It was nothing like the revel above.
The banners of Argyle and the Seven Suns hung from the vaulted ceiling among the torches, their familiar coat of arms stirring something tight and tender in her chest. Guards stood watch along the walls, alert but relaxed.
Stairwells led to many floors with several halls leading to the hundreds of chambers where more moved about as they settled in.
Rihan sat not in the lord’s seat prepared for him, but at a crowded table among children, laughter bright on his face as they stroked Nexus’s wings and scratched his ears. The Vareth purred in contentment, tail flicking lazily.
Caelum stood nearby, vigilant as ever.
At another table of Minotaurs, Theia laughed freely, Zuma’s deep voice rumbling in response as he told a grand tale.
For a moment, Alora simply stood and breathed.
“Alora!” Rihan’s eyes lit up when he saw her.
He ran over to take her hand, pulling her to the tables. Her people cheered and waved as she passed, bowing and praising her for saving Argyle, though Alora didn’t feel worthy of such praise while so much was still left uncertain.
But she stayed at their request, longer than she meant to, anchoring herself to the reason she could not falter. These were the lives she would die to protect.
So, she let herself briefly rest in a fragile peace, carved out by stone.
CHAPTER 64
Alora
When at last Alora returned to their chambers, Rune was not there. She lay down, but rest would not come. Their bed felt too large and the room too cold without him. Moonlight spilled through the translucent balcony curtains, painting the floor in pale silver. The moon hung nearly full in the sky, swollen and watchful, and the sight made her skin prickle.
Then came the sound.
A sharp, slow split of glass.
Alora gasped and pushed herself upright.
The mirror on the vanity rippled.
Its surface cracked slowly, as though scored by an invisible claw. Fine fractures crept across the glass, twisting into jagged letters that burned faintly red.
LASHAR.
Her heart slammed against her ribs, but she hissed, “I am not your daughter.”
An eerie laugh seeped from the dark.
“Yet you understand a language you have never spoken…”His voice slid over her skin like a cold breath.“As you understand what is to come.”
The mirror darkened, its surface sinking inward like black water.
A vision swallowed glass.
Fire rolled through Argyle’s streets in choking waves, towers collapsing as though the earth itself had torn open. Banners burned midair, curling black. Her people ran screaming, stumbling over fallen knights, armor slick with blood.
Death came on horseback.
The Wild Hunt thundered through the breached gates, skeletal riders clad in tattered armor, hollow eyes burning with corpse-light. Their mounts were wrong things, bone and shadow fused together, hooves never touching the ground. Wherever they rode, her people were cut down by a tide that did not slow for mercy. Souls were torn free in shrieking spirals of pale light, dragged howling into the Abyss behind them.
Rihan stood alone among the flames, crying and terrified.
Alora reached for her brother, but her hands passed through him like smoke.
