Into memory.
Intoher.
Alora stood alone in the silence.
Not the kind of quiet that follows a victory song. But the kind that comes after something ancient hasended.
At last, Calla, beautiful, cruel, and loyal, gave the smallest of smiles. “He chose well.”
Alora’s eyes welled. “I…I cannot go through yet.”
Because she couldn’t face that world without Rune.
And because she sensed what she had ignored the moment the Blood Moon had waned.
The Sleeping Curse had reached its completion.
She looked over the land, to the many bodies of the fae and mortals lying still.
Not dead but sleeping.
It had not affected the demons because they were not of the Mortal Realm.
“The curse… I thought it would break when Vorak died,” Alora said faintly. “But it’s taken over Argyle…”
And soon it would spread across the world.
Sunnëva had told her she would discover how to break it when it was time.
“My people need me.”
Calla rested a hand on her shoulder. “I know. But the Netherworld is once again left without a king and most of the Dominions are dead. It is bound to fall into chaos.”
“What would you have me do?”
Calla glanced at the spider lilies wafting in the gentle breeze. “I suppose you must put us to sleep as well.”
Alora’s eyes widened, not sure if she could replicate the curse or if she knew how. But the magic rose in her throat, carrying her will.
Her voice hummed a soft song in a language she had not known. The world quieted as soft melody in Hellspeech carriedover the fields of ash. Calla stepped in through the gate and Alora kept singing.
The air sparkled with her magic as dawn broke over the horizon. It swept over two kingdoms, one of light and the other dark.
One that hoped to wake.
One that lingered in slumber to await their queen’s return.
Even though she would return alone.
Sunlight blinded Alora as her vision welled with tears. The last note of her song faded into the sky.
The opening into the Netherworld vanished. All around her, the last of the shadows faded like a dream.
Alora stood unmoving, the silence heavy with everything she never got to say. Around her, the ground smoked, scarred by magic that had no name. There was no cheer of victory, but the stillness of a battlefield after the final breath.
Rune’s ashes had long scattered, swept into the wind like smoke from a dying fire. No trace remained except the ache in her chest and the ring on her finger.
It glowed faintly.
