The council chamber felt colder than stone, though torches burned in the sconces and shadows danced along the carved walls. Clara stood at the center, her hands clasped tightly before her, her heart pounding against her ribs like a war drum. Around her, the council argued in fractured voices, their words striking like arrows but never landing true. “The people waver!” one elder cried, slamming his palm against the table. “The scribe feeds their hunger with lies, and you, girl, would have us meet venom with patience? Each hour we wait, the serpent coils tighter!” Another, weary and lined with age, shook his head. “Strike too soon, and the people will not see a serpent—they will see a martyr. We risk giving him more power than he already holds.” Clara’s gaze swept them all, her voice steady though the storm within her raged. “We stand at a precipice. If we lean too far into fear, we fall into tyranny. If we lean too far into silence, we fall into ruin. Michael fights beyond these wall

The council chamber breathed unease. Shadows clung to the corners where torchlight did not reach, and every cough, every shift of a chair, seemed louder than the words spoken. The long table of carved oak, once a symbol of unity, had become a battlefield of whispered suspicions.Clara sat at its head, her back straight though her heart felt weighed down with stone. Jonathan stood at her shoulder, silent but watchful, his hand brushing the hilt of his blade as though sensing danger even within these walls. Her father, weary and pale, rubbed at his temples, his eyes darting across the restless faces of the council.It was Councillor Harun who broke the uneasy silence. His voice, though thin with age, carried a sharpness honed by fear.“We cannot keep waiting for Michael. Each day that passes without his return is a day the city weakens. Food grows scarce, the gates creak under strain, and the people lose faith. Must we cling to hope when what we need is action?”Murmurs rose like the ru

The air in the hidden chamber felt dense, as though every breath carried with it the dust of ages and the weight of decisions that could shatter or heal nations. Clara stood at the center of the stone-carved room, her eyes fixed upon the relics laid before her on an ancient altar: the fragments of the Crown of Illuminar. Once resplendent with gems that captured starlight itself, now it lay fractured, each shard whispering power yet incomplete.The scribe’s schemes echoed still in her mind—his words meant to seed doubt, to paint Michael as weakened, to twist the truth of their mission. Clara clenched her fists at the memory. His subtle manipulations had nearly drawn some of the people to despair. Even the strongest of them had shown cracks.But despair could not be allowed to take root. Not now.A hush fell as Ama entered quietly, her steps deliberate. Behind her came Gideon, his armor clinking softly, his expression unreadable. They exchanged no words at first, only looks heavy with u

The past chapters have carried us through fire and shadow. Clara stands at the heart of a city torn by hunger, whispers, and rebellion. The scribe’s venom spreads deeper, even within the council, while distant drums warn of an enemy drawing near. Yet Clara holds the line—her faith in Michael unbroken, even as visions reveal the scribe serves a darker master. And now, the storm marches closer, and Clara herself has become the enemy’s true prize…

Light and shadow warred around them as the broken gates sealed behind their steps. For a moment, the world was nothing but a blur of sound—wind howling like a thousand voices, the crackle of unseen fires, and the low hum of something ancient stirring beneath the surface.Then the storm subsided. Silence descended.Clara opened her eyes to a landscape that was both familiar and alien. The sky above was not blue nor gray but an ever-shifting canvas of muted gold and violet. Mountains rose in the distance like broken teeth, and the ground shimmered faintly, as though it remembered once being whole.Jonathan stood beside her, dazed but alive. “Where… are we?” he asked, voice echoing faintly, as if the air itself hesitated to carry sound.Michael’s wings folded tightly behind him. His gaze swept across the horizon, calm yet grim. “Between worlds. The place where creation and decay touch but never blend. The Veil.”“The Veil?” Clara repeated softly. The name alone carried weight, like a for