Harlan Voss hadn’t slept in three nights.Not properly.The kind of sleep where your eyes close and your mind quiets. No, his nights were full of half-dreams falling airships, gray eyes staring up from the dust, crimson mist coiling like smoke from a wound he couldn’t cauterize and every time he jolted awake, the manor’s tilt greeted him like an accusation, the floor sloping just enough now that his boots slid a fraction when he paced the throne hall’s polished marble, the sound of his steps uneven, off-balance, the way everything felt lately.He stood at the high window again, hands braced on the sill, knuckles white against the gold trim that used to gleam like it meant something. The view below was shrinking Greyhaven’s platforms closer every day, the siege lines clearer, tiny figures moving like ants around fires that burned too steadily, too long. His father sat behind him on the throne still throne, even with half the cores dead face carved from stone, flame aura dimmed to a lo

The manor hung lower than ever now, so close some mornings I could almost reach out and touch the bottom spires if I stood on my toes and stretched, the gold paint peeling in long strips that fluttered down like dying leaves every time the wind gusted hard, and the smell that came with it was worse up close hot iron cooling too fast, mana cores hissing like wet coals, the faint sour rot of things burning out inside a house that had once thought itself untouchable. I stood there alone for a while, cloak wrapped tight, the pull in my side a dull ache that flared when I breathed deep but didn’t stop me from watching the slow collapse, the way the lights blinked out section by section like someone inside was giving up room by room. Liora found me when the sky turned the color of old bruises, steps soft on the stone, the faint rustle of her cloak the only warning before her shoulder pressed against mine, warm and steady in the gray light. She didn’t speak at first. Just stood with me.

The manor’s groan had become a constant now, a deep, grinding complaint that vibrated up through the stone under our feet and into our bones every time we moved, like the whole structure was trying to speak one last time before it gave up completely, and the air that drifted down from above tasted of rust and dying heat, the kind of taste that lingers on your tongue and makes you swallow hard just to get rid of it. I woke before the others again, the ache in my side a dull, familiar pulse that no longer surprised me, only reminded me with every breath that I was still here, still fighting, still bleeding in places that didn’t show on the outside. The cavern was quiet except for Rag’s low rumble of a snore and Mira’s small, even breaths where she curled against his arm, her drawing parchment crinkled under her cheek, the crimson wolves she’d scratched out last night staring up at me with charcoal eyes. I sat up slow. Liora stirred beside me. Her hand found my wrist before her eyes

The cavern went still the moment Seraphine’s flame flared toward the entrance, not bright enough to blind, but sharp enough to cut through the dim like a knife through cloth, and in that instant the fire in the middle seemed to shrink back, as though even the embers understood what had just happened, what had been broken in a single heartbeat. I felt it before I saw it fully the shift in the air, the way the warmth of the fire suddenly felt cold against my skin, the way Liora’s hand on my arm went rigid, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, her breath catching sharp and shallow like she’d been punched in the ribs. Seraphine stood framed in the doorway now, flame still dancing in her palm, but it was different smaller, almost apologetic, the light catching tears that tracked down her cheeks and made her look younger, smaller, like the girl who once watched me beaten and said nothing might still be inside there somewhere, screaming. The guards behind her didn’t rush. They waite

The manor’s groan had become a constant companion now, a low, grinding complaint that rolled through the stone beneath our feet and into our bones every time we tried to rest, the sound rising and falling like breathing, like the house itself was still alive enough to feel pain but not strong enough to fight back anymore, and the air that drifted down tasted of rust and dying heat, the faint, wet-char rot of mana cores giving up one by one until only the throne hall’s stubborn glow remained high above, a single candle refusing to gutter out. I woke before the others again, the ache in my side a dull, familiar pulse that no longer surprised me, only reminded me with every breath that I was still here, still fighting, still bleeding in places that didn’t show on the outside. The cavern was quiet except for Rag’s deep rumble of a snore and Mira’s small, even breaths where she curled against his arm, her drawing parchment crinkled under her cheek, the crimson wolves she’d scratched out l