MBUS Book II : Nahat Adelaidein Roosevelt

THE EYES ABOVE THE STORM

WARNING: BRUTAL SCENES, HARSH WORDS, ANGER ISSUES, KILLING, DEATHS AND TRAUMA ARE PARTS OF THIS STORY.

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'·..➭ chapter thirty two
⇉ demon march arc

The storm raged outside, thunder rolling and lightning fracturing the night sky, but inside the Great Hall, the world was muted—an oppressive silence hanging heavy between the cold marble walls. The grand chandeliers flickered with artificial light, casting pale pools of illumination over the polished floor, sterile and untouched by the elements beyond.

Jass stood moments before, her chest rising and falling with uneven breaths, the subtle tremor in her frame betraying a quiet battle within. The tension of their recent argument still hung in the air like a fragile thread, taut and ready to snap.

Then, as if the weight of words finally broke something unseen, she faltered.

Her knees bent, faltered beneath her. Her shoulders shook with a mild tremor, and then she collapsed forward, landing softly but unsteady against the cold marble.

The Suzerain's eyes widened in alarm.

"Nahat Adelaidein!" he shouted, the name heavy with a deep, unspoken affection.

He was instantly at her side, voice raw with urgency, his hands trembling as he steadied her. Her breathing was shallow, quickened—not gasping, but uneven, caught between control and faltering.

"Breathe, Nahat. Look at me," he commanded, his voice sharp and filled with desperate authority. "Breathe."

Her chest rose in short, stuttering inhales; each exhale came too fast, too shallow. Her hands trembled faintly as they gripped the marble beneath her, seeking something steady.

The mild panic that gripped her mind twisted tight around her ribs, constricting, uncomfortable—but not overpowering. Still, it was enough to make her pale face flush with distress.

"Someone... get help!" The Suzerain's voice rose, urgent, commanding.

He barely had to call twice before the heavy footsteps echoed down the corridor.

Mr. Anderson, the Suzerain's loyal assistant, appeared almost instantly — a man with calm urgency in his eyes, carrying the weight of responsibility like a second skin.

"She's not breathing properly," the Suzerain said, voice strained. "Call for the Royal Doctor, now. Tell them to prepare for immediate intervention!"

Mr. Anderson bowed, already moving toward the communication chamber.

The Suzerain returned to kneeling beside Jass, his fingers brushing damp strands of hair from her pale face.

"Nahat Adelaidein... hold on," he whispered, heart tearing itself apart.

The room, the palace, the entire world seemed to shrink into this one moment, this fragile breath teetering on the edge between life and oblivion.

The weight of the moment pressed down like the relentless rain outside was cold, heavy, and unforgiving.

As the sound of hurried footsteps grew nearer, the Suzerain's heart remained tethered to a fragile thread, fragile as the breath still struggling against the storm in Jass's chest.

The doors of the Great Hall slid open with a soft hiss, releasing a rush of cold, recycled air that carried an eerie stillness. The overhead lights gleamed off the polished tiles floor too bright, too sterile, too unforgiving for the chaos waiting inside.

Rocaine entered first, her footsteps sharp and urgent. Walter was right behind her, breath shallow, chest rising too fast. Terri stumbled in next, already trembling. Elaine followed last, her eyes wide as she scanned the room.