Chapter 99 THE DOBBLEGANGER
He stopped a few paces from Alaric.
Then he saw Selene, back against him.
For a moment, he simply looked at her.
“You grew,” she said quietly without eye contact.
“So did the silence,” he replied.
His voice was calm. Deep. Controlled.
Alaric stepped forward and bowed slightly, unsure of the proper form. “My lord.”
The young man’s gaze flicked to him. “I am no one’s lord.”
“Forgive me, Master” Alaric said.
Selene didn’t look at the young man. “Do you know who you are?”
A faint smile touched his lips. “That depends who is asking.”
“I am,” she said.
His smile faded. “You should know better since you are the one who kept me here.”
Alaric glanced at her sharply.
Selene’s expression didn’t change. “You needed time to...”
“For what?”
“For the world to become ready for you.”
He tilted his head. “Is it?”
She didn’t answer.
His gaze shifted toward the cave mouth. “She’s awake.”
Alaric frowned. “Who?”
The young man looked at him with mild curiosity. “You can’t feel it?”
“Feel what?”
A pause.
“Grief,” he said.
Selene’s breath caught — so faintly only she noticed.
Athalia gripped the hut’s doorframe as Mariam packed dried herbs into a leather pouch.
“If you’re going,” he said, “you’ll need these.”
“I don’t have coin.”
“I didn’t ask for any.”
She took the pouch. “Why help me?”
She shrugged. “I’ve experienced quite enough to know when a story isn’t finished. That's if all you say is the truth.”
"It is."
"And I choose to believe you."
She gave a humorless smile. “Thank you. I know my story should have ended in that tower.”
“Yet here you are.”
She stepped outside.
The city's air felt different now — less suffocating, more distant, as if the world had moved on while she lay between life and death.
She started down the path.
After a few steps, she paused.
“Mariam,” she called without turning, “have you ever heard of a child who grows too fast?”
She was quiet for a long moment.
“There is no such thing but nothing is impossible either,” he said at last.
She looked back.
Back in the cave, the young man walked past Selene toward the exit.
She stepped into his path. “Where are you going?”
“Up.”
“You’re not ready.”
“For what?”
“For them. And the world.”
His gaze sharpened. “You mean him.”
She didn’t correct him.
“I have waited in stone and darkness,” he said. “I have listened to the dead breathe and the mountain dream. If I am not ready now, I never will be.”
Alaric shifted uneasily. “The surface is not what it was.”
“I know,” the young man said. “I hear it and I have all I need.”
Selene searched his face. “What do you mean? What do you hear?”
He looked past her, as if through layers of rock and soil and distance.
“It shouldn't bother you”
"Tell me, please."
"No." He insisted.
Cold slid down Selene’s spine.
“Then we go together or I block your path,” she said.
He shook his head. “You seem to forget your strength.”
For the first time in years, Selene didn’t have an answer.
He stepped around her and pushed her aside.
The soldiers parted without command.
Selene watched him go with Alaric, unease growing with every step. Selene stared at the cave long after he disappeared.
"Should I follow?" A soldier said.
“Yes,” she said finally. “But not too close.”
Above ground, Athalia walked until her legs trembled.
Each step jarred her body, but she did not stop.
By late afternoon, clouds gathered, muting the sun.
She paused by a stream to drink, catching her reflection in the water.
She looked older.
Not with years — but with weight and constant use of the magic from the book.
“I’m coming,” she whispered to the current.
The wind shifted.
For a brief moment, she felt warmth in her chest.
Not pain.
Not fear.
Recognition.
She looked up sharply.
Somewhere far behind her, beyond trees and hills and miles of earth, someone else had just stepped into daylight for the first time.
And though neither of them knew how close their paths had already drawn—Both felt it.
Like a thread pulling tight between two hearts that had never truly stopped beating for each other.
Athalia took another step toward the palace.
Behind her, deep in the woods, a young man with a king’s face and something older in his eyes walked toward the same horizon.
And far beneath the earth they left behind, something that had been quiet for years opened its eyes.
The night Athalia went into labor, the palace did not sleep.
Candles guttered despite the shutters being sealed. Servants moved in whispers. Guards stood outside the doors with hands on their sword hilts, as if an army might try to storm the room at any moment.
Inside, Athalia gripped the sheets, sweat plastering her hair to her temples.
“Breathe, Your Majesty,” Selene urged, though her own voice shook. “Slow breaths.”
Athalia tried. The pain didn’t come in waves the way the midwives had promised.
It came like something clawing its way out.
The fire crackled once.
Then it burned blue.
Selene gasped, but the Master beside her shot her a warning look, though his own hands trembled.
“Selene,” Athalia rasped. “Why is it so cold?”
Selene didn’t answer immediately.
Because it wasn’t cold.
It was pressure — magic pressing inward from all sides, drawn to the center of the room like iron to a magnet.
Selene felt it tightening.
Two currents.
Intertwined.
Pulling against each other.
Her jaw clenched. “Keep pushing, Your Majesty,” she said, forcing calm into her tone.
Athalia screamed.
Not just in pain — there was fear in it now, raw and instinctive.
“I can feel…” she choked. “Something’s wrong.”
Selene moved closer to the bed. “Look at me.”
Athalia did, eyes glassy.
“You are strong,” Selene said. “Stronger than this.”
Another contraction hit. Athalia cried out, her back arching.
For a split second, the shadows in the room bent toward her.
Every flame bowed inward.
The Master saw it clearly then.
Not one soul.
Two.
The Prince's Dobbleganger.