The mist thickened with every step.What had once drifted in harmless tendrils now writhed like living things—coiling up the walls, creeping along the floor, slick and sentient. Carmen’s boots splashed into a shallow puddle. She froze.“There wasn’t water here before…” she whispered.Calen crouched, touching the ground. A smear of dark, viscous liquid clung to his fingertips.“Shadow ichor,” he said grimly. “Residual essence from old magic. The seal is bleeding.”“Wonderful,” Liora muttered. “So now the temple’s leaking ancient demon juice. Perfect.”Then the air shifted. Not visibly—but Carmen felt it. A tug in her chest. The corridor didn’t twist, and yet… something was off. The stone felt farther. The air, heavier. Time slowed.Calen stopped. “Wait.”“What now?” Liora said, low and sharp.His eyes narrowed. “The corridor—it’s longer. Too long.”They turned. The archway behind them had vanished into shadow. And the exit ahead... gone.“We’re not in the same space anymore, are we?” C

Darkness cradled her.Carmen drifted through layers of silence, heavier than sleep, deeper than dreams. And then—light. Faint at first, then blazing like memory returned.A vision bloomed before her.She stood not as herself, but within someone else—eyes she did not own, heart pounding to a rhythm not hers.A grand hall shimmered beneath her feet, draped in silver banners and carved obsidian pillars. Torches flickered with blue fire. The air was warm, filled with the scent of myrrh and ember-scorched silk. And on the dais ahead, a woman stood tall—regal, proud, yet with sorrow carved into the lines of her brow.The Queen.No name came to Carmen’s lips, but she knew. She felt it. This was the flameborne sovereign of old—ruler of Drakhtarion during its golden age. Her crimson gown billowed like fire itself, and in her arms she cradled a newborn, wrapped in scalesilk and light.A child.The Queen pressed her lips to the infant’s brow, her voice a tremor in the quiet. “You were born from

The war room of Aerondale lay cloaked in shadow, a hush so thick it seemed to absorb even the flicker of flame. Only the enchanted braziers, pulsing faintly with bluish fire, offered light—casting ghostly silhouettes on the towering stone walls and across the mosaic floor, where ancient runes had been carved and long forgotten. Figures in hooded robes stood in reverent silence, their cloaks pooling like spilled ink over the marble. Priests who read omens in ash, alchemists who bent metal to the will of time, and seers whose dreams whispered of fates yet to come—all gathered before the throne.At the head of the room, beneath the towering banners of House Ashford, sat King Theron, draped in silence and wrapped in tightly reined fury. His hands, scarred from old wars, were steepled beneath his chin. His eyes—cold, cutting, and unreadable—scanned the assembly like a drawn blade seeking its mark. At his side lay Ashrend, the legendary sword forged from the scale of Tharstan, the last Drag

The chamber beyond the throne room was colder than usual—not from weather, but from intent.King Theron Ashford stood by the arched window of blackstone, gazing down at the training yards below, where soldiers sparred in formation. His cloak of crimson and obsidian hung motionless behind him, as though even the wind hesitated to disturb him this morning.Behind him, heavy doors creaked open.Footsteps, measured and confident, echoed into the hall. Then a voice—smooth, crisp.“Your Majesty.”Theron didn’t turn. “Evan Drake.”Evan approached with a bow, pride tucked neatly behind the practiced poise of a loyal subject. But his eyes gleamed—he had heard.He had always watched Calen Storm from the shadows—envied him, resented him. And now, at last, the crown had declared Calen an enemy of the realm. A traitor.It was time.Theron finally turned, expression carved from stone.“You’ve heard the decree.”“I have,” Evan said, his voice composed but edged with satisfaction. “Calen Storm has be

The forest lay hushed beneath a velvet sky, broken only by the gentle crackle of fire and the distant chirp of crickets beyond the trees. Overhead, stars glimmered like cold, watchful eyes—silent witnesses to secrets whispered beneath their gaze.Calen sat near the flames, a strip of charred venison in hand, chewing without thought. His eyes were distant, lost in a storm of worry, and the meat might as well have been stone for all he tasted. The warmth of the fire didn’t seem to reach him.Carmen and Liora exchanged a glance.“You’re not even tasting that,” Liora murmured, nudging his boot with hers.Calen blinked, as if waking from a dream, then exhaled slowly. “Sorry. I just… I can’t stop thinking about her.”“Elara,” Carmen guessed. “And the child.”He nodded, shoulders tense. “I left them behind thinking they’d be safe. But I should’ve known Theron would twist everything. And Elara…” He hesitated, jaw tight. “She tricked me.”Liora arched a brow. “Tricked you how?”Calen lifted hi