Chapter 105 LIRA IS ALIVE
Kaelion did not answer immediately. His fingers curled slightly, then relaxed.
“Me?,” he said.
The word hung in the air, heavier than it should have been.
Adrian studied him—really studied him now. The height. The build. The way his presence seemed to pull at the room. Kaelion looked like a man grown, not a child lost for three years. Yet there was something… unfinished about him. As though he existed slightly out of step with the world.
“But you should be a boy,” Adrian said quietly.
Kaelion nodded. “I know, father. I'll explain everything later.”
Unease crept up Maeron’s spine. “How old are you?”
“In years?” Kaelion asked. “Three.”
Adrian’s hand tightened into a fist.
“And yet,” Kaelion continued calmly, “time did not move for me the way it does for others.”
The lamps flickered faintly.
Maeron glanced at them, then back at Kaelion
Adrian let out a broken laugh.
“You look like a grown man."
"Selene, yes i remember Selene. She said you were no ordinary child." He said. ",'Is that what she meant? Do you have some form of magic?.”
“I am indeed not, ordinary” the young man said. “But I am not what I should be either.”
Maeron watched the king’s face fracture—hope colliding with fear.
“But where have you been?” Adrian demanded.
“Hidden.”
“By whom?”
Kaelion hesitated.
Adrian’s voice hardened. “Tell me, who took you?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Kaelion said. “I only know who took care of me.
”
“And who was that?” Adrian pressed.
Kaelion lifted his gaze a bit.
“Lira.”
A chill ran through Maeron.
"Lira is Alive?"
Adrian closed his eyes.
For a long moment, no one spoke.
Then Adrian opened them again, resolve cutting through the storm.
“If you are lying to us,” he said quietly, “It is a severe matter."
Kaelion met his father's gaze without fear.
“If I am lying, I deserve it. But I am not ”
Adrian turned sharply to Maeron.
“Prepare a private chamber. I want no one else involved.”
Maeron bowed. “At once.”
As Maeron moved to leave, the young man spoke again.
“There is more,” he said.
Adrian looked back. “Of course there is.”
The young man’s expression darkened.
“I did not come only to claim a name,” he said. “I came because something is coming with me.”
Adrian frowned. “What do you mean?”
The young man’s fingers tightened unconsciously at his side.
“I was told,” he said carefully, “that if I returned, the truth would no longer stay buried.”
The lamps flickered.
Somewhere deep within the palace, a distant bell gave a faint, unintended chime.
Adrian felt it in his bones.
“What truth?” he asked.
The young man looked toward the shadows beyond the chamber doors.
“The kind,” he said softly, “that wakes what was never meant to sleep.”
But Maeron cut in.
Your Majesty,” he said carefully, “whatever else this is… the proofs he provided is undeniable. The necklace. The name.”
Adrian exhaled slowly, as though forcing breath back into his lungs.
“There is a prince,” Maeron added, his voice thick with relief. “The Kingdoms heir. The line lives.”
For the first time, something raw crossed Adrian’s face—unguarded, almost fragile.
“My son,” he whispered.
Kaelion lowered his head slightly, a gesture that was neither bow nor retreat.
“I came because I was told you deserved to know,” he said. “Not because I seek the throne.”
Adrian looked at him sharply. “You do not want it?”
“I don’t know what I want,” Kaelion replied honestly. “I only know what I am.”
Maeron shifted uneasily. “And what is that?”
Kaelion lifted his gaze again. For an instant, the torchlight caught his eyes—and something deep within them stirred, like a shadow passing beneath still water.
But none of them saw it.
“I am not whole now, that's all that matters,” he said.
A chill settled over Adrian’s shoulders.
“What do you mean?”
Kaelion’s lips parted, as though he might explain—but then he stopped. His head turned slightly toward the far end of the chamber, where the doors stood closed.
Someone was listening.
“I will tell you,” he said quietly, “when the time is right.”
Maeron followed his gaze. “Guards."
"Do you think someone else knows you’re here?”
"I don't know,” Kaelion replied.
Outside the chamber, unseen by any of them, a servant paused in the corridor, hand pressed to the stone wall, breath shallow.
But he escaped before the guards could catch him.
Adrian straightened, resolve hardening once more.
“You will stay, here” he said. “Under my protection.”
Kaelion nodded. “Thank you, father.”
As the guards moved to escort him away, Kaelion glanced back once—toward the world that had shaped him.
He closed his fingers around the necklace now resting in his palm.
The silver felt warm.
And deep within Kaelion’s chest, something else stirred too—patient, watching, waiting.
Not entirely real.
Not entirely human.
But something felt alive.
Soon, night settled heavily over the palace.
King Adrian stood alone in his private solar, hands clasped behind his back as he stared through the tall window. The city lights flickered below—distant, unaware—while his thoughts refused to still. Behind him, the door closed softly.
Maeron did not speak at once. He had learned long ago that the king needed silence before words.
Adrian finally exhaled. “I have no doubt now. Perhaps, I was wrong.”
Maeron inclined his head. “About the young man.”
“He is my son,” Adrian said. The words were quiet, but they carried weight. “Kaelion.”
Maeron watched the king’s reflection in the glass. There was grief there—old, scarred grief—but also something new. Relief, fragile and dangerous.
“And yet,” Adrian continued, turning at last, “I cannot present him as such. The people may not understand this.”
Maeron nodded slowly. “That is the difficulty.”
Adrian gestured sharply. “He should be three years old, Maeron. Three. And yet he looks like a grown man. The court will not see a miracle—they will see a threat.”
“Perhaps, they will call him a demon,” Maeron said gently, giving voice to what hung unspoken between them.
Adrian’s jaw tightened. “Yes. I fear so.”
He paced the length of the room. “The kingdom already whisper of curses. Of sorcery. If I announce him as my heir, the kingdom will tear itself apart trying to decide whether to worship him or burn him.”
Maeron folded his hands behind his back. “The people fear what they do not understand.”
“And they understand even less when magic is involved,” Adrian said bitterly.
He stopped pacing and looked directly at Maeron. “Tell me what to do.”
Maeron did not answer immediately. He chose his words with care.
“If you present him as your son,” he said, “every eye will turn toward him. Every faction will test him. And every enemy of the crown will see an opportunity.”
Adrian’s voice was low. “And if I do not?”
“Then you must give the kingdom a truth it can accept,” Maeron replied. “One that shows your sincerity without inviting fear.”
Adrian’s brow furrowed. “Meaning?”
Maeron stepped closer. “Claim him as adopted.”