Assets.Not people. Not citizens worthy of protection. Just useful resources to be deployed at his discretion.
Serenya felt her lumen magic stir in response to her rising anger, and Vaelrik’s presence pressed against her consciousness through their bond—steadying, grounding, reminding her that they were stronger together than apart.
Soon, she thought. Soon they would expose this serpent for what he truly was.
When Archon Serect spread his arms with a theatrical flourish, Serenya felt her pulse quicken with anticipation.
“I welcome any questions or comments from our citizens,” he announced, his eyes sweeping the crowd with practiced warmth that never reached the cold calculation beneath.
The invitation hung in the air.
Serenya stepped forward without hesitation.
A collective intake of breath rippled through the assembled crowd as she moved into the center of the square, her dark red hair catching the volcanic light like flame against shadow. Conversations died. Footsteps stilled. Even the distant rumble of lava canals seemed to quiet in expectation.
Vaelrik moved with her—not ahead, not behind, but at her side like a living shield. The sight of the Shadow Scourge openly supporting a witch instead of restraining one sent murmurs of shock cascading through the crowd.
Dragons don’t protect witches,she could practically hear them thinking.Dragons use them.
But Vaelrik wasn’t just any dragon anymore. He was hers. And she was his. The mate bond hummed with quiet certainty, their combined power creating an undeniable harmony that made even the Council elders shift uneasily.
Serenya kept her voice calm, cutting through the square’s tension like a blade shaped from truth itself.
“The shadow-plague isn’t random,” she began, her words carrying easily across the hushed crowd. “The attacks form a deliberate pattern—a spiral leading directly to the Gloam. Something there is calling to us, to him specifically, for a purpose we’re only beginning to understand.”
Gasps scattered through the assembly. She felt their fear spike, raw and immediate, but continued without pause.
“More troubling still,” she said, letting her gaze sweep across the dragon guards stationed throughout the square, “the Council’s own decrees have been systematically shifting patrols away from shadow-plague outbreak zones, allowing the corruption to spread unchecked toward its ultimate destination.”
The murmurs turned louder and uglier. Citizens began looking between the Council and their guards with dawning suspicion. Archon Serect’s perfectly composed expression flickered—just for a heartbeat—but Serenya caught the flash of fear that crossed his features.
There.He knew he’d been exposed.
Vaelrik stepped forward, and the crowd fell into absolute silence. When the Shadow Scourge spoke, gods and mortals alike listened.
“She speaks the truth,” he said, his deep voice carrying the weight of centuries and the authority of someone who’d never needed to lie to be feared. “Thornwick Lane—where shadows fed on three families while I was ordered to patrol empty fields twenty miles south. The Ember Quarter—where children disappeared while my unit was pulled back to ‘reassess strategic positioning.’“
His storm-gray eyes found Serect’s golden ones across the square, and something dangerous passed between them.
“The Silverbell District. The Ashmark Commons. The Lower Reaches.” Each name fell like a hammer blow. “Every patrol I was commanded to abandon. Every death that followed those orders. Every strategic withdrawal that allowed the plague to advance exactly where it wanted to go.”
The crowd erupted into horrified whispers. Citizens stared at their supposed protector, Archon Serect, stunned.
A monster telling the truth proved more powerful than any politician’s carefully crafted lies.
Dragon guards throughout the square shifted uneasily, their faces reflecting the uncomfortable recognition of orders they’d followed without question. Orders that had led to civilian deaths.
Kyr stood at Vaelrik’s flank like an Obsidian fortress, his loyalty absolute and visible to all. This was the moment Vaelrik stopped being a Council weapon and became something else entirely—his own man, choosing his own path.
Cornered, Archon Serect switched tactics with the fluid ease of a serpent changing its striking angle.
“Citizens,” he called out, his voice smooth but edged with desperation, “we see before us two souls blinded by their own passions. Mates who have allowed their newfound bond to rewrite history, to paint a conspiracy where strategic necessity existed.”
He gestured toward their empty wrists with theatrical dismay. “Note how they stand before you—unbound, unchecked, compromised by the very forces we’ve tried to contain. The broken restraints were no accident. They are the result of dark magic, corruption from the Gloam itself, or perhaps... treason.”
It was a perfect political pivot—desperation wrapped in strategy. Never once did he deny their claims. Never once did he acknowledge his role in funding Rowen Corvane’s research. Instead, he attacked their credibility with surgical precision.
Serenya felt the pieces snap together with crystal clarity. Serect wasn’t terrified of the shadow-plague. He was terrified of being held accountable for orchestrating it, for creating a disaster he could then heroically solve. The perfect political theater—manufacture chaos, then position yourself as the only salvation.
