He's dying.
The demon general lay broken before him, its four arms twitching as life ebbed away. But even in defeat, it managed to speak.
"You call us monsters..." Black ichor bubbled from its mouth. "You burned away your own soul to win. You're the real monster here."
A smile played across its dying features.
"And it was all for nothing. Your princess... She'll never know the truth."
The demon's eyes went dark.
Regulus knelt beside its corpse, his own body beginning to shut down. The life force conversion was reversing now, his accelerated ageing catching up with no rcy.
He won. But at what cost?
Outside the do, Arthur could see the false Nikolas maintaining his performance. Pounding against the barrier with fake desperation while the princess wept for her dood husband.
Perfect acting. He'll comfort her afterward. Play the grieving friend.
The barrier began to crack, spatial distortions spreading from the points where Regulus's final techniques had damaged its structure.
Soon it would fall completely.
...
The do cracked like glass under imnse pressure, fractures spreading in spider web patterns across its surface. With a sound like thunder, the magical barrier exploded outward in a shower of dark energy fragnts.
Princess Elara rushed through the opening, her golden hair streaming behind her like a banner of desperate hope. Behind her ca Nikolas, his void-black eyes scanning the devastation with what appeared to be genuine horror.
Perfect performance.
Arthur watched Nikolas's expression—shock, grief, rage—all crafted emotions designed to maintain his deception.
But it was the princess who drew every eye.
She stumbled across the broken ground, past the demon general's dissolving corpse, until she reached the figure kneeling in the centre of the magical arena.
What she found there made her scream.
The man before her bore little resemblance to the silver-haired hero she'd married. Regulus's face had withered into a hollow, shrivelled look. His once-bright eyes stared at nothing, clouded with confusion.
Decades of accelerated aging had ravaged him beyond recognition.
"Regulus?" Elara whispered, falling to her knees beside him. "My love, it's . It's Elara."
Arthur's eyes widened at the na.
The current king of Caldera had chosen his daughter's na to be the na of his sister, the first princess.
Regulus turned toward her voice, but there was no recognition in his gaze. The life force conversion had burned away more than just years—it had consud many pieces of his mory, his very identity.
"Who..." His voice was barely a whisper, cracked and aged. "Who are you?"
He doesn't rember her.
Jasmine's hands flew to her mouth, a sob escaping despite her efforts to remain silent. To watch her mother discover that her husband had forgotten everything—forgotten their love, their life together—was agony beyond words.
Elara gathered Regulus into her arms, cradling his withered form against her chest. Tears stread down her face as she rocked back and forth, holding what remained of the man she loved.
"I'm your wife," she whispered against his ear. "I'm Elara. We were going to have a future together. Children. A life..."
Regulus stared up at her with empty eyes, no spark of recognition in their depths.
The techniques burned away everything.
His mories, his personality, his very soul.
Behind them, Nikolas let out a roar of rage that would have been convincing if Arthur didn't know the truth.
"DEMONS!" he bellowed, drawing his sword. "I'LL SLAUGHTER EVERY LAST ONE OF YOU!"
He charged toward the battlefield's edge where lesser demons still lingered, his spells singing through the air. Each strike was perfectly executed; he killed without rcy, as if he were never their ally.
Even now, he's thinking three steps ahead.
Rain began to fall, as if the heavens themselves wept for what had been lost. The droplets mixed with Elara's tears as she lifted Regulus from the bloodied ground.
"We're going ho," she whispered to his uncomprehending form. "You're safe now. You're safe."
But he wasn't. Would never be again.
The scene began to shift around them, colours bleeding together before reforming into a new vision.
A bedroom in what was clearly a royal palace. Soft candlelight illuminated walls hung with tapestries depicting healing herbs and peaceful adows. The bed was enormous, draped in silks that spoke of wealth and comfort.
Regulus lay propped against pillows, his aged face peaceful but vacant. Beside the bed sat Princess Elara, holding his hand while speaking softly about their shared mories—mories he could no longer access.
On the other side of the bed stood Nikolas. And at the foot of the bed, a tall man with kind eyes.
King Alaric. The current king.
Arthur recognised him from a mile away.
"The healers say there's no change," King Alaric said quietly. "His body is stable, but his mind..."
"Is gone," Elara finished, her voice hollow with grief. "The man I married, the genius of the human realm..."
Nikolas placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "He died a hero's death, Elara. Even if his body lingers, his spirit passed on the battlefield."
The scene shifted once more, ti accelerating past them. When it stabilised, they were in a different room—a sitting area with large windows overlooking gardens.
Elara sat in a chair by the window, and Arthur's breath caught.
She was pregnant.
Her golden hair was longer now, and her face bore the soft roundness that ca with carrying a child. One hand rested protectively over the clear bulge in her stomach.
Jasmine. That's Jasmine she's carrying.
Beside her stood Nikolas, no longer playing the grieving friend. His expression was calculating, focused. The mask had slipped just enough to reveal glimpses of the man beneath.
"I've been investigating," he said, his voice carrying false concern. "The betrayal runs deeper than we thought."
Elara looked up at him with tired eyes. "What have you found?"
"The noble houses." Nikolas began pacing, his movents theatrical. "They couldn't tolerate Regulus's influence with the royal family. His potential marriage to you threatened their power structure."
Lies that are built on truths. The most dangerous kind.
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