Because how could she look at him, how could she stand beside him, knowing he had been the blade that ended one dream and the silence that caused another?
The shadows at his feet curled and snapped like wounded animals.
He didn’t notice the blood dripping from his palms until Riven touched his arm.
He had clenched his fists so tight his claws had pierced skin.
“I’ll kill her,” Kael whispered.
Riven didn’t flinch.
“I’ll kill her,” Kael said again, louder this time, though his voice cracked on the last word. “I’ll unmake her. Veil and bone and blood. I will tear the goddess apart with my bare hands.”
He felt more than heard Alarik step closer, still too stricken to speak. Still reeling from Elenwe’s face, Elenwe’s absence.
And maybe that was the most devastating thing of all.
They were still there. The bodies. The movements. The voices.
But the souls were missing.
Kael knew what Eiren was doing.
This wasn’t just psychological warfare.
This was the shattering of the very pillars they stood on memory, honor, and hope.
Because if those could be twisted then what was left?
The kings of Achyron were supposed to be unbreakable.
Shadows coiled higher up his arms, slipping beneath his armor, seeping into his mouth, curling behind his eyes.
He let them.
He welcomed the fury.
Because grief had no shape he could fight. But rage?
Rage was a blade.
Rage could bleed.
He stared at Eiren across the ravaged field. Her arms still raised, her smirk still carved into her face like she’d won before the war began.
Let her think that.
Let her believe this had destroyed him.
Because in truth —it had freed him.
Kael the king, protector, penitent son of shadows had shattered beneath the weight of regret.
But the creature who remained?
He would burn the world if it meant putting peace back in Maris’s hands.
And he would do it with a smile.
