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Chapter Two hundred and Twelve
The Edge of the BlightSilence.That was the first thing Adrian heard — not the peaceful kind, but a hollow, suffocating void that pressed against his ears until even his heartbeat seemed stolen. The world around him was black, though not empty. It pulsed faintly, as though the dark itself were alive — breathing, watching, waiting.When he moved, the air rippled like tar. His boots didn’t touch the ground; there was no ground, only a shifting haze that swallowed every trace of light. He couldn’t tell where the horizon ended or if one existed at all. The Blight — he knew it without needing to think. The barrier between realms. The grave of gods and dreams.He tried to speak. “Selene—”But the name died before it reached his lips, the sound devoured by the dark.Something cold coiled around his wrist, a whisper in the dark silk of the void. He jerked his arm away, but the tendril dissolved, leaving behind a sting that burned with a strange familiarity — not pain, but memory.“Do you
Chapter Two hundred and Eleven
When the Walls RememberThe wind had sharpened into a scream.Selene stood by the window slit, her breath fogging against the cold stone, as the howling outside rose to a pitch that seemed almost alive.Varin had gone still — utterly still — one hand resting on the hilt of his sword, his head tilted slightly toward the sound.“They’ve found us,” he murmured.Before she could ask how, the first impact shook the outer gates. A thunderous clang rang through the citadel, followed by another, and another — rhythmic, purposeful.Selene’s pulse quickened. “How many?”Varin’s eyes glinted. “Too many.”He turned to her with a look that cut through hesitation. “Stay behind me.”“I won’t,” she snapped. “I didn’t come this far to hide behind anyone’s blade.”The faintest hint of a smile touched his lips — grim, approving. “Then you remember what it means to be queen after all.”The torches flickered as they moved toward the great doors of the hall. Snow drifted down from the cracks in the roof,
Chapter One hundred and Ten
The Ghost of KingsThe great hall of Orren was a cathedral of shadows.Frost glittered along the pillars like veins of glass, catching the dull gold of the torches Varin had lit. The air smelled of iron and old magic — the kind that lingered long after the last spell was cast, as if the stones themselves refused to forget.Selene moved slowly through the chamber, her steps echoing like whispers between the walls. Each breath she took rose in faint, silver clouds.“This place…” she murmured. “It feels alive.”“It is,” Varin replied from behind her. “Orren was built on the blood of seers. The stones remember everything that happens within them — every oath, every death, every betrayal.”She turned, watching him as he stripped off his gauntlets. His face looked older now than she remembered — not by years, but by weight.His once-black hair was silvered, his armor dented and dulled by countless unseen wars.“You said you still served Adrian,” she said quietly. “Then tell me the truth, V
Chapter One hundred and Nine
The Keeper of the NorthThe snow began to fall long before Selene reached the gates.Not the gentle flakes of peace she remembered from her childhood in Veyne, but cold razors that cut through the mist, stinging her skin and biting through her cloak.Her horse had long since fallen behind, exhausted by the climb through the frost-veiled passes. Now she walked, her boots cracking ice over the dead stones of the forgotten northern road — the old road to the Citadel of Orren.Few remembered Orren now. Fewer still dared to go there.The place had been abandoned decades ago after the Great War — a fortress built by men who once swore loyalty to Adrian’s bloodline.Her steps echoed hollow between the cliff walls, the sky dimming to the bruised purple of near-night. Every sound made her twitch — the scrape of her blade at her side, the hiss of her breath through her teeth. She knew she was being followed.The serpent’s scouts never stopped hunting.Still, she pressed on. The scar beneath
Chapter One hundred and Eight
The Fire and the StormThe rain fell like shards of glass.Each drop hissed against the ground, boiling on contact with the faint trail of light that followed Selene’s steps.She moved through the valley like a ghost — cloak torn, eyes fixed ahead, her arms clutching the sleeping child to her chest.The storm above raged with unnatural fury. Every bolt of lightning split the sky in patterns too deliberate to be random.It wasn’t weather.It was wrath.The gods had found her.The First SignThe ground trembled.From the mist behind her, a colossal silhouette began to form — wings that shimmered like molten metal, eyes burning with the pale fire of creation.The Seraph of Embers.Once the highest of the celestial hosts — now a hunter for the old gods.Selene had seen him only once before, when she and Adrian had defied the Flame Pact. He had stood upon the altar then, sword blazing, demanding her soul as payment for love.Now he came again — not for her, but for the child.“Run all yo
Chapter One hundred and Seven
The Heart RemembersThe ruins of Oramar slept beneath a shroud of mist.Once a citadel of kings, now nothing but stone skeletons and whispering ivy.Selene had learned to love the silence here — the kind of stillness that didn’t judge her.The kind that let her forget that she was once queen of shadow and flame, that her name had been whispered like both prayer and curse.But tonight, even the silence trembled.She felt it in her bones first — a low, distant thrum that echoed through the ground, through her scar, through the very air she breathed. It was faint, but unmistakable.Adrian.Selene’s breath caught. Her hand went to her chest where the old wound still glowed faintly beneath the skin, a scar that had once been her crown and her curse.For months it had lain dormant. Now it pulsed with life — gold light threading through the black veins of shadow.She rose from the stone where she’d been sitting and turned toward the sleeping child wrapped in linen and ash beside the hearth.
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