My first act of retribution would begin in his sanctum—his prized office, the pulsing heart of his false empire.
Mathias was gone again, off on one of his cryptic errands. Perfect.
What would it matter if I destroyed his sacred relics? His hand-carved furniture, annotated tomes, and precious notes detailing the lives and deaths of those he pretended to save?
As soon as I made the decision, something awakened inside me. My heart roared to life, fueled by centuries of buried rage.
I stormed into his office, seized the war hammer from its mount on the wall, and swung.
BOOM.
The hammer slammed into the paneling, echoing like a cannon blast through the school.
Shelves cracked.
Wood splintered and groaned beneath the force of my fury.
Books crashed to the floor.
Debris flew in every direction, some pieces smashing into the stained-glass windows, which exploded in a cascade of glinting shards that rained like crystal tears.
This was only the beginning.
I would reduce his legacy to rubble.
And then I’d bury him beneath it.
I threw my head back and let out a maniacal laugh as the room crumbled around me. The sound bounced off the splintering walls like thunder. Mathias’ life work, his precious sanctuary of falsepeace, would soon be nothing but ash at my feet. I was destroying his legacy—one demolished shelf, one broken relic at a time.
My chest tightened, not with grief, but with cold, calculating hatred.
I thought of my daughters—their sweet laughter, their warmth—and how their lives had been torn away. I thought of Zara, her final scream still echoing in the chambers of my mind.
For that, Mathias would pay.
Tears streaked down my face, hot and blinding, as I stood amid the ruin. But I knew the truth—no destruction, fire, or war hammer could bring back what was taken from me.
Still, I would raze it all.
Then, a hand touched my shoulder.
I turned, ready to strike—but stopped.
It was Amir.
His face was grim, but in his eyes, I saw understanding, brotherhood, and his own rage. We had met when I arrived in London, and in the years since, we had become something closer than blood. We were born of darkness, bent beneath secrets too terrible to speak aloud.
Without him, I might’ve drowned in it.
I could’ve sworn a smile crossed his lips.
“What are you doing?” he asked calmly.
I gripped the war hammer tighter, my gaze sweeping the shattered remains of the office.
“Remodeling,” I said. “I hate this room.”
His eyebrow lifted, but he said nothing as I continued.
