His own face seven years ago, burning with oath and hunger.
His face now—scarred, fire-marked, breaking under the weight.
The reel snapped. Smoke collapsed on him like a tide.
I’ll never—
Ash choked the vow to silence.
He gasped—air, pain, the crush of bodies.
The hall reeled back into place.
Viktor staggered through the haze, eyes raking the chamber.
Where is Amerei?
Her gown, her hair, her light—gone.
The crowd writhed, choking, clawing at their faces. Terror shredded the air—half screams, half prayers.
Then—her voice. Zeporah’s. Coiling, intimate.
Closer than breath.
“Commander Storne…”
The smoke thickened, hardening into Storne’s tall frame, sword raised, eyes bright with disdain. The blade slashed down—meant for him.
Viktor flinched, breath heaving.
Storne’s warning thundered back:“She will claw at your mind. Twist your memories. Feed you visions meant to undo you.”
He forced his gaze aside.Not real. Not him.
“Gabriel Feindoran…”
To his left—Gabriel turning away, face shuttered, leaving him.
Teeth ground.Not real.
“Evander Zrynon…”
The smoke formed again—Evander, smirking, hands dripping red.
“She was never yours to keep.”
Viktor’s fist closed hard enough to bruise.Not real.
He shoved the vision back.Not here.
Zeporah’s laughter laced the air, the sound of knives drawn over stone.
The haze writhed—and through it, her.
Amerei.
Radiant first—crowned in light, the red gown flaring like flame. The realm’s lost queen stepping toward him at last.
