The hum of the mountain fell silent. Everything dulled, as though the atmosphere itself had split and left her stranded outside of it. Darkness gathered in the corners of the chamber, folding inward, deepening until they blotted out the light.
“At last.”
The voice washed through the room like ice water.
Alora stared at her reflection, eyes wide, mouth parted in a silent scream as a presence took shape behind her. Vast. Wrong. Writhing smoke lifting from a faceless form.
But she knew that single red eye.
“We meet again,”Vorak murmured.“Alora.”
No.
Her heart thundered in her ears.
The faceless shadow crept closer.
“Although,”he continued mildly,“I did not expect you to slip away. Very clever, daughter.”
Tears burned in her vision, chest heaving for air.
“I truly despised the interruption of my plans,”Vorak said as he came to a stop behind her. His presence was so cold it made her entire body burn.“But you have all but assured my coming.”
Her vision swam. Horror drowned her.
Rune!
She screamed for him through the bond, desperately reaching with every scrap of will she had but their connection was vaulted shut.
“That pretender cannot hear you while I am here.”The writhing smoke reached for Alora like a clawed hand. The scar in her fingertip throbbed as if held to flame.“I allowed you to escape me once. It will not happen again.”
Something inside Alora snapped.
Fire surged past fear, past pain, past the echo of his voice. Power flared off her skin like a rising sun, and the pressure ruptured with her enraged scream.
The presence vanished like a candle blown out.
Alora sagged against the vanity, breath coming in ragged gasps, cold sweat slicking her skin.
“No,” she choked. “Not again.”
Understanding settled over her like ice.
He had not followed her across death by chance. Their connection had never broken. It had only gone dormant, waiting for her magic to fully unfurl and call to its source.
Alora pressed a trembling hand to her mouth, smothering the sob that threatened to break free.
“He cannot hurt you.”
Alora spun around with a sharp gasp.
The Goddess of Death sat upon the edge of the bed, hands folded neatly in her lap. “Not yet.”
Alora’s gaze moved over Sunnëva despite herself, measuring what she saw with traitorous precision. The fall of her white hair, bright as frost in moonlight. Skin pale and unblemished. The composed elegance of her posture. Features carved in flawless symmetry. The kind of beauty that had never known the absence of it.
A queen of winter.
Understanding curled low and heavy in Alora’s chest. Of course, Rune had sought solace in something so cold and immaculate when the world had burned him hollow.
