Chapter 115 ATTACKS
It all began from a whisper
The words were soft.
Barely sound.
But they did not need volume.
They slipped into the wind like secrets.
Ancient syllables.
Broken fragments of something older than the kingdom itself.
This was not a spell of force.
It was something quieter.
Something patient.
A curse.
The wind carried it.
Through narrow streets.
Over rooftops.
Across the high stone walls of the palace.
And inside.
—
At the gates, the guards shifted uneasily.
“Did you feel that?” one muttered.
“Feel what?”
“I don’t know… just—cold.”
They said nothing more.
But their hands tightened on their weapons.
Inside, the changes were small.
Almost nothing.
Candles flickered where there was no breeze.
Servants paused, glancing behind them without reason.
In the lower halls, a young maid dropped her tray and burst into tears, though she could not say why.
The voice carried on.
Word after word.
Breath after breath.
Not destruction.
Not yet.
Something searching.
Something reaching.
—
And in his chamber, Kaelion stood by the window.
Still.
Listening.
A faint chill brushed against him.
He frowned slightly.
His fingers touched the glass.
Then—
It came.
The whisper.
It brushed against him—
Touched him—
And for a brief moment—
Recoiled.
As though it had struck something it did not understand.
That was how Kaelion’s doubleganger felt it.
But before he could attack it back fully, he lost connection and his eyes darkened.
“Who are you…” he murmured softly, “that dares to touch my half?”
There was no fear in his voice.
Only curiosity.
...
But far across the city, the whispers suddenly stopped.
The wind shifted.
No longer smooth.
No longer certain.
It circled, restless.
As if it had reached something within the palace—
Something it could not pass through easily.
Something that pushed back.
She frowned slightly, her chest tightening.
“What… was that?”
But the connection from the whisper did not break.
It lingered on Prince Kaelion.
Kaelion thought it was nothing.
One day, He was standing by the tall eastern window of his chambers, watching the palace courtyard below. The morning drills had begun—guards moving in perfect rhythm, steel flashing under the rising sun. It was a sight he had started to grow used to, though not yet comfortable with.
This place still felt borrowed ever since he became crown prince.
Not his.
He pressed his fingers lightly against the cold stone wall, grounding himself. The voices of the commanders echoed faintly from below. Everything was steady. Real.
Then—
There was darkness.
It did not fall like night. It snapped into place, sudden and complete, as if someone had closed a door inside his mind.
When he opened his eyes again, he was on the floor.
No servant was in, for he had not invited them.
The sunlight had shifted. The drills had ended.
His breath came uneven, sharp in his throat. For a moment, he did not move. He simply stared at the carved ceiling above him, trying to piece together what had just happened.
“I…” he whispered, but the word faded.
He pushed himself up slowly, his hand trembling slightly as it braced against the floor. His body felt heavy, as though he had run a great distance—but he had not moved at all.
At least… not that he remembered.
Kaelion frowned.
“Strange,” he murmured.
But he said it like someone who didn’t want the word to mean anything.
...
The next day, the first report came.
A border village, quiet and obedient for decades, had been reduced to silence and fear overnight.
Not the peaceful kind.
The kind that felt wrong.
The council chamber was heavy with it.
Fear.
Even the air seemed reluctant to move.
Kaelion stood at the far end of the long oak table, his hands resting lightly against its edge, his expression calm in a way that did not match the tension in the room. King Adrian was sitted.
Nobles argued in hushed, urgent voices. Generals spoke over one another.
“It is bandits,” Lord Vaelor insisted, though his voice trembled. “It must be. A coordinated attack, perhaps from the western hills.”
“Bandits do not leave bodies like that,” General Caleb replied sharply. “Every corpse looked drained of blood . No signs of struggle. No survivors. Only livestock were spared.”
A murmur rippled across the table.
“Then rebels,” another noble minister suggested quickly. “There have been whispers of discontent in the outer regions...”
“Rebels don’t butcher children,” Caleb snapped.
Silence followed that.
Heavy.
Uncomfortable.
Kaelion said nothing. So did King Adrian.
He had listened to every report in full detail—more detail than most of them could stomach. He had read the descriptions himself. The wounds. The patterns. The eerie sameness in every attack.
Too clean.
Too deliberate.
Too familiar.
“Your Highness?”
The voice pulled Adrian back.
All eyes were on him now.
Waiting.
King Adrian straightened slightly, his gaze sweeping across the room. He wore authority well—effortless, controlled—but there was something distant in his eyes today. Something unreadable.
“We increase patrols along all borders,” he said calmly. “Double the watch at every crossing point. No one enters without inspection.”
“And the cause?” Maeron pressed. “What do we tell the people?”
Kaelion held his gaze.
“The truth,” he said.
A pause.
Then, more quietly, “That we do not yet know.”
That answer did not comfort them.
He could see it.
But it was the only honest one he had.
The meeting ended soon after, not because there were no more questions—but because there were no answers left to give.
\---
As Adrian walked, the palace corridors felt colder than usual.
Or perhaps it was just him.
"Didn't you predict this.?" Adrian asked concerned.
"Forgive my negligence father, I didn't see this coming." Kaelion said.
King Adrian tapped him on his shoulder and moved ahead.
Kaelion walked alone, his steps echoing softly against the polished stone floors. Servants bowed as he passed, but he barely noticed them. His mind was elsewhere—caught between the reports and something deeper, something he couldn’t quite name.
The images refused to leave him.
It wasn’t just violence.
It was intention.
Kaelion slowed as he reached the eastern corridor, where narrow windows allowed thin streams of pale light to slip through. The world outside looked deceptively calm—fields stretching into the distance, untouched, unaware.
But But he kept walking. He looked up and saw the palace portraits, the kind lined with ancient portraits whose painted eyes seemed to follow him no matter where he stepped. He had paused before one—a queen from generations past, her expression calm yet distant.
“You’re thinking too much,” he muttered under his breath.
But the words did nothing to ease the tightness in his chest.
Then he heard a whisper.
“…not ready…”
Kaelion stiffened.
The voice was soft. Barely there. Like a whisper caught between breaths.
He turned sharply.
“Hello?”
But the corridor was empty
The guards stationed at the far end stood unmoving, unaware. No one approached. No one passed.
Kaelion’s brows drew together.
“Who’s there?” he asked again, louder this time.