The dawn that broke over the city was not one of peace — it was a funeral dressed in gold. The rain had stopped, but the streets still glistened, reflecting the crimson banners that hung from every high-rise like arteries feeding a dying god. The empire had a new ruler now.And at the heart of it all, beneath the blackened sky, the Shadow Tower — once Dante’s sanctuary, now Selene’s throne — pulsed with the energy of rebirth.Inside, the grand hall was filled with the city’s elite — politicians, warlords, syndicate heads, and ghosts of men who’d once sworn allegiance to Dante. Now they knelt before the woman who had burned their godfather’s name into ash.Selene walked through the marble corridor in silence. The sound of her heels against the floor echoed like gunfire, commanding every gaze. She wore a gown of black and red — threads of shadow woven into silk — and around her neck hung a silver chain that once belonged to Dante himself.At the end of the hall, the throne awaited. The

The city no longer slept. It watched.From the rooftop cameras to the alleys that still bled rainwater, eyes seemed to peer from everywhere — half digital, half human, all afraid. The Queen’s paranoia had become law. Every door she passed through locked behind her, every word spoken in her empire was recorded, replayed, dissected for treason.Selene’s voice once commanded armies with grace. Now, it cracked through the intercom like the snap of a whip.“Find him. Burn every shadow. Leave nothing standing.”Her orders echoed down the steel corridors of the tower. Guards moved in formation, armored like soldiers but trembling like sinners. They didn’t speak her name aloud anymore. They called her the Phantom Queen — a ruler haunted by her own ghost.Inside her private chamber, Selene stood before the mirror, wearing Dante’s old insignia around her neck like a chain of guilt. She had tried to destroy it once — melted it, crushed it, buried it — but each morning it reappeared on her dresse

The sun never truly rose that morning. Instead, the world seemed wrapped in a pale mist, the kind that clung to the throat and whispered old secrets no one wanted to hear. Enzo stood by the tall window of his chamber, watching the faint outline of the palace gardens blur beneath the fog. He had not slept. Sleep had become an indulgence he could no longer afford.The air smelled of smoke and wet iron. Somewhere below, the guards were shifting in nervous silence, their boots echoing faintly against the marble. The palace felt different now—too quiet, too still—as if it held its breath for something dreadful.Enzo tightened the band around his wrist, the same one his father once wore during the Great Accord. It was not just an ornament; it was a promise, and promises in his world had a way of bleeding.He turned as Lila entered, her face pale but steady. She had traded her silks for a dark cloak, and her hair, usually neat, was a tangle of sleepless nights. When their eyes met, there was

The dawn that followed the fire was not a dawn at all. It was an echo—grey, hollow, and almost cruel in its stillness. The mountain air carried the ghost of smoke, and each gust of wind dragged the scent of death through the valley like a forgotten prayer.Lila had run until her legs gave out. She didn’t remember falling, or the roughness of the earth against her palms. When her eyes opened, the horizon was a sheet of ash, and where the citadel once stood, only a skeleton of stone remained.She pushed herself up slowly, wincing as her shoulder throbbed from where the blast had thrown her. Her cloak was torn, her hands blackened. But her fingers still clutched the small crest Enzo had given her—the last emblem of a dying empire.For a long time, she simply stared at it, her chest rising and falling with the weight of silence. The wind carried the faint clang of steel—scavengers, looters, the rats that always came after kings fell.She should have kept moving. She knew that. But her min

The campfire hissed as a log cracked in two, and sparks drifted into the dark sky like pieces of forgotten light. Enzo stood just beyond the glow, a phantom carved from the ruin of his own legend. The survivors stared, some whispering, others frozen, uncertain if they were seeing a man or a memory refusing to die.Lila was the first to move. She stepped closer, slow, cautious, the dagger still hidden behind her back. “You’re not real,” she said quietly. “You burned with the tower. I saw it.”Enzo tilted his head, the faintest hint of a smile on his face. “You saw fire. But you didn’t see the truth.”He looked thinner, his face sharper than she remembered. The scars on his hands were new—deep, angry things that told stories without words. His eyes still held that same cold fire, but now it burned differently—like something that had been to hell and crawled back out just to make sure the devil hadn’t stolen his name.Lila swallowed hard. “How?”Enzo’s gaze drifted toward the flames. “Be