The chamber was thick with tension, the weight of revelations hanging over them like an oppressive storm. Duke Thaddeus, fingers still steepled, exhaled through his nose, his gaze steady as he regarded Eryndor.
“Where is this Luca now?”
He expected an answer that would lead to an inquiry—a way to summon the swordsman, to question him directly. But the moment Eryndor hesitated, Thaddeus knew something was wrong.
The knight’s jaw tightened, and his hands clenched at his sides. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, almost reluctant.
“He was swallowed by the vortex, Your Grace.”
Silence.
Thaddeus’ fingers stopped tapping. A slow, heavy pause settled over the room as the words sank in.
“…Swallowed?” His voice remained steady, but there was a new sharpness beneath it, something keen and piercing.
Eryndor nodded. His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Yes, Your Grace.”
Edran spoke then, his voice hoarse. “We lost sight of him during the final moments of the battle. The Kraken had already decimated most of our forces, but the vortexes… they were the true death sentence.”
Another murmur passed through the gathered survivors. Some shifted uncomfortably, their faces darkened by memories they wished they could forget.
Thaddeus narrowed his eyes. “Explain.”
Eryndor took in a slow breath, steadying himself before he spoke. “The vortexes, Your Grace… They were unlike anything we’ve ever seen. They didn’t behave naturally. They didn’t move naturally.”
Edran nodded grimly. “At first, they appeared small, no different from whirlpools formed by the chaos of battle. But they… grew—fast. Too fast. The sea itself twisted unnaturally, pulling everything into them. And once they took hold of something, it was gone.”
Thaddeus frowned. “Gone? Ships are wrecked in storms. Men drown in the sea. What makes these vortexes different?”
Eryndor’s expression was grim. “Because there were no bodies.”
The room grew colder.
Thaddeus’ gaze sharpened. “No bodies?”
“None,” Edran confirmed, his voice edged with something uneasy. “Not a single survivor who got caught in them returned. No wreckage surfaced. No remains. The moment something fell in… it disappeared.”
Thaddeus felt something shift within him. A rare, unfamiliar feeling creeping at the edges of his mind.
Doubt.
Even in his years as a seasoned warrior, as a man who had faced countless horrors both natural and supernatural, this was something new. The sea devoured men, yes, but it returned them. A wreck, a body, something.
For nothing to remain…
“…And this happened to many?” His voice was quiet now, but it carried a dangerous undertone.
Eryndor exhaled. “Too many. We lost entire ships—not just to the Kraken, but to those vortexes. Adventurers, knights, mages—men of all ranks and skills were pulled in. No one who fell in resurfaced. It was as if the sea swallowed them whole.”
Thaddeus’ eyes flickered. “And yet Luca lasted.”
Eryndor hesitated, then gave a slow nod. “Yes, Your Grace. He was at the forefront, cutting through the Kraken’s assault. Even when the battlefield was falling apart, he was still fighting. But then…” He clenched his fists, his voice dipping lower. “He pushed the Mage Elara out of the way. Saved her from being taken.”
Elara.
That name was not unfamiliar to the Duke. He had heard reports of the young mage before—a skilled frost-wielder. But right now, she was not the focus of his interest.
Luca had pushed her out of the vortex’s grasp.
And had been taken himself.
Thaddeus leaned back in his chair, his mind shifting through possibilities. The Kraken had been enough of a disaster, but these vortexes… they changed everything. A monster could be fought, a storm endured, but an unnatural force that erased men and ships from existence? That was something else entirely.
And yet, in those final moments, Luca had been aware enough to act.
A 4-star who fought like a 5-star. A man whose strength seemed to surpass his limits. A swordsman who might have been the disciple of a high-ranked Awakened.
And now he was gone.
His fingers tightened against the armrest.
“This vortex,” he finally said, his voice measured, “you believe it was worse than the Kraken itself?”
Eryndor’s nod was immediate. “Without question.”
Edran exhaled. “The Kraken was a force of nature, but we could see it. It was tangible. We could at least fight back, even if it was futile.” His voice darkened. “But the vortex… it chose its victims. It appeared suddenly, pulled men in, and left nothing behind.”
The Duke’s expression remained unreadable, but his thoughts were already moving ahead.
This was not just a failed expedition.
This was something else.
Something no man had foreseen.
And Luca—whether by fate or by his own reckless will—had been taken by it.
The question now was not whether he had fallen.
The question was whether he would return.
The heavy silence in the chamber was shattered by the sudden creak of the door. All heads turned as the sound of hurried footsteps echoed against the marble floor.
Madeleina.
The Duke’s most trusted attendant, ever poised and composed, now stood at the threshold of the room looking disturbed. Her usual mask of calm control had cracked, and her face—pale, almost bloodless—betrayed the urgency of her message.
Thaddeus’ sharp eyes narrowed. Discover more content at My Virtual Library Empire
Something was wrong.
Madeleina took a deep breath before stepping forward. Though her formality remained intact, there was a slight tremor in her movements. Without waiting for permission, she bowed swiftly at the waist.
“Forgive my intrusion, Your Grace,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “But this could not wait.”
Thaddeus didn’t speak. He simply waited.
Then, Madeleina lifted her head, and in that moment, she dropped the weight of the world onto the chamber.
“Lady Aeliana…” Her breath hitched. “She was swallowed by the vortex.”
The chamber froze.
For a moment, there was only silence. A deep, suffocating stillness that pressed down on the gathered knights like a crushing wave.
The Duke did not move. Did not even breathe.
Then—
“What?” His voice was quiet, almost too calm, but those present could feel the storm brewing beneath the surface.
Madeleina clenched her hands into fists at her sides. “It… happened at the end of the battle,” she continued, her voice straining to remain steady. “The last of the vortexes had begun to dissipate, but then… then one surged beneath her platform.”
Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. “There was no time. No chance to react.”
Eryndor and Edran exchanged looks, their own horror deepening.
Lady Aeliana.
The Duke’s own daughter.
The silence in the chamber was absolute.
Madeleina, still bowed before him, did not move. Her head remained lowered, her posture rigid, but even she could not suppress the slight tremor in her shoulders.
The weight of the words she had spoken settled over the room like a suffocating storm.
Aeliana.
His daughter.
Swallowed by the vortex.
Thaddeus’ fingers curled, gripping the armrest of his chair with such force that the wood groaned beneath his grasp.
A crack splintered through the silence.
Not from the furniture, but from the air itself.
A pressure—his pressure—began to leak into the chamber. It was not conscious. It was not controlled. It was raw, unfettered, and as vast as the ocean beyond these walls.
The air grew heavy.
The flames of the oil lamps flickered wildly, as if gasping for breath.
The gathered knights instinctively stiffened, their bodies tensing under the sudden shift in atmosphere. Edran clenched his jaw, his hands tightening at his sides. Eryndor, battle-hardened as he was, exhaled slowly through his nose, his fingers twitching as if resisting the urge to move.
But it was Madeleina who bore the brunt of it.
The moment his gaze locked onto her, she felt it. The full, crushing weight of his fury.
She had served him for years. She had stood by his side in court, in war, in the shadows of the empire where few dared to tread. She had seen the Duke strike down men with a single command, witnessed his cold, calculated decisions that shifted the balance of power with the precision of a master strategist.
But this—
This was not the Duke.
This was a father.
A father whose daughter had been taken.
And she was the one responsible.
Madeleina’s breath hitched as the sheer pressure forced her deeper into her bow. The weight was immense, pressing against her bones, squeezing her chest until she could barely inhale.
And then, the Duke spoke.
His voice was low. Too low.
“Explain.”