Chapter 241

Light Fae Realm:

The Hall of Ancestors had not opened in over three hundred years.

The great silver doors stood at the very heart of the Light Palace, untouched by dust, time, or memory. They rose so high they disappeared into the living canopy above, where branches of the First Tree wove themselves through crystal ceilings before vanishing into the sky itself.

Nothing living had ever been appointed to protect the Hall. The Hall protected itself.

Beatrice stopped several paces behind the Light Fae King. She hadn’t expected him to bring her here. She hadn’t even known such a place existed.

The corridor leading to it was unlike every other part of the palace. No birds sang among the flowering vines, and no streams floated lazily through the air.

Even the wind seemed unwilling to disturb the silence here. Only their footsteps echoed.

The King stood motionless before the enormous silver doors. He slowly raised one hand.

He did not touch the doors.

Instead, ancient symbols ignited beneath his fingertips, each one older than every kingdom still standing upon the earth.

The symbols drifted upward like living stars.

The doors answered, and a deep sound echoed from somewhere beyond the world itself.

It was the sound of a heartbeat.

The Hall had awakened.

Silver light spread through every carved vine upon the doors before they slowly began to part.

Warm air escaped first. It carried no scent.

Beatrice found herself taking one involuntary step backwards. Something inside that warmth recognised her, as the air moved around her.

The Light Fae King noticed.

Without looking at her, he spoke quietly. “The Hall recognises blood before names.”

She looked at him, with a brow lifted.

He finally stepped forward. “Come.”

Beatrice waled in, and the hall defied every law she understood. There were no walls, ceiling, or floor.

Only an endless expanse of silver mist stretching in every direction beneath an impossible night sky filled with floating lights.

Thousands of them.

Each one hovered peacefully above them. Candles and tiny silver flames burned without wax, or an end.

Beatrice stared upward. “They’re beautiful…”

The King followed her gaze. “They’re lives.”

She frowned.

“The memory of every Light Fae monarch.” He explained.

Her eyes widened. “So many…”

“Light faes do not die.” His voice carried quiet reverence. “They simply come back to exist here. This is for every one of us who died in the war, before, and after.”

For a long moment neither of them moved.

The silence here felt sacred, and patient. It felt as though every soul within the Hall waited for permission to speak.

The King walked deeper into the mist.

Each step caused silver ripples to spread beneath his feet despite there being no visible ground.

Beatrice followed carefully.

The flames above them shifted.

The King stopped. He lifted one hand toward the endless sky. “I seek truth.”

Nothing happened.

Then, every flame extinguished. Darkness swallowed the Hall so completely that Beatrice couldn’t even see her own hands.

Her breathing caught with fear.

A heartbeat later, one single flame ignited, then another, and a thousand more. It increatlsed to millions in the blink of an eye.

The lights descended slowly from the heavens until they surrounded the King. They circled him like stars recognising their sun.

Ancient voices whispered all around them.

None spoke words she understood.

Yet somehow, she understood every emotion. She felt joy, love, victory, grief, loss, and hope from them.

Entire lifetimes drifted through the Hall.

Beatrice’s eyes stung unexpectedly.

The King closed his own. “I seek…” he whispered, “…the child born of the Witch Queen.”

Everything stopped.

Every flame froze, and the Hall became utterly still. Then, the world dissolved.

…

A forest appeared.

Beatrice gasped softly. She no longer stood within the Hall. She stood beneath silver trees unlike any she’d ever seen.

Across the clearing, a woman laughed. She had long green hair, bright intelligent eyes, and a crown of woven branches rested upon her head.

The Witch Queen. Beatrice recognised her from the portraits in the Fae King’s Chambers. She couldn’t tell why he kept them.

She looked younger than any portrait history had preserved.

She laughed again, and someone laughed with her.

Beatrice turned.

A man stepped into view. It was the Light Fae King.

His smile reached his eyes. He looked at the Witch Queen as though nothing else in creation existed.

She could see real undeniable love in his gaze.

Beatrice watched them sit together beneath an ancient tree. The Witch Queen rested her head against his shoulder.

The Hall whispered softly around them, and the memory shifted.

The Witch Queen stood alone beside an opened portal.

The Light Fae King reached for her. She turned away from him, and the portal closed. She was gone.

Beatrice felt her own chest tighten. She felt a hole in her heart.

The King beside her remained perfectly still.

She saw another memory.

She saw the Witch Queen. Older now with one trembling hand rested against her stomach.

Beatrice inhaled sharply, seeing her baby bump. The Hall had confirmed it. She truly had carried his child.

The memory changed again.

The Witch Queen held a newborn against her chest.

She kissed the child’s forehead.

Then, everything vanished.

Silence.

The Hall refused to continue.

The King opened his eyes. “Continue.” His voice was bland when it left his lips.

Nothing happened.

“I command you.” His voice shook a bit.

Still, nothing. The Hall remained silent, and only the flames flickered.

Then, a single voice echoed through the darkness.

“The child lived.” The voice said, genderless.

Beatrice’s breath caught.

The Hall continued.

“The blood endured.” Another pause. “The line remains unbroken.”

The King’s breathing became slower. His hands trembled slightly.

He asked one final question. “Show me…” His voice barely rose above a whisper. “…the final heir.”

The Hall answered.

The silver mist exploded outward.

The memories shattered like glass, and fragments flew in every direction before rapidly reforming.

Not into another forest but into a face with silver hair with sea blue eyes, and a quiet smile.

Beatrice’s knees nearly gave out. The person she saw felt familiar even if she had never seen her, or imagined her.

The image remained.

Then another figure slowly appeared behind her.

A young woman who wore no crown, and only a simple faded servant’s dress stained from years of work.

Her sleeves had been rolled above her elbows as she knelt upon a stone floor, quietly scrubbing it with a worn cloth.

Her long green hair spilled over one shoulder, and her movements were gentle, almost invisible.

The Light fae king’s entire face softened.

Beatrice’s heartbeat slowed. “Who is she?” she whispered.