CHAPTER 87: THE DISBELIEF OF SYLVENE

[: 3rd POV :]

As soon as the drop of Melira’s blood was carefully placed into Sylvene’s hands, a faint hum seemed to vibrate through the air, as if reality itself had paused to witness what was about to unfold.

Sylvene’s eyes, ancient and fathomless, glimmered with a strange iridescence.

Slowly, she raised her hands, palms facing the vial, and whispered words older than the continent itself—words that carried the weight of fate and the inevitability of destiny.

"Threads of Aeonbind..." she intoned, her voice echoing across the grand hall like a resonance of both warning and promise.

The moment the words left her lips, the air around them shimmered with a prismatic brilliance.

From the drop of blood, countless threads of red erupted, weaving outward in every direction, stretching and spiralling like the intricate web of fate itself.

Each strand pulsed with a life of its own, some tethering to Melira, some to Caelira, and others spiralling outward, vanishing into the unseen vastness beyond the palace walls.

The strings shimmered with infinite possibilities, vibrating with faint echoes of Daniel’s presence—or absence—through the continents.

A soft, almost musical chime seemed to resonate from each connection, like the heartbeat of reality itself aligning with destiny.

Sylvene’s eyes flicked rapidly across the threads, her expression unreadable at first, then shifting subtly with every passing moment.

Her brow furrowed as she traced a particularly dense knot of strings, her lips tightening.

Then her eyes widened slightly, as if a rare discovery had surfaced from the hidden currents of time.

Moments later, a faint exhale escaped her, almost inaudible, carrying with it awe, concern, and a silent hint of urgency.

Melira and Caelira both held their breath, sensing the raw power and the gravity of what was unfolding before them.

The hall seemed to stretch and warp around Sylvene, the air thick with anticipation, as if the palace itself leaned closer to witness the revelation.

Finally, Sylvene’s gaze returned to them, her face a tapestry of conflicting emotions: reverence, relief, and a shadow of unease.

Every second that passed amplified the tension, as though the threads themselves whispered secrets of places untrodden and dangers yet unseen.

"The threads... they stir," Sylvene murmured, her voice low and deliberate, almost hesitant.

"A life bound by blood, yet scattered across realms. Daniel’s path... is not simple. His essence... touches far more than I anticipated."

Melira’s heart tightened in her chest, a mixture of hope and apprehension warring within her.

Every pulse of those shimmering threads felt like a whisper of her son’s heartbeat, a fleeting confirmation that he lived—and that he was out there, somewhere, waiting to be found.

Caelira’s hand lightly brushed against Melira’s, grounding her, sharing in the silent anticipation that filled the room.

The threads of Aeonbind pulsed brighter, weaving ever more intricate patterns around the two Empresses, as if the fates themselves had paused to watch what would come next.

Sylvene’s gaze darkened, sharp and unyielding.

"This... is only the beginning. But now, we have a path."

And with that, the hall seemed to hold its breath, suspended between hope and the storm of what must come, as the threads of fate shimmered, pulsing with Daniel’s presence—fragile yet undeniable.

However, soon, Sylvene’s brow furrowed deeply as she traced the shimmering threads of Aeonbind, her eyes narrowing with concentration.

The air around her vibrated with tension, the threads twisting and pulsing with Daniel’s elusive essence.

"This... this is unexpected," she murmured, her voice heavy with both caution and disbelief.

The words hung in the hall like a fragile warning.

She shifted slightly, the light of the threads reflecting in her ancient eyes.

"His power... it’s not merely strong. It’s extraordinary—so strong that even my sight cannot fully penetrate it."

Melira and Caelira exchanged glances, a shared unease passing between them.

Even Sylvene, the Overseer who had lived since the First Generation, seemed unsettled.

"I can’t... I cannot even discern what kind of fate he carries,"

Sylvene continued, her tone tinged with frustration and awe.

"His essence resists the threads of destiny. Even the strands themselves seem... distorted, bending around him as if they dare not reveal the whole truth."

Despite the frustration, Sylvene pressed on.

Her hands moved gracefully, almost reverently, weaving through the threads as if coaxing them to yield their secrets.

Every pulse of the Aeonbind strands hummed with raw power, resonating with the presence of Daniel, elusive yet undeniable.

Melira’s violet eyes were wide with anticipation, and her heart pounded against her chest.

Caelira’s hands rested lightly on her shoulders, a grounding touch, though her own eyes reflected the same mix of awe and apprehension.

Then, moments later, the impossible happened. Sylvene’s golden eyes—ancient, powerful, and unwavering—began to shimmer with moisture.

The first tear fell silently, glinting in the radiant threads, then another, until streams of gold-tinted tears rolled freely down her face.

"How... how can... this be..."

Sylvene whispered, her voice breaking, almost a tremor of disbelief.

Her hands clenched at the edge of the table before her, as if the threads themselves were not enough to steady her.

Melira felt a jolt in her chest, the weight of foreboding pressing down like an anvil.

Something in Sylvene’s expression, the combination of awe and sorrow, sent a shiver down her spine.

Finally, Sylvene’s eyes seemed to lock onto a single point in the threads.

The strands pulsed violently, twisting and spiralling with unprecedented intensity, and in that moment, the location of Daniel became unmistakable.

But what Sylvene saw... it was beyond comprehension.

Images flashed through her mind: places, events, and consequences that shouldn’t have been possible.

Scenes of battles fought across the continent, strange anomalies in time and space, and distortions of reality that defied any known law.

Her voice, choked with emotion, barely carried through the hall.

"He... he shouldn’t exist in this way... His fate... it has been... rewritten. Torn, scattered... yet alive... yet surviving..."

Sylvene’s golden eyes widened as the threads of Aeonbind twisted violently around the drop of blood, pulling her through fragmented moments of Daniel’s life.

Every second, every heartbeat, every cry of anguish was laid bare before her—an unrelenting tapestry of pain and resilience.

What she saw first was the cruelty of his enslavement.

Scenes flashed rapidly: Daniel bound in chains, the whip’s bite across his flesh, the cold stone of dungeons pressing against him, his small hands raw from toil, his face streaked with tears and blood.

Sylvene’s breath caught in her throat, her lips trembling as the visions pierced her centuries-honed composure.

"No... no... this cannot be..." she whispered, her voice barely audible, yet weighted with centuries of wisdom and sorrow. S

he felt the sting of injustice as sharply as a dagger to her own heart.

Each lash, each moment of torment, reverberated through her soul.

Then the threads pulled her forward, and she saw the impossible: Daniel, against all odds, being teleported—carried by powers that should not have been wielded by someone so young, so human.

His form shimmered with energy, the rift of reality bending and screaming around him as he was cast into the Forbidden Continent, a place shrouded in death and peril.

Sylvene’s body trembled.

Her hands gripped the edge of the table until her knuckles were white, the threads reflecting in her eyes like molten gold.

She could see the burden he carried—more than any mortal should ever bear.

The air seemed to thicken around her, filled with the oppressive weight of his suffering and the impossible strength required to endure it.

Her voice broke as she spoke, almost instinctively, her words lost to the empty hall but resonant with her anguish.

"N-No... you shouldn’t do that... it’s not something that you carry on your shoulders..."

Her lips quivered, and tears—golden like her eyes—spilt freely, trailing down her ancient cheeks.

Her gaze was fixed on the threads, on the small yet unyielding figure of Daniel, and her heart ached with a sorrow that transcended time.

She wasn’t speaking to anyone but herself, yet every word carried the weight of a mother’s grief and a sage’s despair.

The centuries she had lived offered no guidance, no solace, for what she was witnessing was beyond comprehension.

A single mortal—yet extraordinary beyond measure—bearing pain and responsibility that should have crushed a dozen lifetimes.

Sylvene’s voice trembled as she muttered again, softer this time, almost a prayer:

"It’s too much... no one should have to carry this... not a child, not even the strongest among mortals..."

The threads pulsed violently, echoing Daniel’s heart and spirit, and Sylvene’s golden eyes shimmered with both tears and awe.

Sylvene’s eyes remained fixed on the threads of Aeonbind, but her heart was fracturing with each passing vision.

The images of Daniel did not relent—they poured forth in an endless torrent of torment, of battles that no child, no mortal, should ever have faced alone.

She cried out silently, her voice trembling, almost pleading with the vision itself.

"Stop... please... stop fighting! You don’t have to do this alone!"

But her words went unheard by the boy in the vision.

He was surrounded, countless monsters pressing in from every side, their claws and fangs glinting in the unrelenting darkness.

The sheer magnitude of his struggle made Sylvene’s chest ache; she could see the exhaustion in his every movement.

And yet, still, he fought.

Still, he persevered, unyielding against odds that should have shattered him long ago.

Sylvene’s hands clutched at her chest, trembling, as if she could reach through the threads and pull him from the endless tide of violence.

Her comrades’ faces appeared briefly in her mind—the ones who had tried and failed to save the Forbidden Continent.

Guilt coiled like a serpent around her heart.

"I failed him... all of us... we failed!" she whispered, voice breaking under the weight of despair.

Her tears fell freely now, streaking her cheeks with molten gold, hot and heavy.

The visions showed him moving through night and day without pause, battered but unbroken, weaving between monsters as if his very life depended on it—which it did.

And in that isolation, in that endless trial of survival, he was painfully alone.

No allies, no guidance—only his own resolve against a sea of darkness.

Sylvene pressed a hand to her lips, her breath ragged, uneven, as if the effort of watching had aged her centuries in seconds.

She could not tear her eyes away; every second brought both horror and awe.

She felt every wound, every struggle, every heartbeat as if it were her own.

Her knees buckled slightly as the Aeonbind threads dissolved, returning the room to stillness.

The air felt heavy, suffocating, as if the echoes of Daniel’s battles had lingered, imprinting themselves onto the walls themselves.

Sylvene’s chest heaved violently, her golden hair sticking to her tear-streaked face. Her lips quivered; her hands shook.

The room was silent save for her ragged breathing.

Her eyes, now red-rimmed and glistening with tears, reflected a mixture of sorrow, rage, and indescribable awe.

"Too much... too much for any mortal to bear... no child should carry this alone..." she whispered, almost to herself, voice cracking.

Her hands reached out instinctively, as if to embrace the boy she had never met in person but whose life had seared into her soul.

For the first time in centuries, Sylvene felt a raw, consuming helplessness.

She had all the knowledge, all the power, yet here was a mortal—her son, in a sense of fate—bearing unimaginable burdens, and there was nothing she could do to shield him from it...yet.