CHAPTER 62: THE PHOENIX’S WARNING

The reports scattered across his study desk painted a picture of cautious success—Lyralei’s forces had withdrawn exactly as promised, trade negotiations were proceeding smoothly, and for the first time in weeks, his kingdom wasn’t under immediate threat of annihilation.

He should have been relieved. Should have been celebrating with his wives, planning for a future that suddenly seemed possible again. Instead, he sat alone in his study at near midnight, staring at the crystalline fragments scattered before him.

The obsidian crystal that had created the shadow realm. Or what was left of it.

Arthur picked up one of the larger pieces, feeling it pulse weakly in response to his touch. The shadow realm had been a one-time use, Beatrice had said. But the fragments... they still held something. Power. Potential. And lately, they’d been reacting to him in ways that made his skin crawl.

He focused on the fragment, trying to understand what he was feeling. The crystal grew warm, then hot, then—

Shadows erupted from his hands.

Not the controlled, purposeful darkness he’d wielded in the realm against Lyralei. This was wild, chaotic, hungry. Black tendrils lashed out from his fingers, wrapping around his desk, his chair, the very air itself. Papers scattered as reality rippled around them.

*Shit. That’s new.*

Arthur jerked his hands back, severing the connection. The shadows snapped back into him like rubber bands, leaving him gasping and his study looking like a tornado had passed through. His System interface flickered to life unbidden:

[EVOLUTION PROTOCOL: 12% UNSTABLE]

[WARNING: DIMENSIONAL BLEED DETECTED]

[RECOMMENDATION: SEEK PROFESSIONAL GUIDANCE]

"Professional guidance," Arthur muttered, running a hand through his hair. "Right. Because there’s a fucking manual for this."

He was still staring at the warning messages when his door burst open without so much as a knock. Hawklight stood in the doorway, his scarred face grim and his hand resting on his sword hilt.

"My lord, we have a situation."

Arthur quickly dismissed the System interface. "If it’s about the trade routes with the Eastern Coalition—"

"It’s Lyralei." Hawklight stepped into the room, his eyes quickly cataloguing the chaos. "He’s here. Alone. And Arthur..." The commander paused, which was never a good sign. Hawklight didn’t pause for anything short of imminent doom. "Something’s wrong with him."

A chill ran down Arthur’s spine that had nothing to do with the shadows still lurking at the edges of his vision. "Wrong how?"

"You need to see for yourself."

###

The meeting tent had been erected in the same field where they’d negotiated the treaty three days ago. As Arthur approached with Hawklight, he could see a single figure waiting inside, silhouetted against the magical light orbs that illuminated the pavilion.

But the silhouette was all wrong.

Where Lyralei had moved with the controlled grace of a predator just days before, now he sat hunched in his chair like an old man. When Arthur entered the tent, the Phoenix Emperor looked up, and Arthur had to bite back a curse.

Lyralei looked ancient.

The man who had seemed perhaps fifty during their duel now appeared closer to eighty. His hair had gone completely white, his skin hung loose on his frame, and liver spots dotted his hands. Only his eyes remained unchanged—sharp, intelligent, and filled with a desperation that made Arthur’s stomach clench.

"Surprised, Lionheart?" Lyralei’s voice was still strong, but it carried a rasp that hadn’t been there before. "This is what happens when the Phoenix stops burning."

Arthur took his seat slowly, his mind racing. "Your System—"

"Is completely gone. Not dormant. Not damaged. Gone." Lyralei leaned forward, and Arthur could see the tremor in his hands. "I’m actually eighty-three years old, Arthur. The Phoenix System didn’t just give me power—it kept me young. Without it..."

"You’re dying."

"We’re all dying. I’m just doing it faster." Lyralei managed a bitter smile. "I have perhaps five days before organ failure claims me. But that’s not why I’m here."

Arthur felt another pulse from the shadow fragments in his pocket. The darkness at the edges of his vision seemed to writhe with anticipation. "Then why are you here?"

"Because you’re about to become something worse than powerless." Lyralei’s eyes bored into his. "You’re about to become a monster."

The words hit Arthur like a physical blow. He thought of the shadows erupting from his hands, the hunger he’d been feeling when near other System users, the way reality seemed to bend around him lately.

"Explain."

"Shanghai. Thirty years ago." Lyralei’s voice took on the cadence of a man recounting a nightmare. "Marcus Chen. Brilliant transmigrator, just like you. Had something called a Void Walker System. Started combining powers, pushing the boundaries of what Systems could do."

Arthur’s blood turned to ice. "And?"

"He began consuming other Systems. Literally eating them. Absorbing their power, their essence, their users." Lyralei pulled out a small recording crystal, activating it with a touch. "Feel that pull when you’re near other System users? That hunger that whispers you could take their power and make it yours?"

Arthur’s silence was answer enough.

A holographic image sprang from the crystal—a man in his thirties, Asian features, standing in what looked like a ruined city. As Arthur watched, the man’s form began to shift. His skin darkened to living shadow, his eyes became pits of absolute void, and reality itself seemed to crack around him.

The most horrifying part was the expression on his face—or what was left of it. Pure, endless hunger.

"We couldn’t kill him," Lyralei said quietly. "Five transmigrators working together, and we couldn’t even hurt him. He’d become something beyond mortality, beyond death. We managed to trap him, barely."

"Where?"

"That’s not important. What matters is that your evolution is following the exact same pattern." Lyralei deactivated the crystal, the horrifying image vanishing. "Shadow realm creation. Reality manipulation. System fusion with divine energy. You’re maybe two months away from becoming him."

Arthur thought of the shadows erupting from his hands, of the way the fragments called to him, of the hunger that gnawed at him when he was near his wives and their System-enhanced abilities.

"What happens at critical mass?"

"You stop being Arthur Lionheart. You become hunger incarnate." Lyralei’s voice was grim. "The first targets are always the bonded. You’ll drain your wives dry without meaning to, absorbing their Systems, their souls, their very essence. Then you’ll move on to anyone else with power. Eventually, you’ll consume everything."

The tent fell silent except for the sound of Arthur’s ragged breathing. In his pocket, the shadow fragments pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat.

"So fix it," Arthur said finally. "You said you know how."

"I need my System active. The Phoenix has built-in evolution safeguards—protections we developed after Marcus." Lyralei met his eyes. "Which requires restoration."

"Which requires bonding. Like my brides." Arthur saw the trap immediately. "You’re asking me to bond with you."

"I’m asking you to save both our lives. And possibly the world." Lyralei’s desperation was starting to show through his imperial composure. "Plus, I have maybe five days before my organs shut down. We’re both running out of time."

Before Arthur could respond, the tent flap opened and Beatrice hurried in, still wearing her nightclothes and looking harried. She took one look at Lyralei and gasped.

"By the gods, what happened to you?"

"System withdrawal," Lyralei said dryly. "Your boyfriend here is about to experience something much worse."

Arthur quickly explained the situation, watching Beatrice’s face grow paler with each detail. When he finished, she was silent for a long moment, her brilliant mind working through the implications.

"The evolution markers," she said finally. "I should have seen them. The shadow realm was a catalyst, wasn’t it? It accelerated the process."

"Considerably," Lyralei confirmed. "At his current rate, he’ll reach critical mass within sixty days."

"And you can stop it?"

"With my System restored, yes. The Phoenix has safeguards specifically designed to prevent this kind of evolution. But restoration requires—"

"Bonding. Yes, I understand." Beatrice bit her lip, thinking furiously. "What about a proxy bond? Channel the restoration through an existing connection?"

Arthur blinked. "Is that possible?"

"Theoretically. It would require one of your current bonds to act as a bridge, channeling both your connection and the restoration energy." Beatrice looked between them. "It would be incredibly dangerous for whoever volunteers."

"I’ll do it."

All three of them turned to see Urzara standing in the tent entrance, her massive frame blocking out the moonlight. The orc queen looked between Arthur and Lyralei, her expression unreadable.

"Urzara, you don’t understand the risks—" Arthur began.

"I understand my mate is in danger," she interrupted, her voice carrying the finality of stone. "I understand an enemy offers help because the alternative is worse for everyone. And I understand that orc strength can bear what human fragility cannot." She crossed her arms, tusks gleaming. "I’ve handled worse than channeling phoenix fire. Done it in the breeding pits when my first mate was dying."

Lyralei studied her with new interest. "Your bonding is strong enough?"

"Ask him," Urzara jerked her chin toward Arthur. "Through our bond, I’ve felt what it’s like to touch shadow and void. Phoenix fire is just another flame."

Arthur felt the truth of her words through their connection. Urzara’s strength wasn’t just physical—her will was iron, her spirit unbreakable. If anyone could handle the strain of a proxy restoration, it was her.

"Three days," Lyralei said finally. "I need three days to prepare the ritual components and stabilize my body enough to handle the restoration. Any longer and I’ll be too weak to survive the process."

"And if it doesn’t work?" Arthur asked.

"Then you become the thing that ends the world, and I die in agony." Lyralei stood slowly, moving like a man made of glass. "But there’s one more thing you should know, Lionheart."

"What now?"

"Marcus had a student. Someone he taught his techniques before we caught him." Lyralei paused at the tent entrance. "We never found them. For thirty years, they’ve been out there, learning, growing, waiting."

"Waiting for what?"

"For someone else to evolve. For a new host to consume and replace." Lyralei’s ancient eyes met Arthur’s. "Your evolution isn’t random, boy. Someone’s been waiting for this."

As if triggered by his words, the shadow fragments in Arthur’s pocket pulsed violently. His System interface flickered to life:

[WARNING: VOID RESONANCE DETECTED]

[SOURCE: UNKNOWN]

[DISTANCE: UNKNOWN]

[THREAT LEVEL: CATASTROPHIC]

The tent’s shadows seemed to deepen, reaching toward Arthur with hungry tendrils. For just a moment, he could swear he heard something in the darkness between dimensions.

Laughter.

Cold, patient, and utterly inhuman.

"Three days," Arthur said, his voice steadier than he felt. "We try the proxy restoration. If it fails—"

"It won’t fail," Urzara said firmly. "It can’t."

As Lyralei disappeared into the night and the shadows slowly returned to normal, Arthur couldn’t shake the feeling that somewhere in the void between realities, something that had once been human was counting down the hours until its long patience was finally rewarded.