Chapter 132 Mordred’s Offer

Chapter 132 Mordred’s Offer
The night wind in the ancient city ruins was bone-chilling, but it was not as cold as the gaze that suddenly locked onto Lysander from behind.
He didn't need to turn around. He already knew who it was.
"At last, we meet again... Brother."
Mordred’s voice slid out soft as silk, laced with hatred wrapped in a smile. He stepped out from the shadows, his black cloak fluttering gently, his pale blue eyes fixed on Lysander with a sense of deep satisfaction.
Lysander turned. His jaw tightened, and golden fire began to ignite around his body. "Do not call me that. You were never my brother."
"Ah, still in denial?" Mordred let out a small laugh. A laugh devoid of any joy. "Our blood is the same, Lysander. We share the same father. But because my mother was merely a concubine—because I was born of an unacknowledged shadow—I was cast out. Set aside. Forgotten." He stepped closer, his eyes never wavering from Lysander’s. "While you, the son of the legitimate queen, received everything. The throne. Power. Respect. And now... you even have Lyla."
Lysander clenched his fists. "Lyla belongs to no one. She is free to choose."
"Free?" Mordred repeated the word with a mocking lilt. "You think she’s free? She is bound to you by a soul-bond, by her duty as a queen, because you exploit her kind heart to make her serve your clan." He shook his head slowly. "You don’t love her, Lysander. You only need her. There is a vast difference between the two."
"You have no idea what I feel!"
"You’re right. I don't. Because no one ever taught me what love is." Mordred smiled, a smile that suddenly looked bitter. "I only know that what was rightfully mine has been stolen. The throne. Power. And now... Lyla. She belongs to me, Lysander. Not because I desire her, but because she is the only one who can heal the wounds you and your father inflicted thousands of years ago."
Lysander stepped forward, his golden fire burning brighter. "Don’t you dare touch Lyla. I will never allow it."
Mordred didn't flinch. Instead, he laughed—a laugh that echoed through the ruins, making the stone walls tremble.
"You can't stop me, Brother. You can't protect her forever. You can't even make her happy. Look at yourself. You came here to fetch her, but all you did was remind her of her duties. You didn't say you love her. You didn't say you missed her. You only said, 'The clan needs you. The baby dragons need you.'" Mordred shook his head in mock pity. "Poor Lyla. Loved for her function, not for herself."
Lysander went silent. Every word Mordred spoke was a knife stabbing exactly into his wound.
"I will let Lyla go," Mordred said suddenly.
Lysander’s brow furrowed. "What?"
"Listen to my offer carefully, Brother. I will let Lyla go. I will not touch her. I will not take her blood. I will even order my shadows to retreat from Arthoria and Atheria. Forever."
Lysander was incredulous. "In exchange for what?"
Mordred smiled. A cold, triumphant smile.
"You hand over your power to me. Not the throne—I don’t care for that stone seat. But I want you to acknowledge that I am stronger. I want you to obey me. I want you and the entire Golden Dragon clan to bow beneath my rule." He stepped so close that his face was only inches from Lysander’s. "You will be my king, Lysander. And I will be yours."
"Insane," Lysander hissed. "I will never—"
"You have no choice," Mordred interrupted. "Even if you refuse, do you think you can protect Lyla? You can’t guard her every second, Lysander. You have a clan to lead, eggs to protect, people waiting for your commands. And while you are busy being the perfect king, I will come. I will take Lyla. And you won’t be able to stop it."
Lysander felt a chill crawl down his spine. Not out of fear of Mordred, but out of the terror that he might be right.
"Imagine," Mordred whispered, his voice like a serpent slithering in his ear. "Imagine Lyla in my bed. Imagine her long hair spread across my pillow. Imagine her blue eyes looking at me with longing—not out of love, but because I forced her. Imagine her warm body beneath my touch, imagine her sighs, imagine—"
"STOP!" Lysander roared, his golden fire exploding in a heatwave that slammed against the ruined walls. But Mordred had already leapt back, laughing uproariously.
"See? You can't even control your temper!" he cackled. "You can't protect her. You can't even approach me without losing control. How can you be a good king? How can you make Lyla happy?"
Lysander panted, the fire around him still burning, but his eyes... his eyes were full of a hurt that no one could heal.
"You’re a monster," he whispered.
"Maybe." Mordred shrugged. "But the monster who will win. So, what is your choice, Brother? Hand over your power, obey me, and Lyla will be safe. Or keep it all, and you will find Lyla becoming... my plaything in my bed."
He laughed again. A long, echoing, triumphant laugh.
Lysander stood still. The fire around him slowly died out, leaving only ash and despair.
"I will not decide now," he finally said, his voice low and full of bitterness.
"Of course, of course. Take your time, Brother. But don’t take too long." Mordred turned, his black cloak billowing. "Because Lyla is all alone at the peak of the castle, and she is so... vulnerable. Who knows? Maybe she’ll need a friend. Maybe she’ll need a hug. Maybe she’ll need someone who can listen to her unconditionally."
He stepped into the shadows, slowly vanishing.
"The decision is in your hands, Lysander. But remember..." at the last moment, his pale blue eyes stared directly into Lysander's, "...if you choose wrong, you will lose Lyla forever. Not because I took her. But because you yourself were not good enough for her."
Mordred’s laughter continued to echo in the ruins long after he had gone. Cold, triumphant, and piercing.
Lysander fell to his knees on the cold stone floor, clutching his head with both hands. In his mind, images of Lyla spun endlessly. Lyla smiling. Lyla crying. Lyla drifting away.
"What should I do?" he whispered to the darkness.
But the darkness did not answer. Only Mordred’s laughter remained to haunt him.