All Chapters of THE FORGOTTEN SON-IN-LAW : Chapter 231
- Chapter 240
275 chapters
Chapter Two hundred and Twenty
The Whisper Beneath Her SkinThe air in Thalenor was still — unnaturally so.Even the wind seemed afraid to breathe.Selene sat at the edge of the marble dais, the faint hum of the runes beneath her feet still resonating through her bones. Adrian lay motionless on the cot beside her, his chest rising and falling with a fragile rhythm that made her count every breath in silent fear.For hours, she hadn’t moved. Her eyes traced the curve of his face, memorizing every detail — the faint scar above his brow, the way his lashes brushed his cheek, the tension that never truly left his jaw even in sleep.He looked human again.But she could feel it — the shadow that coiled beneath his pulse.The Seers had withdrawn to their private chambers, leaving her alone with him. Yet, she could still feel their magic lingering in the air, an invisible weave of protection and warning.“Sleep,” she whispered, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. “You’ve fought long enough.”But even as she s
Chapter Two hundred and Twenty-one
The Prophecy of the Third DawnThe rain had begun to fall in earnest by the time the Seers gathered in the lower sanctum.A hundred candles burned in silence, their flames swaying like whispering tongues.The marble floor reflected their light, fractured and trembling — as if the world itself doubted its reflection.At the center stood Elder Veyra, the eldest among them, her silver eyes shadowed with thought. Around her, the Circle of Nine formed in a quiet ring, their robes a sea of muted gray.No one spoke for several moments. Only the steady drip of rain through the open dome broke the stillness.Finally, Veyra spoke.“She bears it now. The mark has taken the shadow’s hue.”A ripple of unease passed through the circle.One of the younger Seers, Maeon, lifted his gaze. “Are we certain it is the same corruption that touched the boy?”“Corruption?” Veyra repeated softly. “No, not corruption. The merging of two sources long separated.The boy was touched by the Master’s essence. The g
Chapter Two hundred and Twenty-two
The Space Between Their NamesThe rain had not yet stopped when Adrian opened his eyes.The world was gray — too gray — and the first thing he noticed was silence. Not the calm kind that soothes the soul, but the hollow quiet that follows when something vast has been broken.He lay on the wet stones of the courtyard, the storm whispering around him like a half-forgotten prayer. His breath came slow, uneven. His body felt heavier than it should — as though gravity had been rewritten for him alone. The ash still clung to his clothes, but beneath it, faint veins of light pulsed through his skin. He could feel it moving, slow and rhythmic, as if his blood had learned a new song.“Adrian.”The voice was soft — uncertain.He turned his head. Selene stood a few paces away, her cloak torn, her hair clinging to her face in dark ribbons. The mark along her collarbone burned faintly violet, pulsing in time with his own veins of light. She didn’t speak again. Neither did he. They only stared
Chapter Two hundred and Twenty-three
The Shrine of VoicesThe path to the shrine wound through the ruins of old Veyne — a forest of broken spires and moonlit stone, still whispering the language of ghosts. Selene rode alone, her cloak trailing behind her like a torn shadow. The rain had thinned to mist, yet the world still trembled faintly, as though the storm had left a memory behind.Each hoofbeat echoed too loudly in the night. The horse snorted uneasily, catching scents she could not — iron, incense, and something older.Selene’s hand drifted to the scar at her collarbone. It still pulsed faintly — violet and cold — and every beat carried an echo of another rhythm, far away but inescapable: Adrian’s heartbeat.Even now, it threaded through her like a tether she could neither sever nor follow.You shouldn’t have left him, whispered a voice that wasn’t hers.The voice was neither dark nor light — it came from somewhere between.She pressed a hand to her temple and forced it down. “Not now,” she breathed.The mist th
Chapter Two hundred and Twenty-four
When the Master SpeaksThe dawn came gray, stretched thin across the mountains. Selene had ridden until the night began to unravel, until the mist broke apart into ribbons of light. The silence of the world felt wrong — too hollow, too complete — as if something had taken a deep breath and forgotten to exhale.She dismounted at the crest of a hill overlooking Veyne’s outer valley. The town still slept, wrapped in smoke and fog, roofs glinting faintly beneath the dull sunrise. But as she watched, she felt it — that pulse again. Slow. Ancient. Familiar.The Master was awake.Selene’s fingers tightened around the reins. “You’re not supposed to be here,” she whispered to the wind. “Not yet.”No answer came. Only a faint hum, like distant thunder buried in the soil.When she entered the town, the people were already gathering. Bakers setting dough, blacksmiths kindling fires — all normal. Too normal. But something about their movements made her stop.A woman sweeping her doorway looked
Chapter Two hundred and Twenty-five
The Whispering ValeThe forest before her did not breathe like others.It pulsed.Selene halted at its threshold, the path beneath her boots coated in silver ash. The Whispering Vale — a place even seers spoke of in half-voices — spread before her like a wound in the world. Trees leaned inward, their trunks woven with veins of faint blue light, as if the forest itself carried memory instead of sap. The air hummed with words that could not quite be heard — prayers, regrets, echoes of those who had entered before and never returned.Veyra had begged her not to come.Even the Seers had burned the map centuries ago.But Selene could no longer afford the safety of ignorance. The Master’s voice was spreading — bleeding through the cracks of the mortal realm — and only one being had ever defied him.The Fallen Star.Her breath misted in the cold air as she stepped inside. The sound changed instantly. No birds, no rustling — just whispering. Dozens of voices layered over one another like
Chapter Two hundred and Twenty-six
The Voice Beneath the StormThe first thing Adrian felt was weight — not of stone, but of silence.He opened his eyes to a sky that no longer recognized itself. The clouds above Veyne churned like smoke through fractured glass, split by veins of crimson light that moved as if alive. The air smelled of rain and metal, of something holy dying slowly.He tried to move, and the world answered with thunder.The ground beneath him cracked in a ring, light seeping through the fissures — not fire, not magma, but something older, something that hummed in harmony with his pulse. He pushed himself to his knees, breath catching as he realized he was in the ruins of the cathedral — or what was left of it. The spires were gone, replaced by shards of stone suspended midair, circling him like slow, patient predators.His hands shook. They were no longer entirely his.Faint lines of light, dark silver like moonlit blood, traced from his fingertips to his forearms, pulsing with every heartbeat. Th
Chapter Two hundred and Sixty-seven
The Horizon TremblesThe first sign wasn’t thunder.It was silence.Kael froze halfway across the ridge that overlooked the valley of Veyne, his breath crystallizing in the air. The birds had stopped mid-flight. Even the trees had gone still — no wind, no rustle, no song. The entire horizon held its breath.Then the sky cracked open.A deep, bone-level vibration rolled through the ground. Kael staggered as the mountain beneath him shuddered like a living thing. Far below, the ruins of the old cathedral — Adrian’s last known refuge — glowed with a color that didn’t belong to this world: molten silver, threaded with veins of red like the veins of a living heart.Lightning struck the valley floor and stayed there — a column of burning light reaching from earth to heaven, pulsing like the world’s artery.Kael shielded his eyes, shouting above the roar, “Adrian!”No answer came — only the storm’s whisper, distant and haunting.He forced himself forward, boots slipping on the wet stone.
Chapter Two hundred and Sixty-eight
The Storm in Her VeinsThe first rumble reached her long before the lightning did.Selene had been standing on the monastery’s terrace, overlooking the frozen ridge, when the horizon began to pulse — a slow, rhythmic flicker, like a heartbeat buried under miles of cloud. For a moment, she thought it was just the coming rain. But then her chest tightened.No — it wasn’t rain. It was him.Her fingers dug into the stone rail. The bond, the thread she thought she’d buried under layers of will and silence, snapped awake like a wild thing. It surged through her veins, burning cold and hot all at once.The air thickened. The world dimmed. And suddenly, the whisper of his name echoed through every nerve.Adrian.She felt him before she saw him — a pull behind her ribs, primal and unstoppable. The wind shifted, carrying the scent of ozone and scorched metal. Somewhere deep inside her, a familiar voice — his voice — murmured words that made no sense but felt like goodbye.Her pulse quickened.
Chapter Two hundred and Sixty-nine
The Valley of Broken LightThe path down the ridge was almost gone.Selene moved through the ash-streaked snow, her boots slipping on the uneven ground where the blast had carved trenches into the earth. Each step sank with a hiss of steam.The closer she drew to the valley, the louder the silence became — a pressure in her skull that drowned out even her own heartbeat.All around her, the world looked scorched and beautiful in the same breath. Trees stood crystallized in mid-collapse, frozen into glass by heat that should never have touched winter. The mountainsides bled with faint rivers of light — molten energy, glowing like veins beneath the surface of the world.And in the middle of it all — a figure knelt in the crater’s heart.Her breath caught.It was him.Adrian.Or what was left of him.The air shimmered around his body, distorting him into fragments — half shadow, half light. His back was bare, streaked with the faint tracery of burning sigils, and his shoulders trembled