The world reformsaround me in threads of Starlight.
The smell hits me first—petrichor of the Riverian Jungle.Home.
The ground hits next—earthy grit slick with rain, and the crunch of gravel under my boots.
We’ve stepped straight into silence. Not the kind that follows peace, but the kind that follows slaughter.
The air seems to wait for us.
“No sound,” Teddy murmurs low and commanding. “But I can sense heartbeats. Several.Waiting.”
“Ours?” I clarify.
“No. They smell of brine and ocean winds. It’s Caeloria,” Teddy growls, his axe raised over his shoulder, Aetherstride magic in full force. “And I smell death.”
I don’t need to say anything. All weapons are drawn and eyes are trained on the jungle around us—watching with keen attention.
I account for our group, ready to delegate roles. But that’s when I notice?—
Fucking Mavyrn is gone again.
I never saw her step through the Gateway.
“Something is very wrong,” Jax breathes, as we approach the township, and I shut down thoughts of Mavyrn forthis.
Homes in trees are empty, though the flicker of candlelight still lingers, meals left to go cold on tables.Abandoned during the dusk meal.
The hairs on my neck stand on end, and the hum of violence crackles on the air like an invitation for blood.
The iron gates to Thornewood are open, hinges groaning in the night breeze.
We stalk through the dark like the night made flesh, and I can taste battle on the winds.
But the sound of taut, creaking ropes charges through my ears like a war drum.
And I already know.
My boots step steadily into Thornewood’s heart, and the moon catches the shape of hanging bodies in the snare of her light.
A banner hangs torn from the town square.
And below it?—
Rope.
Two of them.
Swaying.
And I know before I look.
Daelen’s chestnut hair.
Merrik’s gray beard.
My vision tunnels.
For a breath, for a heartbeat, I’m not the rightful King of Zerynthia.
