Here at the center of it, Maris fought not just for fate.
She fought for every girl who had been overlooked.
Every warrior turned martyr.
Every dream crushed under someone else’s throne.
And she fought like the veil feared her name.
-Kael-
He saw it.
Through flame. Through mist. Through the howling of the damned.
Maris, his queen, locked in a brutal dance of steel and fury with the creature that had once been Astrielle.
And Kael ran.
Not because of heartbreak.
Not because of love lost.
He had not loved Astrielle.
She had been sharp, loyal, hungry for power, one of his best blades. And that was all. A weapon in his hand, never one in his heart.
But this?
This twisted shade wearing her face?
This snarling mockery of what she’d bled to become?
This was his fault.
He had cultivated her ambition, sharpened her rage, and ignored the way her eyes had always flicked toward his throne like it was a place she might someday sit beside him.
He’d been the one to strike her down.
Not out of mercy.
Not even regret.
But necessity.
Now, she stood reborn, by Eiren’s hand. All that hunger turned to rot. All that potential twisted into poison.
And she was trying to kill Maris.
That was all Kael needed to see.
His vision tunneled, every sound drowned in the thunder of his pulse.
He moved, not as a general navigating a battlefield.
But as a king crossing the threshold of war.
The shadows surged up his legs like a cloak reawakening. His armor reknit itself across his body in panels of blackened steel. His crown, hidden for so long, formed from smoke and obsidian, ringing his head with sharp, floating shards of power.
