Germaine strode through the forest with calculated urgency, the tension in his shoulders betraying none of the dread coiling in his chest. The silver-leafed canopy cast shifting patterns of light across their path, but he found no beauty in it today. Beside him, Permeus walked with that infuriating casual grace, oblivious to the weight of what awaited them ahead.

  To be fair, being oblivious is Permeus’s specialty.

  “Are you finally going to tell me what we’re going to look at old friend?”

  “A raven, Your Majesty,” Germaine replied, his expression stoic

  Permeus’ eyebrow arched in mild amusement. “A raven? You’ve pulled me from my family breakfast to see a bird?”

  “Your loyal steward apologizes for disturbing you, Your Majesty, but it is paramount you look at this particular Raven,” Germaine responded.

  “I did not know you had such a fascination with ornithology, especially one so passionate,” Permeus replied.

  The attempted humor landed with a stone in still water. Germaine’s expression remained unmoved, his pale blue eyes fixed ahead.

  “This raven is not normal, I can assure you on that, Your Majesty.”

  He watched Permeus sigh and felt a flicker of satisfaction as recognition finally dawned in the Origin’s eyes. Good. Perhaps now he would understand that Germaine had not summoned him on a whim. The silver-skinned titan had served as the backbone of Titania since its founding, had never once called upon his king without just cause, and Permeus knew this.

  “What makes this raven special, then? Does it recite poetry? Play chess?” Permeus asked, still maintaining that insufferable lightness as he stepped over a fallen log.

  Germaine’s patience frayed. “It’s made of darkness.”

  The words hung between them, and Germaine watched as Permeus finally slowed his pace. The casual mask slipped, and those ancient eyes turned toward him with sharpness.

  “Have you sent word to the Nightrealm? This sounds like something within Dalia’s domain,” Permeus asked.

  “I would have,” Germaine acknowledged, “if I thought it came from the Nightrealm.”

  He saw the moment understanding struck. Permeus’ brow furrowed, the casual demeanor finally falling away completely.

  “I will need you to illuminate on that sentence old friend?”

  “Its aura... doesn’t feel like Dalia’s.” Germaine met his eyes directly. “You’ll understand when you see it, Your Majesty”

  As they entered the clearing, Germaine hung back slightly, watching Permeus approach the massive shadow raven. The advisor’s hands clenched at his sides as he observed his king’s reaction. He’d hoped—foolishly—that Permeus might take one look at the thing and order its immediate destruction. Instead, he watched the Origin kneel beside the creature with scholarly interest, and Germaine’s heart sank.

  Not Again

  “It feels...” Permeus began.

  “Ancient,” Germaine finished, the word bitter on his tongue.

  “Somehow older than creation itself.” He added, “I took a scan of it myself before calling you. Did not much like the results.”

  “How is this possible?” Permeus murmured, and Germaine heard the tone—that dangerous curiosity that had led to so many of the Origin’s extended absences from his duties.

  “I was going to ask you the same question, Your Majesty,” Germaine replied, crossing his arms. “Its energy signature bears similarities to the shards you’ve been studying.”

  “My shards exude an energy that feels benevolent and mystical. This...” Permeus gestured to the raven, “is something far more malevolent.”

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  At least they agreed on that much. Germaine studied his king’s profile as Permeus stared into the creature’s empty eye socket. The advisor had hoped that comparing the raven to the shards might spark some revelation, some understanding that would lead to the creature’s swift destruction. Instead, he could practically see the gears turning in Permeus’ mind.

  “Have you obtained anything useful from your study of the shards, Your majesty. Anything that can help us with this?” Germaine asked, unable to keep a note of criticism from his carefully neutral tone.

  Permeus stood and brushed dirt from his robes with maddening calm.

  “Admittedly, the only significant discovery I’ve made is that the shards burn with a super-hot white flame when they’re overloaded with energy.”

  Despite his frustration, Germaine found himself genuinely curious.

  “May I inquire how hot? Your Majesty”

  “Even hotter than my own,” The Origin admitted.

  The information struck Germaine silent for a moment. Permeus was the Origin of Immortality—his flame was legendary, the only fire that could permanently destroy an immortal being. For anything to burn hotter was theoretically impossible.

  Germaine processed it while studying the shadow raven’s attempts at self-repair. The implications were staggering, but he forced himself to focus on the immediate problem.

  “What would you have us do with this... thing? Your Majesty”

  He watched Permeus circle the creature, noting every detail: the wing attempting to reattach itself, the shadows knitting together like living tissue

  It is an abomination that defies natural law.

  Surely even he can see that.

  “Put it in a glass case,” Permeus decided, and Germaine’s heart plummeted. “Have it carted to the basement of the citadel. Post our best guards, titans who can be trusted to maintain absolute secrecy.”

  “And then?” Germaine prompted, though he already dreaded the answer.

  “I’ll experiment on it myself,” Permeus said, his eyes bright with enthusiasm. “And provide further instructions afterward.”

  “ I don’t mean to question your assessment Your Majesty but wouldn’t it be safer to incinerate it completely? Reduce it to nothing?”

  “Don’t you think that is rash?” Permeus asked.

  Rash?

  “You said it yourself, Your Majesty. This thing feels malevolent and even dead, powerful as well,” Germaine countered, his voice sharp with frustration. “I believe we should destroy it before it gets the chance to do anything we may not like.”

  “It is dead; it can do no such thing,” Permeus replied with infuriating dismissiveness.

  “It may be lifeless, but it still regenerates,” Germaine shot back.

  “Remarkable, I know,” Permeus said, returning his attention to the carcass with obvious fascination as the wing continued its grotesque attempts at reattachment.

  Germaine’s composure finally cracked. “You Majesty, we have to destroy it.”

  The knowing look Permeus gave him cut deep. “Why haven’t you erased it already then old friend?”

  The question struck at the heart of Germaine’s frustration and humiliation. He hadn’t wanted to involve Permeus at all. The Origin spent far too much time locked away with his research and far too little governing his realm. However, when the titans’ flames could not succeed and the shadows kept regenerating after each attempt, Germaine had to swallow his pride and summon his absent king.

  “Our flame wasn’t powerful enough,” he admitted, the words tasting like ash. “As I said, It regenerates. The titans, including myself, lack the necessary power to destroy it completely. We believed Your Majesty would have had enough”

  Instead of concern, Germaine watched Permeus’ eyes light up with even greater interest.

  “All the more reason to study it. This creature possesses remarkable properties.”

  There it was—the look that heralded another extended disappearance into research and experimentation. With the Union meeting approaching and the anniversary celebration still requiring coordination, Titania could not afford an absent king. Yet here Germaine found himself, watching his worst fears materialize.

  “I’ll see to it immediately,” he said, resignation heavy in his voice.

  Perhaps I can still salvage something from this disaster.

  “There’s also the matter of a blight infection affecting some of the Mystia stalks in the western fields.”

  “Can you handle it?” Permeus asked, his eyes never leaving the raven.

  The casual dismissal struck Germaine. Not ‘What do you need?’ or ‘How can I help?’ Just the assumption that his advisor would handle yet another crisis while the king indulged his other pursuits.

  “I believe so,” Germaine answered. “though my beloved wife Greta suggested I seek Your Majesty’s counsel on the matter. Perhaps you could raise the issue with the council during the meeting? Other Earth realms may have encountered similar problems. Golobus may sympathize.”

  For a moment, hope flickered as Permeus seemed to consider this.

  Then came the absent nod, the token acknowledgment.

  “Send a briefing of the situation to my desk. I’ll review it before the meeting.”

  But Germaine could see the truth written clearly in his king’s posture. Permeus was already mentally elsewhere, his focus entirely captured by the shadow raven. Throughout their entire exchange, his eyes had barely left the creature.

  “As you wish, Your Majesty,” Germaine said, unable to keep the frustration from his voice.

  He bowed stiffly and turned away, signaling to the guards at the clearing’s edge.

  Behind him, he could hear Permeus giving quiet instructions to the guards about transport and containment. The sound only deepened Germaine’s dread.

  Whatever ancient evil they had stumbled upon, it was about to become a permanent resident in the heart of their realm.

  And there was nothing he could do to stop it. He knew Permeus could be irresponsible and careless, and his decisions the same. He hoped this one was of a different kind.