Waylen followed Selene through the stone corridors, his footsteps soft against the polished floor.

  His mind screamed that he had stepped into another world-a world of magic, of impossibilities—but exhaustion dulled any sense of wonder he should have felt.

  His body was sluggish, his thoughts tangled between disbelief and detached observation. He couldn’t process what this meant, only that it was happening, whether or not he understood it.

  The air was cold. Sharper than he expected, settling deep in his lungs with each breath. He wasn’t dressed for this—not even remotely—but he barely registered the discomfort.

  What he did register was the sheer size of the place.

  The hallway stretched impossibly long, lined with torches flickering with eerie blue flames. Symbols traced the high ceiling in intricate patterns, twisting into delicate spirals that pulsed faintly.

  Waylen swallowed hard.

  Magic.

  It was all magic.

  And yet, he didn’t feel it. Not in a way that made sense. No electrical hum, no rush of power, nothing tangible except the cold and the quiet.

  Selene walked ahead, composed and measured.

  She wasn’t explaining anything.

  She expected him to keep up.

  So he did.

  They passed several doors—thick wooden structures reinforced with silver, their edges lined with protective carvings.

  Waylen clenched his jaw. Where exactly were they?

  A castle, obviously. A hidden part of it, most likely.

  Which made him uneasy.

  If his arrival was so vital, why hadn’t he been brought somewhere public? A council hall, a throne room, some grand display meant for political manoeuvring?

  But instead, they were here.

  Underground.

  Private.

  Hidden.

  The realisation sat heavily in his chest.

  Selene stopped before a set of double doors, pressing her palm against the handle.

  Waylen hesitated before stepping inside.

  The room was warm, in contrast to the icy halls.

  Dark wood furniture. Velvet seating. A chandelier casting golden light over polished bookshelves and a woven carpet. The glow of the fireplace flickered softly, illuminating elegant tapestries along the far wall.

  It was refined, deliberate in its comfort.

  Two chairs sat near the fire, deep enough to sink into, positioned opposite a polished wooden table. Heavy curtains framed a single arched window, though the outside revealed nothing but darkness.

  Waylen swallowed hard.

  This wasn’t a place meant for a prisoner.

  It was meant for a guest.

  A guest he wasn’t sure he wanted to be.

  Selene took the seat nearest the fireplace, folding her hands over the armrest. She gestured toward the second chair.

  “Sit.”

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  Waylen remained standing, arms crossed. “How about you tell me why I’m here first?”

  Selene exhaled lightly—not frustration, just measured patience.

  “The spell I used to bring you here is known as The Oath of Astralis,” she said. “It is a forbidden ritual. One that manipulates space-time magic to open a portal between worlds.”

  Waylen clenched his jaw.

  “That sounds… dangerous.”

  “It is,” Selene admitted. “But necessary.”

  Waylen let out a sharp breath, his exhaustion weighing down his frustration. “Necessary for what, exactly?”

  Selene’s gaze held steady.

  “For the survival of Everviel.”

  Then, finally, she began to explain.

  “Everviel was built on space-time magic—an ability only inherited by those born to the royal bloodline.” Selene’s voice was measured, firm, devoid of embellishment. “Without it, the kingdom weakens. Its borders fray, its defenses falter. And after the war… I am the only one left.”

  Waylen forced himself to stay standing, even as the weight of her words settled in.

  “The war took everything.” Her expression didn’t shift, but the room felt heavier. “My father, my brothers, my uncles. Gone. The last known wielders of Everviel’s most vital magic—vanished, with no trace left behind.”

  Waylen ran a hand down his face, his exhaustion dragging into frustration. “And that’s why you—what, summoned me?”

  Selene inclined her head. “I had little choice. Without a successor to the throne who can wield space-time magic, Everviel will fall. But I refused to let the nobles dictate the future through alliances and manipulation. I needed someone else. Someone untouched by the politics of this world.”

  Waylen narrowed his eyes. “And that led you to me?”

  “The spell sought individuals who carried the royal family's magical talent. It identified you.”

  Waylen laughed—sharp, breathless, purely disbelieving. “I don’t have magic.”

  Selene studied him for a moment, then flicked her gaze toward his wrist.

  Waylen followed her eyes.

  And froze.

  A faint shimmer glowed against his skin—a thin insignia curling along the veins near his wrist, delicate but undeniable.

  Waylen inhaled sharply, pressing his thumb against it.

  It didn’t fade.

  “That mark,” Selene said, “is proof that the spell recognised you as part of the royal lineage. You may not know it, but your blood carries the rare space-time trait.”

  Waylen clenched his fists, his breathing unsteady. “You—you don’t get to mark me.”

  Selene’s voice remained calm. “It is not something I control. The magic chooses.”

  Waylen shook his head. No.

  This wasn’t supposed to happen.

  Selene continued, ignoring his spiralling thoughts.

  “You are meant to secure the future of this kingdom,” she said. “That is why you were summoned.”

  Waylen scoffed. “Summoned to do what? Sit beside you on a throne I don’t want?”

  Selene didn’t waver. “Not just a consort. A successor. My lineage must continue.”

  Waylen inhaled sharply. “You want a child.”

  “It is a necessity, not a request.”

  However,

  “No.”

  Selene stiffened. “…No?”

  “I’m not doing this.” Waylen shook his head, exhaustion giving weight to his words. “I don’t care what magic I have or what lineage I belong to. I didn’t ask for this, and I don’t want it.”

  Selene said nothing at first.

  Waylen could see the shift—the moment her expectation fractured.

  She had assumed he would agree.

  That once he understood her burden, he would simply accept his duty.

  She hadn’t considered refusal.

  Because until eight months ago, she had never needed to convince anyone of anything.

  Selene inhaled sharply but quietly, composing herself in mere seconds.

  Then she adjusted.

  “You may believe you have nothing to gain,” she said, her voice cooler now, more calculated. “But that is incorrect.”

  Waylen narrowed his eyes.

  “Should you accept,” she continued, “you will never work a job again.”

  Waylen stilled.

  “Your financial security will be permanently guaranteed. You will never be required to labor for wealth or survival.”

  “You will hold a position of nobility,” she added. “While you will not wield political power, you will have status. Protection. Influence. Your role grants privileges that few in this world will ever access.”

  “You will never have to concern yourself with instability again. With burdensome work. With threats to your livelihood.”

  Waylen exhaled slowly, considering her words.

  “So what you’re saying is,” he said slowly, “that if I accept, I get wealth, status, and security. But I also get permanent responsibility. I get tied to a kingdom I didn’t ask to be part of. I get expectations, scrutiny, obligations.”

  Selene didn’t waver. “Yes.”

  Waylen exhaled, shaking his head.

  “So it’s not just an offer. It’s a trade. I give you my bloodline, and in exchange, I’m bound to Everviel forever.”

  Selene inclined her head slightly.

  Waylen clenched his jaw. That was the real weight of this choice.

  It wasn’t just about survival.

  It was about legacy.

  If he accepted, it wouldn’t just be his life changing—it would be his entire future, reshaped by duty and expectation.

  Selene stood, adjusting the folds of her sleeves.

  “Two months.”

  Waylen blinked.

  “You will return to your world for now,” she continued. “During that time, you may settle any affairs you have—whether that means preparing to leave or deciding there is nothing you wish to bring. When the portal opens again, you will give me your answer.”

  Waylen swallowed hard, his thoughts racing.

  Two months.

  To decide whether to leave his old life behind forever, or step into a future shaped by a duty he never asked for.

  Selene gestured toward the door. “Let’s return. The portal awaits.”

  And just like that—

  The choice was his.