The palace servants moved like dancers, wrapping the sacred robes of Elyria around the twins.
White silk, trimmed with gold, draped over Daemon's lean frame like a ceremonial shroud. The cloth felt weightless—but the weight of the moment? He could feel it crushing his bones.
On his head, they placed a golden laurel, shaped like crescent leaves.
"Like gods from the old myths," a maid whispered. "The Sun and Moon."
Gabriel turned, basking in the praise like it was owed to him. "Of course. I was born for this."
Daemon didn't respond. His reflection in the mirror stared back, regal and cold—a false prince wrapped in divine lies.
Another maid, while tying his sash, murmured absently, "you really look like Lady Rose..."
The room froze.
A sharp crack echoed as another maid stomped on her foot.
Silence.
Daemon's lips curved slightly. So they still whisper about her... My real mother.
A trumpet blared from the outer courtyard.
A royal guard announced, "His Majesty summons the princes. The procession to the Holy Temple of Elyria begins."
Gabriel grinned, grabbing Daemon's arm. "Try not to trip in front of the church, brother. Don't embarrass the family."
Daemon gave a small smile. "Just don't wet yourself this time when the priests start chanting."
Gabriel's face turned red. "You little—"
"Boys."
Bianca's voice cut clean through the hall.
She stood poised at the entrance, cloaked in velvet robes, expression calm and unreadable. Ice behind her eyes. Grace in every movement.
And beside her, clad in obsidian armor threaded with glowing red sigils, was King Aleric Dominick III.
His presence was suffocating. The walls seemed to pull inward, leaning toward him. Even silence bent to his will.
He said nothing at first—just looked.
Gabriel.
Then Daemon.
His gaze paused there, unreadable. Not warmth. Not pride.
Calculation.
Finally, he spoke.
"Today's baptism will serve two purposes. One—to begin the trial for crown prince. And two—to determine which of you bears the mark."
His voice was even. Measured.
"The mark of the Hero."
A pause.
"Or the Demon King."
Gabriel flinched slightly. "Do we really have to do this? I mean... none of that stuff is real, right?"
Daemon glanced at him but said nothing. He already knew how it would play out. The roles had been chosen long before they were born likely they won't kill him but rather his reputation will ruin him.
And whatever happened next... no one would walk away clean.
The royal carriage awaited them outside—gold-trimmed, drawn by four black-plumed steeds.
The doors opened.
The golden gates of the palace opened with a hiss of enchanted steel, revealing the heart of Varyndor—a kingdom so rich it gleamed beneath the noon sun like a god's coin.
The royal carriage rolled forward, pulled by six silver-maned drakes, their scales polished to mirror shine. Daemon and Gabriel sat opposite each other inside, dressed in white ceremonial robes, the fabric shimmering with divine runes.
Outside, the capital stirred.
Varyndor, walled and warded, was divided into six grand districts—each devoted to a different pillar of power: Trade, War, Magic, Faith, Nobility, and the Slums.
And at the very center, visible from every corner of the kingdom, rose the Holy Temple of Elyria—a towering white cathedral carved from blessed marble, with spires that kissed the clouds. Before its gates stood a colossal statue of the goddess Gaia, her eyes eternally weeping.
In her stone hands rested a chalice—The Tears of Judgment.
As the procession passed, citizens lined the streets, tossing blue lilies in the carriage's path. The air filled with petals and prayers.
Daemon's crimson eyes scanned the faces—smiling, worshipping.
He smiled faintly. Blue lilies...
They were a tradition in Varyndor, an ancient symbol of purity and rebirth. When he was young—tin his past life—he used to believe in that meaning.
But rebirth, he'd learned, came drenched in blood, not flowers.
He turned to the window, watching the people chant their name.
They reached the temple gates.
Massive, holy. The kind of place that made even nobles bow their heads.
Gabriel pressed his nose to the glass like a child seeing paradise.
Daemon stared at the cathedral.
Long time no see.
The steps leading to the Holy Temple of Elyria were wide enough for an army, each one carved from glistening white stone veined with silver. There were eighty-eight steps—one for each divine virtue, or so the priests claimed.
Gabriel walked with his head high, basking in the attention.
Daemon walked beside him, calm and quiet, yet burning inside.
Noble children lined the marble terraces, their eyes wide at the sight of the princes. Whispers swept the temple like wind over glass.
"Look it's prince Daemon and Gabriel ..."
"They're twins but they look different "
Parents subtly nudged their daughters forward, trying to catch the eye of royalty. Silks rustled. Perfume hung in the air like fog.
And then Daemon saw her.
White hair. Blue eyes. A face carved like ice and diamonds.
Vivian Starling, daughter of Duke Starling—the girl betrothed to Gabriel in Daemon's past life.
They reached the top of the steps. The grand gates of the temple swung open.
From within emerged a group of white-robed figures—the priests of Elyria, walking in perfect formation, heads bowed.
At the center stood High Priest Orlan, now older but no less fearsome. His golden staff gleamed with divine inscriptions, and his eyes held the chill of judgment.
He stopped before the royal family and bowed deeply.
"Your Majesty, King Aleric Dominick the Third, flame of the throne. Your grace, Queen Bianca Donovan, light of the court. We welcome you and your divine sons to the sanctuary of Gaia."
The king said nothing. His mere presence was answer enough.
Even the high priest looked away after a moment—the pressure of a 11-Star: Solar Core Realm. was too much for anyone to meet head-on.
Then, Orlan turned toward Gabriel and Daemon. "And you, sons of eclipse... come. The time of truth has arrived."
A bell tolled above.
The ceremony was about to begin.