Chapter 118 THE DOBBLEGANGER EFFECT
By the time he reached the King’s chamber, the doors were already open.
Voices filled the room.
Tense.
Focused.
Kaelion stepped inside.
King Adrain stood at the center, a large map spread across the table before him. Several ministers surrounded him, their attention fixed on the marked points scattered across the parchment.
The King did not look up immediately.
He was staring at the map like a man trying to solve something that refused to be understood.
“…it’s not random,” he was saying.
Kaelion moved closer.
“What isn’t?”
The room quieted.
Adrain finally lifted his gaze.
For a brief moment, relief crossed his face—but it faded quickly, replaced by something sharper.
“You should be resting.”
“I am, father,” Kaelion replied flatly. "Please, tell me.”
A pause.
Then the King gestured to the map.
“Look.”
Kaelion stepped forward.
Three points had been marked.
The border village.
The eastern settlement.
And another, further out.
At first glance, they seemed scattered.
But Kaelion saw it almost instantly.
A line.
Not perfectly straight—but deliberate.
Leading inward.
Toward the capital.
His expression darkened.
“It’s moving,” he said quietly.
“Yes.”
The King’s voice was grim.
“Whoever or whatever is behind this… it’s not wandering. It has a path.”
Before Kaelion could respond, heavy footsteps echoed from the entrance.
General Caleb entered without waiting to be announced.
His armor was dust-stained, his expression tight with urgency.
“Your Majesty.”
“What is it?” Adrain asked.
Caleb stepped forward, placing a gloved hand on the table near the map.
“It’s worse than we thought.”
The room stilled.
“The lands surrounding those attack points...” he began, choosing his words carefully, “...they’re dying.”
Adrian's gaze sharpened. “Explain.”
“The crops are failing,” Caleb said. “Not just failing—drained. As if something has pulled the life out of the soil itself. And the water…” He paused, jaw tightening. “The streams are drying up. Entire sections of them.”
A murmur spread through the ministers.
“That’s impossible,” one of them said quickly. “Rivers don’t just...”
“They do now,” Caleb cut in.
Silence fell again.
He looked directly at Kaelion this time.
“I’ve seen it myself. It follows the same path as the attacks. Wherever this thing passes…” his voice lowered, “it leaves nothing behind except very few who are so scared to speak. They look terrified, your majesty.”
The word settled heavily in the room.
Kaelion turned back to the map.
His mind moved quickly now—faster than before, sharper, clearer.
It was heading straight for them.
For a moment, no one spoke.
Then Kaelion exhaled slowly.
“…It’s marking its way,” he said.
The King frowned slightly. “Marking?”
Kaelion lifted his head.
“Its headed for the capital.”
The weight of it settled over them all.
Heavy.
Unavoidable.
General Caleb straightened slightly. “Then we need to stop it before it gets here.”
“How?” another voice snapped. “We don’t even know what it is!”
Kaelion’s jaw tightened.
He stepped back from the table.
His body still felt weak, but his mind was steady now. Focused.
Resolved.
“We don’t wait for it,” he said.
All eyes turned to him.
“We meet it.”
The King studied him carefully.
“You can barely stand. And its close. How can we face something we don't have an idea of?”
Kaelion met his gaze.
“I will enquire, father. There should be some measure to solve this in the old books.”
"But first, gather everyone in the city or villages close to move to the capital." King Adrian thundered.
"Yes, your majesty." Caleb answered.
That silenced the room.
\---
Outside, beyond the safety of stone walls and guarded gates—
The wind moved again.
But it carried no life.
Only the faint scent of something ending.
And somewhere along that invisible line carved through the kingdom—
A man walked.
Calm.
Unhurried.
Leaving death behind him with every step.
And ahead of him, the capital waited.
However, in the lower quarters of the kingdom, where stories lived longer than truth, people began to whisper a name that had once been buried.
“Athalia…”
It passed from one voice to another, quiet at first, uncertain.
Then stronger.
More certain.
Because the signs felt familiar. And people who had relocated to the kingdom due the mishaps were gossiping.
"...children were found pale and lifeless, their small bodies untouched by wounds, yet emptied of blood. No struggle. No cries. Just… gone.
And those who remembered—remembered too well.
“There was a time,” an old woman said, clutching her shawl tightly as others gathered around her, “when children vanished like this. Taken in the dark. Taken by her.”
“But Queen Athalia is dead,” someone argued quickly, though their voice lacked conviction.
“Dead things don’t always stay buried. Her ghost still roamed,” she replied.
Silence followed.
Because no one could deny it.
Not when it looked the same.
Not when it felt the same.
Back then, the children had disappeared…
And returned.
But now it was different.
Hollow in ways no one could explain.
There was no return.
...
Couple of days earlier, at the edge of the first village, just beyond their farmlands—
He stood in the dark.
Watching.
The night wrapped around him like a second skin, unmoving, undisturbed. His gaze rested on the small cluster of homes ahead, where faint candlelight flickered behind thin windows.
There were children.
He could hear them.
His head tilted slightly, as though listening to something only he understood.
Then he stepped forward.
It happened quickly.
A door left slightly open.
A child wandering too far from watchful eyes.
A shadow that moved without being seen.
By the time the first scream broke the silence, it was already too late.
“Someone...!”
A man ran into the street, his voice shaking. “My son...he’s gone!”
Others followed, panic rising, spreading like fire through dry grass.
Torches were lit.
Doors flung open.
And then someone saw him.
“There!”
A woman pointed with trembling hands. “There...by the well!”
All heads turned.
By the time the first scream broke the silence, it was already too late.
“Someone...!”
A man ran into the street, his voice shaking. “My son...he’s gone!”
Others followed, panic rising, spreading like fire through dry grass.
Torches were lit.
Doors flung open.
And then someone saw him.
“There!”
A woman pointed with trembling hands. “There...by the well!”
All heads turned.
The crowd began to move.
Because fear needed a shape.
And right now—
It had one.
“You monster!” a man yelled, his grief breaking through. “What have you done?!”
More voices rose.
Angrier.
Desperate.
“Is this is your doing!”
The words overlapped, collided, turned into a storm of accusation.
The man said nothing.
He simply watched them.
Calm.
Unmoved.
And that calm—
It terrified them more than anything.
“Burn him!” someone screamed suddenly.
The word spread like a spark.
“Burn him!”
“Yes—burn him!”
“A monster deserves fire!”
Torches lifted higher.
Hands tightened.
Fear had become decision.
And decision had become action.
They rushed him.
Too many.
Too fast.
But still—
Not fast enough.
Because the moment they crossed an invisible line—
He moved.