That evening, the Emperor came to visit the girl. As was his habit, he presented himself with a closed, indifferent expression. In the captive’s mind, everything was clear. Her conversation with Owen a month earlier had given her hope. Yet nothing had changed. After each day her son spent by her side—encouraging her to remain patient—she still had to endure the same nightly torment.

  She did not resent him. On the contrary, she was grateful that he cared for her. He was the only one who did. She feared for her own life as much as for her son’s, and for that reason, she preferred to accept the circumstances rather than make waves. She endured. As always.

  But that evening, the atmosphere felt different. Something had shifted. The Emperor seemed more urgent, harsher than usual. Just as she was about to resign herself, the door flung open violently. Unable to see it from where she stood, she saw the Emperor pause and tilt his head slightly, a look of displeasure crossing his features.

  “STOP!” shouted a small, trembling voice.

  This time, the Emperor rose and faced the intruder, both of them motionless.

  “Thou shouldst not be here. Return to thy chambers. At once.”

  “No.”

  Owen rushed into the room and passed behind his father, deliberately ignoring him. He took his mother’s hand and helped her to stand. The Emperor followed him with his gaze, unflinching.

  “Leave her alone, now,” Owen added. “Even if my powers are useless… I promised I would… protect her. I don’t want to… go on… pretending nothing is wrong…”

  As he spoke, his voice trembled more and more, tears welling in his eyes. He began to cry, leaning against his mother. She held him close without taking her eyes off the Emperor, defiance blazing in her gaze.

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  “Thou shouldst make not promises thou canst not keep, Owen,” he finally said. “Make thyself ready.”

  In a fluid motion, he grabbed his son by the arm, yanked him sharply, and flung him to the center of the room, knocking over the table and chairs. The young mother cried out in horror.

  “I fear I have been too mild with ye both. ’Tis time, my son, thou shouldst know thou art not of sufficient strength. Not yet, at least.”

  Owen struggled to rise, feeling a warm trickle from the back of his head. He wavered but managed to regain his balance. Terrified, he lifted his head, determined to resist.

  “Please, stop! Owen, I beg you, go back to your room, it will be alright!” the young mother pleaded, in a desperate attempt to save her son from his father’s wrath.

  Unexpectedly, the Emperor did not move toward Owen. Instead, he turned to the girl, his determination clear, and seized her wrist.

  Suddenly, a shiver ran through the air. Space seemed to twist; a pale light enveloped them, and the room, her son, and all the chaos vanished in an instant. She barely had time to hear Owen’s scream, “NO!”

  In a fraction of a second, the Emperor and she found themselves in a place she did not recognize, resembling a prison. The sudden relocation made her dizzy, but he still held her firmly, preventing her from falling. He opened a cell and pushed her inside, locking it tightly.

  “A sojourn here shall do ye both much good,” he said sharply, betraying his anger.

  He left swiftly. Still dazed, the girl collapsed onto the cold, damp floor of her tiny cell.

  ???

  When his mother disappeared along with his father, Owen—still stunned from the blow he had received, overwhelmed by anger, frustration, and helplessness—collapsed. He had no strength left to cry, to scream, or even move. With a vacant stare, long minutes passed in deafening silence, broken only by the uneven rhythm of his breathing.

  When the guards arrived, seeing the confusion, they found the young prince injured and unconscious.