WITHIN THE HALL OF FORGOTTEN BLOOD

WITHIN THE HALL OF FORGOTTEN BLOOD
Tessa's point of view

The gates of the palace loomed like stone giants before us, ancient and unyielding. I paused for a moment, letting the sight sink in. Mistefell had always been a name whispered in stories or spoken with disdain by survivors of fallen lands. But now, it was real—breathed into existence before my very eyes, its walls shadowed by history and grief.

Beside me, Ares walked tall. Too tall. His jaw was set like iron, his stride calm—but I had traveled with him long enough to know he was pretending.

“Are you alright?” I asked, my voice low, careful not to draw the attention of the armored guards surrounding us.

He didn’t look at me. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

My brows drew together. “Do you think your mother’s really here?”

Ares let out a soft breath, almost a laugh, but it was hollow. “If she ever wanted to be here, Tessa, she would’ve been long ago.”

I watched the side of his face as the words settled between us. There was no anger in them—just something duller, like a wound scabbed over so many times it had forgotten how to bleed.

The guards said nothing as they escorted us through the courtyard and into the palace interior. Everything inside was cold stone, intricate metalwork, and tapestries that hung like frozen memories. The walls were lined with portraits and fading sigils—symbols of glory that no longer held the same light.

I could feel something… faint. A whisper. Magic, maybe. A remnant of something older than the dust on the rugs. It shimmered at the edge of my senses but receded the moment I tried to touch it. This palace had once lived, once breathed magic. But now, it was fading. Forgotten.

Ares’s shoulders tensed as we entered the main hall. His hand brushed against his side—where his dagger should’ve been, if the guards hadn’t confiscated it before we entered. That small gesture told me how uneasy he truly felt.

And then I saw it.

A portrait.

Hanging grandly at the center of the far wall.

The former king and queen of Mistefell stood proud, regal in posture, the artist having captured them mid-motion, as if they might turn and walk out of the canvas at any moment. The man was strong-browed, golden-eyed, with hair like windswept ash. The queen stood beside him, cloaked in emerald and fire. Her gaze was piercing. Knowing.

Ares gasped beside me.

I turned to him—and he was frozen.

He was staring at the man. The king.

His father.

“You look just like him,” I whispered.

Ares didn’t respond. His jaw tightened, eyes locked on the face of a man he had never truly known. There was pain there, deep and bitter. I felt it like a pressure in the room.

Before I could say anything more, the silence was broken by the sound of footsteps.

Slow. Confident.

The man from the market appeared once again—dressed differently this time, in attire that shimmered like forged midnight. His eyes swept over us with unsettling calm. The guards straightened at his presence.

He walked past the line of soldiers and came to stand just before us, a knowing smile on his face.

“Welcome to Mistefell,” he said, voice smooth like honey, but cold beneath it. “Quite the journey you’ve made.”

Neither of us replied.

Then, he turned to Ares, and the air shifted.

“It’s been a long time,” he said.

Ares narrowed his eyes. “You know me.”

The man tilted his head. “Of course I do.”

“How?” Ares asked. “How do you know my name?”

A brief chuckle. “You’re far more famous in this state than you think.”

Famous? I frowned, looking between them.

“I'm sorry,” I said, stepping forward slightly, trying to ease the tension that was curling like vines around us. “If I caused offense back in the market—”

“You did,” the man interrupted. “But don’t worry. You’re not the first thief who’s tried her luck.”

I blinked.

“But,” he continued, “stealing from me comes with consequences.”

I felt a chill spread through my limbs. “I didn’t know who you were.”

“Clearly,” he said, raising an amused brow. “But ignorance rarely saves anyone.”

He let the threat linger just long enough before waving a hand as if brushing it away.

“Fortunately for you,” he added, “this matter will be settled by the queen.”

The queen.

Ares stepped forward, his face hard. “And who are you to make that decision?”

The man smiled again, more sharply this time. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

Then he turned his back on us and strode away without another word.

Guards formed a line around us. A silence fell. Even Ares didn’t speak. His eyes were still on the portrait, but I knew his mind had already followed the man out of the hall.

“Come,” a soldier said. “You’re to be escorted to the royal wing.”

We obeyed.

As we walked through the deeper corridors of the palace, my thoughts spun. The man’s words repeated in my head. Ares was known here—more than he realized. Why? And that queen he spoke of—did she know Ares, too?

We were taken to a room, lavish but not warm. There were two beds, fresh linen, a polished silver pitcher of water. No windows. Just heavy curtains and a single flickering lamp.

The guards left without a word.

Ares collapsed onto one of the beds, his fists clenched.

“You okay?” I asked.

“No,” he said bluntly.

I sat across from him. “You think that man knew your father?”

“I think he knows everything I don’t,” Ares muttered. “About me. About my mother. About why I was dumped in Astaria like a stray.”

Silence again.

I watched him, unsure how to ease his turmoil. I reached for his hand, brushing my fingers against his knuckles. “Maybe this is where you find answers.”

He looked at me. Really looked. And for a moment, I saw the boy inside the fighter—the lost son of a royal family, abandoned, forgotten, uncertain.

“Or maybe,” he whispered, “this is where everything breaks.”

Before I could answer, the door creaked open.

A tall woman in black stepped inside.

“The queen will see you at sunset.”

Then the door shut again.

I looked back at Ares, my heartbeat picking up.

We had only just arrived—but the truth was already waiting.

And I wasn’t sure either of us was ready for it.
I tried to cheerhim up, "It's okay, Ares! It will be fine!" not sure what i was doing.

"Seems like though... that woman in the paint, was my mother. she looked like that, same as I have seen her." Ares stated.

"What about that man?" I asked while trying not to push him too far.

"Seems like my father, of course. I don't even know his name." He looked upset and it broke my heart a little. I guess I remembwer the name when the countess said but I actually forgot.
"There could have been a reason..." I said in low voice.
'What reason can justify abandoning your child? I don't know about my father and his stiry but i knew my mother. I never thought she will leave me like that and disappear."
I put my hand on his hand to assure that i was there to hear him. Ares gave a slight smile but all i knew that his life will change the moment he will meet the queen.