The storm had been circling the citadel for three days.Wind howled through the towers, dragging loose stones down from the battlements, but Luca barely heard it anymore. The sound had become part of his nights, blending with the whisper that haunted him whenever the fire dimmed.Valeria’s voice.At first, it had been a comfort.A memory that soothed him through the weight of loneliness. Her laughter would echo in the corners of his thoughts; her touch would warm the cold spaces between breaths. But something had changed.He felt it the night she called him by a name she had never used.“Luca.” The voice had drifted from the corridor, soft but low, like a hand brushing the edge of a blade. “You shouldn’t fear what you’ve become.”He froze. The words pulsed in the dark like a heartbeat. He turned toward the sound, his eyes scanning the length of the empty hallway. The torches flickered, throwing light against the old stone, and for a moment, he thought he saw her standing near the stairway ag

The morning light barely touched the throne room. Thick curtains kept most of it out, leaving the air heavy with shadow. Luca sat motionless on the steps below the throne, his gaze fixed on the black mark across his palm. It pulsed faintly beneath the skin, like a secret heartbeat that belonged to someone else.He had not slept again. The rain had stopped, but the silence left behind felt stranger, as if the world was holding its breath.Voices murmured outside the door—guards changing shifts, servants whispering. He ignored them. Since the night in the hall, he had begun to hear another voice more clearly. Softer now, steady, almost soothing.It came when he was alone, threading through the quiet like smoke.You are stronger now.He didn’t speak aloud at first. He only listened, waiting."You were never meant to bow before the weight of grief," the voice continued. You were meant to command it.It was strange how much comfort it brought, even when he knew it shouldn’t.When Cassian entered,

The air in Valeria’s chamber never fully warmed, no matter how many candles Grace lit. The walls held a quiet that pressed against her ribs, a stillness that felt alive. She slept little that night. When she did, her dreams were heavy with whispers that slipped through the cracks of memory.By dawn, she rose and wandered through the corridors that once led to the old library. The citadel was still. The guards nodded as she passed, their eyes hollow with exhaustion. It had been months since anyone had heard laughter in these halls. Only the sound of wind and the occasional creak of stone.Grace stopped before a closed door marked with the sigil of the queen. She hesitated, then pushed it open.The library smelled of parchment and dust. Sunlight streamed through tall windows, touching the gold edges of forgotten books. She walked slowly between the shelves, her fingers tracing the spines. Many of them were works Valeria loved—histories, letters, and studies of magic and its cost. Grace rem

The chamber was colder than anything Grace had ever felt. It was not the kind of cold that numbed the skin but one that reached the soul, a chill that carried whispers from another time. The walls were carved with runes long faded, and the air hummed with something that had been waiting too long to be seen again.Luca stood at the center of the vault, his eyes fixed on the trembling light that rose from the broken sigil on the floor. It shimmered like smoke caught in sunlight, shifting between shadow and pale silver. Grace felt her breath catch as the air bent around them, the darkness forming the faint outline of a man. It was Luca, but not the one beside her. It was him as he had been once—wild, furious, lost.The echo tilted its head, studying them both. Its voice came soft at first, broken, almost unsure.“You brought her back.”Luca took a step forward, his jaw tightening. “You are not real.”The echo smiled, and the gesture was hauntingly familiar. “Neither was the man you tried to b

The sun rose slowly and uncertainly, as if it too feared what it might find beneath the ruins.I stood at the edge of the citadel, looking down at Eldara. Smoke still curled from the distant roofs, black against the pale sky. The city that once burned under my hand now looked smaller, fragile even. Streets where I had marched in rage were quiet now, lined with ash and broken stone.For a long time, I didn’t move. The air carried the smell of wet soot and earth, and beneath it, something cleaner. Rain. Life.Grace stood beside me, her cloak brushing the ground. She hadn’t spoken since we left the throne hall. Her silence was not heavy; it was a kind of peace. She just stood there, breathing in the morning, her eyes soft as if trying to convince the world it could still be beautiful.When she turned toward me, her voice was almost a whisper. “It’s different.”I followed her gaze. The light touched the city’s edge, sliding across roofs and ruins, painting them gold. The fire marks didn’t vani