Chapter 87: Chapter 87: Throne With Tears

The air itself felt wrong from the very instant John stepped into the grand marble hall.

The palace was empty of music, warmth, or even the scent of morning incense; indeed, it was hollow now, as if something essential had been stolen from its heart. Every torch above them flickered weakly, as if in mourning. The echo of their footsteps traveled far too loudly beneath the arched ceiling.

And then John froze.

King Merlin sat on the throne.

But not as the wise, mighty ruler John had known all his life, not as the uncle who always welcomed him with a laugh and a heavy hand on the shoulder.

No-this man was different.

His crown sat crooked. His robe was wrinkled. His face… wet with tears that refused to stop falling. His eyes, once golden and proud as the sun, were now dimmed, red around the edges, exhausted, hollow.

John had never seen a king so broken.

“U-uncle…?” John whispered, his throat tightening.

At the sound of his voice, Merlin lifted his head. For a second, a spark of recognition flickered across his face—but it drowned instantly beneath the weight of despair.

“John.” Merlin breathed, his voice shaking. “You’re here.”

John sprang forward, kneeling beside him. “Uncle, what happened? The guards said nothing-no one would say anything! Where is Elsa?”

Merlin closed his eyes, his chest heaving. A single tear slipped down his cheek, then another. His hands tightened on the throne, as though holding himself whole.

“Elsa.” he whispered. “She is inside the palace. But her condition. is not good. Not good at all.”

A chill sank into John’s bones.

“What do you mean?” he demanded, voice rising. “What happened to her?! Who attacked her?!”

Merlin breathed shakily.

The king’s chief advisor, Richard, stepped from behind the throne, his face grim. “Young Lord John… Princess Elsa is alive only because she fought with the courage of a true heir. Her bravery alone kept her breathing. But…”

He swallowed.

“But she is fighting with death now.”

John’s heart stopped.

Merlin’s voice cracked as he continued, “A few days ago… Elsa insisted on visiting the village herself. She wanted to check the condition of the people living near the jungle border. She wanted to help them. She—she wanted to be a good princess.”

He then covered his face with one shaking hand.

“And because of her kindness… she walked right into a trap.”

John’s fists tightened until they shook. “Who attacked her?”

Merlin’s jaw clenched.

“A magician,” he whispered, “a powerful one, a Rank-A mage. named Mathew.”

John felt his blood turn to fire.

Rank A magicians were monsters in human skin. They could bend reality, warp light, change the battlefield with a flick of their fingers. To face one meant to face death itself.

“What did he want with her?” John growled.

Merlin slammed a hand onto the throne armrest. “To kill her! To punish the royal family! To strike fear into the heart of this kingdom!”

Richard stepped forward and continued, “When Princess Elsa reached the edge of the jungle… Mathew was waiting. And he did not come alone.”

A shiver crawled up John’s spine.

“W-What happened then?” he asked quietly.

Merlin closed his eyes, willing himself to talk.

“Let me tell you… what I saw through the memories of the surviving guard.”

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Flashback – The Battle in the Dark Jungle

The wind howled through the trees. The jungle was so silent the guards felt their own hearts beating louder than the leaves.

Elsa walked ahead of them, her cloak fluttering behind her, the sword strapped across her back. She was small, delicate in appearance—yet her steps carried confidence that rivaled any warrior.

“Stay alert,” she had said. “Something feels wrong.”

Her instincts were right.

Because the moment they reached a clearing, the ground beneath them rippled-like water struck by a stone.

Then the trees contorted, their branches bending unnaturally.

A figure in shadow stepped forward.

Mathew.

Crimson symbols glowed within his eyes, and his cloak fluttered with magical energy. His smile was cold and sharp enough to cut bone.

“Well, well… the little princess herself,” he drawled. “How kind of you to come right where I wanted you.”

The guards instantly drew their weapons.

Elsa did too-her silver blade shimmering under the dim light of the jungle.

“Who are you?” she demanded.

Mathew bowed mockingly. “One who will end your bloodline.”

He lifted his hand.

Magical runes burst into the air.

Then all hell broke loose.

A wave of force exploded outwards, tossing several of the guards into the trees like so many ragdolls. Elsa leaped forward, her sword clashing against Mathew’s summoned blade of arcane light.

Sparks burst around them.

Elsa swung again, fast, sharp, controlled.

Mathew deflected it with a flick of his wrist.

“Not bad,” he sneered. “For a child.”

Elsa clenched her teeth. “I’m not a child!”

She sprang forward once more, her speed this time catching even him by surprise. Her sword slashed across his arm-a clean, precise cut.

Mathew hissed, “You brat!”

He slammed his staff into the ground.

A dome of darkness burst forth.

His Domain.

In the Domain, illusions twisted. Time ran slow, sped up, reversed for seconds at a time. A thousand phantom Mathews appeared at once, all attacking with lethal precision.

Elsa blocked. Dodged. Rolled.

She struggled with all her might, not willing to fall, as blood smeared the ground.

One of the guards tried to reach her.

Mathew impaled him instantly with a spear of pure light.

Another guard leaped to shield her.

Mathew crushed him with gravitational force.

Yet Elsa stood.

She slashed, sliced, and screamed with the fury of a warrior far beyond her age.

She cut through three of his illusions, struck the real Mathew once more-but her body was tiring. Her lungs burned. Her vision blurred.

Mathew stepped forward, his eyes gleaming. “Fall asleep, little princess.”

He laid a reassuring hand on her forehead.

Time warped.

Elsa’s consciousness was tugged into an endless loop of torture, illusions of pain, death, rebirth, and suffering eternally repeating.

She fainted.

Mathew raised his staff to finish her—

Yet the last three guards hurled themselves at him, to their deaths. Their bodies absorbed the attack, sheltering her in their last breaths.

Mathew snarled, “Useless pests.”

Before he could strike again, a sudden roar echoed through the jungle—villagers’ voices approaching.

Mathew vanished into mist.

A young village boy, no older than thirteen, ran into the clearing. Seeing her royal sigil, he dropped to his knees and cried for help before carrying her fragile, broken body toward the village.

—

Back in the Present – The Throne Room

Tears pricked at the corners of John’s eyes.

Elsa… that brave, stubborn girl… had faced a Rank A magician by herself. She had fought until her last breath. She gave everything.

“Where is she now?” John whispered hoarsely.

Merlin swallowed. “In the Moonstone Chamber. Healing. barely.”

John stared at him. “Barely? But you’re a king; you have healer powers. Why didn’t you heal her!”

Merlin slammed his hand against the throne.

“I DID!” he roared. “I healed her for an entire day and night! I pushed every ounce of my magic into her!”

His voice cracked.

His shoulders slumped.

“But her wounds… are not just physical.”

He lifted his shaking hand and placed it over his heart, as if to steady the ache.

“Mathew put her in a Domain that just tortured her mentally over and over. She gave up. Her spirit is exhausted. Her consciousness is buried. And more than anything.

His voice dropped to a whisper.

“If she cannot awaken on her own… she will not survive.”

Silence ensued.

Richard stepped forward. “Her body is healing slowly… but her mind is lost somewhere in the darkness. Only she can return herself.”

John felt the world tilt.

Elsa, the girl who laughed too loudly.

Elsa, who trained with him under the moon.

Elsa, who at all times protected the weak even when she was weak herself.

Now lying unconscious.

Alone.

Suffering.

Something inside John snapped.

His hands clenched like claws. His breath turned ragged.

“That magician.” John was whispering, his teeth grinding. “That monster named Mathew. I’ll kill him.”

Merlin looked at him with exhausted eyes. “Revenge will not bring Elsa back.”

“No,” John growled, “but it will ensure no one else ends up like her.”

His voice thundered through the hall. “I will find him. And I will end him.” The torches danced, casting angry shadows on the walls, as if reacting to his fury. He bowed his head. “Before vengeance… you must see her.” John nodded once. His heart was racing with fear, grief, and burning rage. “Take me to her,” he whispered. Because if Elsa didn’t wake soon… yet she might never wake again but

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