A heavy silence fell over the temple as Calen’s words echoed like thunder across the sanctum:“Surrender now, and I will spare your queen.”The waters of the Sacred River, once writhing and defiant like a living creature in revolt, stilled around Elara’s broken figure. Its surface, once seething with ancient judgment, now shimmered with an eerie calm, as if the river itself had turned its face away.The priestesses of the river—robed in pale blue and silver—stood in clusters along the marble terraces, their faces streaked with tears. The echo of their chants had died in their throats. One of them, the eldest of the Waterkeepers, dropped to her knees, her voice brittle with disbelief.“How could the River… abandon us?”A younger acolyte let out a broken sob.“He wasn’t even touched by its judgment… the River… it did not stop him…”Among the scorched and battered commanders of Vynoria, murmurs turned into quiet anguish. General Maelin, her armor cracked and soaked with steam, shook her

The victory celebration in Aerondale lasted for seven nights and seven days.On the very first night, all of Ardenfell thundered with music and cheers. A towering bonfire was lit in Meridien Square, while blue-silver fireworks exploded across the night sky, forming the sigil of Aerondale: an eagle clutching a spear in its talons.The Hall of Echoes, the grand royal ballroom—larger than three cavalry fields—had been transformed into a starlit garden. Hundreds of lanterns floated mid-air, slowly drifting upward and glowing like lost stars descending to earth. Long banquet tables overflowed with roasted meats, spring fruits, and tiny cakes garnished with golden mint leaves.Musicians played harps, flutes, and drums, once with melodies of war, now turned to rhythms of triumph. Servants moved like shadows, refilling goblets with wine and mead from silver carafes.Calen Storm sat at the second seat of honor, not far from the King himself. His goblet was never empty, but he drank only in sma

Calen’s brow furrowed as he stepped back into the low lamplight. “What truth?”Lila’s breath caught, but she stood her ground. “The truth about how you feel. I need to know.”Calen’s jaw tensed. “We don’t need to talk about feelings. You and I—we're nothing now.”“I missed you,” Lila said, her voice barely more than a whisper, but it rang loud in the silence between them. “So much it made me sick.”Calen stood still in the dim light of the chamber, jaw clenched, arms at his sides as though bracing himself against her words.“I prayed for you every night,” Lila continued, stepping further into the room. “When news reached us that you'd survived, that you were leading the final charge—my heart nearly stopped. And then at the palace... seeing you again, alive, triumphant—” Her voice cracked. “It should’ve been the happiest moment of my life. But you barely looked at me.”Calen averted his gaze. “You shouldn’t be here.”“I couldn’t sleep,” she whispered. “Not when every time I closed my e

The rain beat against the tall windows of the Aerondale palace, a relentless drumming that echoed through the dim corridors like a war song turned sorrowful. The storm had rolled in not long after the last banner of celebration had been taken down—fitting, perhaps, for a Queen who could not share in the joy her people believed she should feel.Queen Elara stood by the window in silence, the heavy velvet curtains pushed aside. Outside, Aerondale’s golden towers blurred under the downpour, the once-vibrant city now veiled in a gray shroud. Her reflection in the glass was pale, weary, crowned only by the dim flicker of torchlight behind her. Her breath fogged the glass slightly, the only sign she was truly there and not some ghost caught in gilded captivity.In the center of the candlelit chamber, Seraphina watched her. The Prime Minister had been silent for several minutes now, sensing the storm inside her Queen was far greater than the one outside. A tray of untouched tea cooled on a l

The night deepened in the palace of Aerondale, a heavy silence settling over its stone bones like a velvet shroud. The storm that had once raged beyond its gilded towers had softened now to a gentle rhythm, a steady patter against high glass windows and ancient roofs, like fingers drumming on a coffin lid.Within one of the military chamber, Calen Storm lay in restless stillness, one arm flung across his brow, his shirt damp with sweat despite the chill. The fire in the hearth had dulled to a bed of glowing embers, casting faint, pulsing shadows across the floor like the slow beat of a dying heart. Thoughts swirled behind his closed eyes—memories, burdens, questions too sharp to silence. His body begged for rest, but his soul was too heavy, armored with truths unspoken and futures uncertain.And yet, sleep claimed him.For a while.A whisper stirred in the dark—soft, breathless, and impossibly near.“Calen…”His eyes flew open, breath caught in his throat. He sat upright in one motion