CHAPTER 10 — THE CHOICE OF THE THREE HEIRS
No sword was raised.
No one moved.
The silence inside the Vault of Kings was heavier than any battle.
Elara looked at the young woman standing before her.
Same eyes.
Same hair.
The resemblance was unmistakable.
Only years of different lives separated them.
Lyra's gaze remained fixed on the royal family.
"I grew up believing you abandoned me."
She looked at the king.
"I was told you chose power over your own child."
Tears filled Queen Helena's eyes.
"We searched for you every day."
"They lied to you."
For the first time, uncertainty crossed Lyra's face.
The Grand Master stepped forward.
"Don't listen to them."
"They need you because the Chronicle has revealed the truth."
He drew his sword.
"The throne belongs to the strongest."
Before anyone could react, Rowan blocked the strike.
Their blades collided with a deafening clang.
Prince Adrian joined the fight, forcing the Grand Master away from the Chronicle.
Meanwhile, Elara walked slowly toward Lyra.
She carried no weapon.
Only the silver pendant they had all recognized.
"I don't know what you've suffered," Elara said softly.
"But I know what it feels like to grow up believing you didn't belong."
Lyra's hand tightened around her sword.
"I don't need your pity."
"This isn't pity."
"It's a choice."
Elara removed the pendant from her neck.
"Our mother placed this on me when I was a baby."
She gently held it out.
"If you truly are my sister... then you've lost just as much as I have."
Lyra stared at the pendant.
Memories flashed through her mind.
A lullaby.
A woman's warm embrace.
A palace window.
A fire.
For the first time in years, tears rolled down her face.
Behind them, the Grand Master shouted in rage.
"You fool!"
He rushed toward the sisters with his blade raised.
But before he reached them, Lyra turned.
With one swift movement, she intercepted his attack.
Steel pierced steel.
The Grand Master's sword shattered.
Royal guards surrounded him from every direction.
His long reign of fear was over.
As dawn broke above the palace, the king embraced his daughters and his son.
The Royal Chronicle closed on its own.
Its final line read:
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"A kingdom is not preserved by blood alone, but by the courage to choose truth over hatred."
For the first time in more than twenty years, peace returned to the palace—not because every wound had healed, but because the family that had been torn apart by lies had finally found one another again.
