...how can my father's...remains be used for this...power you speak of?"
Sier's smile was devoid of warmth. "The Empyrean is dead," he stated coldly, "but his existence was saturated with violet mana. His body, even devoid of life, holds the potential to strengthen a seer... to awaken dormant powers within our bloodline."
The King recoiled slightly, revulsion warring with a desperate need within him. His son, however, seemed unfazed by the monstrous pragmatism of his proposal. This was the monster he has created, the embodiment of ambition. "How can I be certain this isn't some elaborate game? Years of exile, a bitter estrangement...now you waltz in here, a stranger cloaked in newfound power, and demand the crown. How can I know you won't use that same power to usurp me the moment I turn my back?"
Sier laughed, a harsh, joyless sound. "This isn't about you, father," he spat, the word dripping with years of resentment. "This is about the survival of our Kingdom, of the bloodline we both inherited. Are you content to be the last lord of Yalen? To have our legacy end with your whimper, while the vultures feast on our corpse?"
The King shuddered. The harsh truth of Sier's words struck him with brutal force. He had fallen, yes. In his desperation, he was about to commit an act that would forever stain their lineage. Yet, the looming public execution of the remaining Agard Family and his plans made him reconsider. They needed an heir, someone with power to strike fear in the hearts of those who would dare covet their kingdom.
After a heavy silence, the King nodded, the movement stiff and filled with a resigned bitterness. "Very well. The crown is yours… once again."
Sier's grin was sharp but lacked the satisfaction of true victory. He was a pawn, however powerful, in a desperate game orchestrated by others. "Begin preparations," he commanded, addressing the assembled advisors. "I will reclaim my place as crown prince."
The King watched his son, a strange mix of relief and a lingering unease warring within him. Then, a flicker of softness touched his worn features. "Sier," he began, his voice surprisingly gentle, "Do you wish to reclaim your birth name?"
The question hung in the air, heavy with unspoken weight. For a moment, Sier's façade cracked. His eyes widened, a flash of vulnerability crossing his features before a shutter slammed down, masking his emotions.
"Yes," Sier said, his voice steady. "It is time."
Zas watched from the side, his frown betraying his objection to this entire unfolding of events. As the entire palace was thrown into disarray by the death of their master and the return of their crowned prince, Zas approached Sier. The two of them were heading toward the tailor for some clothes befitting of a prince. "What changed, Sier?" asked Zas with confusion. "I thought you wanted to take back what is yours, not ask for it."
"Arthur killed the empyrean of Yalen," said Sier as he walked forward, eyes burning with life. "How can you not understand the impact this will have on the world, and on Yalen?"