Bound by the Mark of Lies (BL)
Chapter 404 - 398: Goliath

Chapter 404: Chapter 398: Goliath

The ether‑car purred as it passed through the gates, its crystal core humming low beneath the hood, the sound vibrating faintly through the seat beneath Gabriel’s hands. The early light of morning scattered across the lacquered body of the convoy, glinting off mirrored panels and the faint glyphwork etched into the sides for warding.

They rolled into the main courtyard of the old palace, a place that felt like it had been built to impress first and function never. Gabriel stepped out as the door lifted and folded back, the faint hiss of pressurized ether releasing into the air.

The old palace loomed before him, a gaudy monument of ambition wrapped in stone and gold. White marble columns shot skyward, veined with threads of gilt. The fountains scattered across the courtyard spilled water infused with soft light, each ripple glimmering like liquid glass. Ether lanterns burned in jeweled sconces despite the daylight, their glow too bright, their cores humming with so much power that the air itself seemed heavy, thick with heat and charge.

Peter was already waiting near the grand stairway, hands folded neatly behind his back, dressed in black trimmed with silver thread, a predator draped in mourning attire.

"Finally," Peter said, his voice smooth and cold, a reprimand hidden inside a welcome. "We don’t make royalty wait, Gabriel."

Gabriel didn’t answer, only followed, boots striking the stone with measured calm. He felt the familiar drag of Peter’s gaze, the silent weight of the leash he’d once worn so tightly. But now? Now it was just a shadow he chose to step through.

Inside, the corridors stretched wide, mirrored panels and etched glass throwing fractured light across the floors. Statues lined the hall, every monarch immortalized in marble with eyes carved so sharply they seemed to track his movements. Gabriel remembered this walk, remembered the knots in his stomach each time Peter marched him through these halls toward some new demand.

They reached the throne chamber, and Peter slowed, gesturing to the heavy double doors. Two attendants bowed deeply, ether pistons in their ceremonial staves humming softly.

"You will speak with respect," Peter murmured, soft as poison. "Do not embarrass this house."

Gabriel didn’t dignify him with more than the faintest tilt of his head. The doors swung open, and light spilled in from high windows. The air smelled of old wax and incense, heavy and stifling. At the far end, Olivier sat waiting, draped in royal blue and silver, medals catching the light as though this world wanted him crowned in gold.

Peter began to step forward, drawing breath to announce Gabriel...

The far door burst open with a hiss of ether locks, and an attendant hurried in, bowing low enough that the motion seemed to pull the air from the room.

"Forgive the intrusion," the attendant said quickly, eyes lowered. "But His Excellency the Emperor requests Master Gabriel’s presence immediately."

The silence that followed was sharp, like the snap of a wire.

Peter’s brow twitched, the faintest crack in his composure. "The Emperor himself?"

"Yes," the attendant confirmed, glancing up with measured caution. "The summons is direct and nonnegotiable."

Gabriel let the silence stretch, eyes lifting to meet Olivier’s cold smile and Peter’s calculating stare. His pulse was calm and steady, the mark on his nape burning faintly like a brand of defiance.

He stepped forward, unhurried, his voice level.

"Then it seems," Gabriel said quietly, a thin smile touching his lips, "royalty will have to wait."

The attendant gestured toward another passage where tall brass doors waited, their ether locks glowing faint blue.

"This way, Master Gabriel," he said.

Gabriel walked across the room, each step deliberate, each movement a silent act of war. Behind him, Peter’s hand twitched as though he wanted to reach out, but protocol locked him in place. Olivier’s smile froze, just for an instant, a flicker of something dark shadowing his perfect calm.

The shard’s world trembled, subtle but enough for Gabriel to feel it.

The brass doors sealed with a soft hiss, shutting out Peter’s shadow and Olivier’s poisonous smile.

For a moment, there was only the low hum of ether conduits running through the high walls, the faint glow of lanterns guttering against carved stone.

Then Gabriel moved forward, every step measured, his eyes scanning the chamber that stretched ahead.

The Emperor’s private audience hall had none of the gaudy brightness of the throne room. Here, the marble was dark and veined like storm clouds. Heavy curtains dampened the sound, and the air smelled faintly of old paper and smoke, the residue of too many nights spent burning plans and records alike.

The weight of the shard’s world shifted with every step he took, but Gabriel walked on as though the very floor belonged to him.

At the far end, beneath a hanging lantern that glowed soft gold, the Emperor sat in a carved chair rather than a throne. His robes were heavy and black, edged in fading crimson, and his hair, once bright, now streaked with gray, fell unevenly to his shoulders. His hands, gloved, rested atop a cane more ornamental than functional, yet Gabriel saw the faint tremor there, the way his shoulders sagged as though the world itself had ground him down.

It was his eyes that caught Gabriel’s breath: sharp, clever, and far too alive for a man they had all called weak.

"Gabriel," the Emperor said, his voice low and roughened by years of disuse. "You walk as though you already know what you’ve stepped into."

Gabriel slowed, stopping a respectful distance away, bowing just enough to honor the man without bending to the throne behind him. "Your Excellency," he murmured, his tone smooth, unreadable. "I came as summoned."

Gabriel’s eyes narrowed, the faintest shift in his expression betraying the sharp calculation behind his calm. For the first time in his memory, he saw the Emperor truly straighten, with slow movements.

As he moved under the lantern light, the ether-burn scars on his face and hands became more visible, with faded silver and pale ridges winding like dead rivers across skin once unmarked. They crawled up his neck, disappearing beneath the high collar of his robes, and Gabriel could see now how uneven the fabric draped over him, how thin he had become, and yet... how powerful his presence felt despite it.

"You did," the Emperor said again, his voice a rasp of iron dragged over stone, brittle but unbroken. He stepped down from the dais, cane tapping softly against the polished floor, each step measured, as though testing the world that held them both.

Gabriel held his ground, eyes tracking him, every muscle coiled.

"You know," the Emperor continued, pausing within arm’s reach, his gaze sharpening like a blade’s edge, "Olivier thought that my soul would fuel his power."

The words landed heavy, the shard‑spun air trembling faintly, as if the world itself remembered that betrayal.

The Emperor’s smile was thin, dark, a secret unfurling. "Little did he know..." He drew a breath, the motion labored but alive, his eyes burning brighter under the lantern glow. "That it would make me free in this imaginary world."

Gabriel’s heartbeat kicked hard against his ribs, the shard’s hold faltering for a heartbeat, he felt it, a ripple through the corridor beyond, through the ether‑charged walls, like something had cracked just slightly under pressure.

’Fuck.’