Dawn had not yet broken when the three fugitives slipped through the edge of the forest, cloaked in shadows and mist.The night air was cold and damp, curling around them like a second skin. Branches clawed at their cloaks as they moved swiftly beneath the cover of the trees, guided only by memory, instinct, and the map etched into Calen’s mind. Moonlight filtered through the high canopy in fractured beams, illuminating their path just enough to keep from stumbling.They spoke little.Every sound felt too loud—the crunch of leaves, the snap of a twig, the shift of Liora’s bow as it rubbed against her back.“This way,” Calen murmured, pointing toward a slope descending into a narrow valley. “The ruins are just beyond the ridge. There’s a pass hidden behind the thorn groves.”Carmen glanced up at the looming hillside, her breath visible in the chill. “Thornwall lives up to its name, I hope you know that.”“I know,” Calen said, pushing forward. “It was built centuries ago to keep out Vyn

The second-floor corridor felt narrower than Calen remembered, torchlight flickering over burnished armor and sharpened halberds. Two royal sentries stood firm before the Queen’s Wing, their gazes heavy beneath crested helms.Calen crouched behind a carved pillar, Carmen beside him—nervously wringing her hands—and Seraphina a shadow at their backs, eyes glowing faintly violet.Step one: distract the guards.Step two: get Seraphina to Elara’s chamber.Step three: teleport the Queen.Step four—Footsteps echoed from the far corridor. Two servants approached, carrying wine trays and muttering to each other. Their laughter cut through the silence, drawing the guards’ attention just enough.Seraphina moved.She extended a single hand toward the floor. A gleaming sigil flashed beneath one guard's feet, and before he could cry out, roots of shadow coiled up and yanked him into the darkness—no blood, no noise, just gone.The second guard whirled, hand halfway to his sword—too late. A pulse of

Moonlight glinted off the marble tiles of the courtyard as Calen Storm squared his shoulders. Across the open space, Evan Drake paced like a predator, firelight flickering along the edge of his sword. Around them, close to thirty Aerondale soldiers fanned out, steel at the ready—helms stamped with elemental sigils: flame, earth, wind, and water. But their eyes kept sliding back to Calen’s skin, where pale arcs of electricity crawled beneath the flesh, bright as lightning beneath glass.Behind Calen, Carmen pressed herself against a pillar, heart hammering. “You know,” she whispered, “I’m starting to think following you was a questionable life choice. Should’ve stayed with Liora and the horses.”“No arguments here,” Calen muttered, eyes locked on Evan. Stormlight pulsed at his fingertips.Evan’s lips curled into a sneer. “Well, look who finally crawled out of hiding. You’ve been a stain on Aerondale long enough, Storm. Tonight, I wipe it clean.”Calen’s eyes narrowed. “Still pretending

Seraphina’s boots skimmed inches above the shattered tiles, violet robes snapping and twisting in the dry wind of her levitation spell. Queen Elara floated beside her, limp and death‑pale, crimson trailing from the torn hem of her nightgown and pattering onto the cracked flagstones below. Ahead, the old Vynorian palace rose like a bleached skeleton—marble ribs and ivy sinews—cradling the last, hidden reach of the Sacred River.“Hold on, my queen,” Seraphina whispered, refusing to glance back at the thunder of approaching hooves. “Calen is safe—he’s coming. All that matters now is you, and the child.”Elara’s eyelids fluttered. Each breath rattled, so faint it scarcely stirred the air. Within her womb, the unborn storm‑fire kicked once, then fell desperately still.Seraphina pressed forward, weaving through toppled columns and archways littered with centuries of dust. Near the palace’s heart she reached a dry channel—once a gleaming aqueduct, now a cracked ribbon of stone scarred by dr

The shattered throne room of old Rivermoore had become a hive of hurried preparation. At its center, Seraphina knelt before an ancient scrying basin carved from riverstone veined with quartz. She dipped a palm into the cold water, murmuring syllables that predated recorded Vynorian scripture. With each word, glowing lines lit the basin’s rim until the runes flared like tiny suns.“Breath to wind, ink to will;oaths unbroken, answer still.By river’s claim and crown’s decree,let fallen banners fly to me.”Six watery scrolls rose from the basin—hollow cylinders of light—then streaked upward through cracks in the vaulted ceiling, trailing silver mist. One arrowed north toward the forest garrisons; another veered west, where riverfolk still guarded broken dams. In moments, they were gone.Calen stood nearby, arms folded, stormlight faintly pulsing beneath his skin.“That will reach them?”“If they’re alive—and still loyal,” Seraphina said, steadying herself on the basin’s rim. “The magic