Chapter 4 – The Hollow Capital

  The journey to the Capital stretched beneath heavy skies.

  The rain had let up by the time Lilienne left the quiet hills of Caelistra-Veyrath, but the sky remained a constant dull gray, as though the world itself hovered between sleep and sorrow. She traveled in a simple carriage, one not marked with any noble crest. She had asked Seryll to arrange it that way. No symbols. No attention. Just a girl with a name the world had forgotten.

  The path was long, winding through forests that whispered with wind and secrets. Occasionally, the road opened to wide valleys or passed under stone arches carved with the faded markings of old Voltherian influence. It was a nd that wore its history like a shroud, beautiful, but full of ghosts.

  Lilienne sat in silence for most of the journey, her mind repying the words from the Lysarian letter again and again:

  “The truth of your father’s death lies beyond the walls of Caelistra Manor…”

  It had taken her days to decide to go. Seryll had packed her things without question, pressing a cloak into her arms with quiet urgency and tucking a tiny silver-bded dagger into the folds of her dress. “Just in case,” Seryll whispered. “This world isn’t kind to girls who travel alone.”

  Lilienne hadn’t argued. She had only nodded, holding the dagger in trembling hands before slipping it into her satchel. She didn’t expect to use it, but Seryll was right. The world was cruel, and she had only begun to understand how cruel.

  The gates of Tharelle loomed high and ancient when she arrived.

  Stone walls stretched along the city’s edge, dark with moss and time. Guards in silver-pted armor stood at the entrance, their expressions bored but watchful. Beyond the gates, towers rose like spires of judgment, their rooftops lined with sharp bck tiles that caught the dull light of morning. The city pulsed with energy, messengers riding hard on horseback, merchants yelling out their prices, noblewomen stepping daintily over puddles as their carriages rolled past.

  Lilienne stepped down from the carriage and paid the driver in silence. She wore a pin cloak with the hood drawn up, hiding her vender hair and the pale features she had inherited from her father, features that bore the unmistakable trace of House Nocthrein. The man nodded and rode off without a word.

  She stood for a moment, the city buzzing around her.

  Tharelle, the capital of Voltheria.

  It was not what she expected. The air was heavy, not with rain, but with tension. The people moved quickly, their eyes flicking from one face to the next as if always searching for something, or someone. Soldiers were everywhere. Not just guarding the gates, but stationed at corners, walking in pairs down the street, watching.

  This was not a peaceful kingdom. This was a kingdom under watch.

  She walked carefully, keeping to the edges of the street. She had memorized the map Seryll gave her: the market district y just past the bridge, and beyond that, the Royal Quarter. She wouldn’t go there yet. First, she needed to find a pce to stay, and to think.

  She found a quiet inn tucked behind the main square.

  It wasn’t grand. The walls were chipped stone, and the sign hanging above the door was crooked. But it was clean, and the old woman at the counter didn’t ask questions.

  Lilienne gave a false name, Elira. “Just a traveler,” she said. “Here to see the city.”

  The woman nodded and handed her a key.

  “Second floor, st room on the left. You keep to yourself, no one bothers you here.”

  That was what she needed.

  The room was small but warm. A single bed, a small desk, a window that overlooked the rooftops. Lilienne set her things down and sat at the edge of the bed, staring out at the city.

  The spires of the pace could be seen in the distance, barely peeking over the buildings. She wondered if he was there. Ravien Eryx DeLacroix. She had not thought of him in years, not truly. They had met only once, as children, when her father had brought her to a royal event. She remembered him standing beside the King, small and sharp-eyed, with that soft silver white hair and unnervingly quiet voice.

  He had looked at her. Just once.

  A flicker of recognition.

  Or maybe she had imagined it.

  Over the next few days, she explored the city slowly.

  She kept her cloak up at first, cautious. But eventually, she braved the streets with her hood down. The moment she did, she noticed it, the stares. Subtle at first. Then longer. Curious. Apprehensive. People gnced at her and then away quickly, some with narrowed eyes, others whispering behind their hands. Children stared outright.

  It wasn’t just her beauty that caught attention, it was her resembnce. The same ethereal vender hair, the pale skin, the shape of her eyes and face, so much like Sirius Alistair Nocthrein, the General of the crown’s knights. A man some feared. A man others still mourned. A name many dared not speak.

  She heard someone murmur it once as she passed: “Nocthrein…”

  She walked faster, heart pounding. It was beginning. The kingdom hadn’t forgotten as much as it pretended to.

  She avoided the noble quarters, keeping instead to libraries, the market corners, and the old historical halls that lined the southern part of Voltheria. It was there, among the worn records and faded banners, that she began her search.

  She read everything she could about her father’s time as a general; she even stumbled upon a book of Voltherian’s test history.

  Her father’s name appeared in several scrolls, but always briefly. Always respectfully, yet coldly. The official records said he died due to an accident from his st mission. There were no details. No mention of his legacy. No funeral reports. It was as if the kingdom had erased his memory without ever saying his name was unwanted.

  What troubled her more was the near absence of House Nocthrein.

  At their height, the Nocthrein name commanded respect and fear alike. Their nds stretched wide, their influence reaching deep into court decisions. The head of the family, Archduke Thalior Nocthrein, was a stern but just figure, a man of quiet wisdom and unmatched presence. He ruled his house with dignity, often seen beside the king in matters of war and counsel.

  Lilienne had met him once, a vague memory.

  After General Sirius, Archduke Thalior’s own brother and most trusted commander, had died under mysterious circumstances, everything began to unravel. The bond between them had been unshakable, forged through blood and battlefield. His death was not just a loss, it was a wound that split the foundation of House Nocthrein.

  Thalior vanished not long after, without a word or trace. No funeral. No farewell. Just silence.

  Without their Archduke, the family was left leaderless and vulnerable. Whispers spread like wildfire, of betrayal, of secrets buried beneath the throne. The once-mighty House Nocthrein, feared and revered, quickly became a shadow of its former self, shunned by the court they had once helped build.

  Now, they were barely mentioned. There were no current names listed under its registry. No seat of power. No nds.

  It was as if Nocthrein had vanished.

  Buried under silence.

  She sat in the corner of the library one night, her fingers smudged with ink and dust, trying to keep herself from falling into despair.

  She wasn’t imagining this. Someone had gone through great lengths to bury the truth.

  It was on the fifth day that the second letter came.

  She returned to the inn te in the evening, the skies darker than usual, clouds pressing heavy against the rooftops. She found the letter slipped under her door. No seal. No signature. Just her name, Lilienne Aeris Caelistra, written in careful handwriting.

  Her heart pounded as she opened it.

  “You’re being watched.”

  That was all it said.

  She stood there in silence, holding the note like it might burn her.

  She looked out the window quickly, scanning the narrow alley below. No one stood there. No movement. No sound.

  But the feeling remained.

  A chill crept up her spine.

  That night, she locked her door twice and moved her satchel under the bed, hiding the letters and the dagger. She y awake for hours, staring at the ceiling.

  Her father had been a general. A hero. And now his daughter was hiding in a stranger’s bed, hunted by shadows, with nothing but a half-buried truth and a name no one dared to speak aloud.

  She couldn’t go to the pace. Not yet. Not until she knew more.

  And she couldn’t go to House Nocthrein either, because if her research was right, there was no one left in that house to speak to.

  She was alone.

  But she wouldn’t stay that way forever.

  Morning came with a knock.

  She jumped at the sound, instinctively reaching under the bed for her satchel. But it was only the innkeeper.

  “A boy left this for you,” she said, handing over a folded scrap of parchment. “Didn’t say anything.”

  Lilienne took the paper carefully.

  It read: “Market square. Noon. Come alone.”

  It was unsigned again. But this time, there was no symbol of the House Lysarian’s sigil.

  Noon came quickly, and with it, the rain.

  Lilienne stood in the shadow of an archway, watching the market square fill with life. Merchants haggled loudly, children dashed through puddles, and guards wandered among the stalls with stern faces.

  She didn’t know who she was waiting for. She scanned every face, every movement.

  Then she saw him.

  A boy, no older than sixteen, with pale blonde hair and eyes like polished silver. He moved through the crowd with ease, his clothes pin but clean. He walked straight to her, stopping a few paces away.

  “Are you Lilienne?” he asked, his voice quiet.

  She hesitated. “Who are you?”

  “I was told to find you. To take you to someone who can answer your questions.”

  “Who?”

  “Someone who knows what happened to General Nocthrein.”

  Her breath caught.

  She looked around one st time, then nodded.

  The boy led her through the winding streets, away from the pace, away from the crowd, toward the edge of the city.

  Toward the truth.