59. The King on His Knees

59. The King on His Knees
Esmarie Seraphine Vale

"Sit back down, Esmarie," Hemne sighed, turning back to grab a book from behind a tree.

I just stood there, staring at the sky in surprise. How could there be lightning with no thunder and rain? It wasn't sunny, but it wasn't cloudy either. I just couldn't shake the fact that something wrong was happening somewhere, and I was being kept in the dark..
"Is this normal?" I ask, walking closer to her. She looked up at me from between the pages of her book."Ignore it, Esmarie. You need to focus on your training."

Her tone was dismissive, like she was deliberately avoiding the situation at hand.

"You're hiding something from me," I muttered, staring at the strange flicker of light still shimmering faintly in the clouds.

Hemne didn’t give away anything, not by her expression, her eyes, or even her stance. She simply closed her book with a soft thud and set it beside her on the grass.

“Esmarie,” she said calmly, “you are dramatizing things. It was just a surge. Nothing more.”

Nothing more.

I'm sure to her, those words were meant to calm me down. To prevent me from overreacting and draw my attention back to our supposed training, but it only fuelled the unease running through my bones.

“No,” I whispered. “That wasn’t just a surge.” I pointed toward the sky—even though the light had already faded, as if it never happened at all. “That felt wrong. Something is seriously wrong.”

“You’re sensitive,” Hemne replied, tone patient but firm. “You have every reason to be, especially after everything you’ve been through. You are reacting to fear and trauma, nothing else.”

Fear.

She said it like it was something small.

Maybe she was right. Maybe I was overreacting.

But my hands were trembling again.

I hated it.

Hemne placed a hand on my shoulder, steady but guiding. “Sit. You’re exhausted. Your powers drain your mind just as much as your body. If you push yourself any further, you can go into a panic attack or pass out again.”

I didn’t sit.

I couldn’t.

My heart was pounding too fast, too loud. Something was wrong. I knew it in the same instinctive, bone-deep way I knew when danger was creeping up behind me.

And Ciro—

My chest tightened painfully.

Where was he?

He hadn’t come to training. He hadn’t sent word. And the lightning—if it even was lightning—had come from the direction of the palace. A direction I suddenly couldn’t tear my eyes from.

“Hemne,” I whispered, barely breathing, “where is he?”

“You need to stop thinking about Ciro,” she said quickly. Too quickly. Her voice held an edge this time—an urgency I didn’t miss. “This is bigger than—”

“No.” I stepped back, shaking off her hand. “No, don’t do that. Don’t dismiss me. Tell me what is happening, or I will find out myself.”

Hemne exhaled, long and slow, pressing fingers to the bridge of her nose as if I were the one being difficult.

“You cannot panic every time you feel unsettled,” she said sharply. “You are on the brink of a power awakening. Your emotions distort your senses. Not everything is dangerous. Not everything is a threat. Nothing is happening at the palace. Do you understand?”

"I never mentioned the palace. Hemne," I muttered slowly in realisation.

Her chest deflated like she had given up lying and covering up whatever was going on. As if on cue, the lightning tore across the sky again—louder this time, sharp and violent, cracking like the world itself had been struck open.

The ground beneath us trembled.

She froze.

Just for a second.

But I saw it.

The flicker of alarm in her eyes. The way her posture shifted almost imperceptibly—angled slightly toward the direction of the palace.

My stomach dropped.

“I knew it.” My voice trembled. “Something is happening.”

“Esmarie—”

I didn't wait for her to finish.

I ran.

Shoved myself past the tree line, ignoring the burn in my legs, the dizziness crowding my vision, the blood rushing in my ears like a storm. Hemne called my name—sharp, commanding—but I didn’t stop.

I couldn’t.

Because the sky above the palace was no longer just shimmering.

It was glowing.

A violent, unnatural pulse of light—white, blue, and wrong—rippling outward like a heartbeat.

And in that moment, with the wind slamming against my face and fear clawing into my ribs, I knew:

Ciro was there.

Something was happening.

Something terrible was happening to him.

“Ciro,” I breathed, pushing myself harder through the cherry trees, feet pounding the dirt path as the world around me buzzed with crackling energy.

Another bang split the air—louder, closer, shaking the trees.

By the time I got to the gates, my lungs were burning, my injured leg screaming with every desperate step I took. The armoured warriors that normally stood at the front of the palace, guarding the gates, were nowhere to be found. Instead, the gates were wide open, and the sight before was nothing short of confusing.

A massive crowd had formed, swarming the courtyard in a thick sea of bodies. They surrounded a raised, circular stone platform at the far end—one I had not seen since I had been here, and I was sure I had walked every inch of the palace grounds.

The air crackled with static energy, prickling against my skin. People were cheering. Chanting. Laughing.

Another flash of lightning struck downward, and the crowd roared in excitement.

My heart stopped.

No.

No, no, no—

I shoved my way through the throng of bodies, elbowing past everyone in my way. My breath came in ragged bursts as my vision tunneled. Every sound blended into a sickening roar.

Until—

I reached the front.

There, at the center of the stone platform, Ciro was on his knees—bare-backed, his torso bowed forward, muscles tight with strain. His skin—

Gods.

His back was red and raw, streaked with blood and scorched lines where the lightning had struck him. Steam rose from his skin. His hands were braced against the ground, fingers digging into the stone as if he needed to anchor himself to keep from collapsing.

And above him—

Another surge of lightning crackled in the air, forming, collecting, twisting downward.

The crowd cheered.

They were chanting for it.

Cheering as their king—Ciro—was struck again and again.

“What—” The word died in my throat. “What is happening? What are you doing to him?!”

No one answered. No one cared.

They were entranced. Euphoric. As if they were witnessing a spectacle they had waited years to see.

My heart felt like it was splitting open.

I stepped forward, reaching out instinctively—

And at that exact moment, Ciro lifted his head.

Pain-glazed, breath unsteady, blood dripping down his spine.

But somehow,

Somehow

His eyes found mine.

Right throught the crowd.

Almost like he could sense my presence.

A single tear dropped down my cheek.

Why?