Valdris has no time to dodge. No power left to shield.
The flames take her.
RURIK
I watch her burn.
The Crimson Queen—tyrant of dragons, torturer of Fire-Bringers, monster who haunted Aisling’s nightmares—comes apart scale by scale. The fire doesn’t just kill her. It unmakes her. Erases two thousand years of cruelty from existence.
She screams as she dies. Not words—just sound. Pure rage and denial and, finally, fear. The fear of someone who believed herself eternal facing the reality of her own end.
It’s not enough. After everything she did, it’s not enough.
But it’s something.
The flames die. The screaming stops. And where Valdris stood, there’s nothing left but ash drifting on superheated air.
“Is she...” Selene’s voice is hoarse. “Is she actually...”
“Dead.” Drayke stands over the pile of ash, bronze scales still flickering with residual fire. “Finally. Completely. Dead.”
The cavern groans. Stone shifts overhead—the mountain itself reacting to the destruction of the Relic that powered it. Dust cascades from cracks spreading across the ceiling.
“We need to move.” Auren is already heading for the tunnel. “This whole structure is becoming unstable.”
I scoop Aisling into my arms before she can protest. She doesn’t. Just wraps her arms around my neck and buries her face against my shoulder, exhaustion radiating from every line of her body.
“I’ve got you.” The words are rough. Inadequate. “I’ve got you.”
“I know.” Her voice is muffled against my skin. “You always do.”
We run.
Behind us, the draining chamber collapses. The altar, the channels, the walls that held Aisling’s blood—all of it buried under tons of volcanic rock. The Relic’s remains disappear into the mountain’s heart.
Good. Let them stay buried forever.
The exit comes faster than I expect. One moment we’re sprinting through crumbling tunnels, the next we’re bursting into cold mountain air, the night sky spreading overhead like a promise.
I shift mid-stride. Wings catch air. Aisling settles against my scales, her fire flickering weakly where our bodies meet—not defending anymore. Just present. Just home.
Drayke rockets past with Selene. Auren flanks us, watching the mountain continue to collapse behind us. The entrance we escaped through disappears under an avalanche of stone and ash.
“Niamh?” Aisling hollers.
Selene calls from in front of us. “The guard took her out safely. She passed out. He’s taking her to one of our human hospital contacts.”
“The rogues?” Drayke’s voice carries on the wind.
“Fled or dead.” Auren’s response is clipped. “Without Valdris, they have nothing to fight for. The ones who survived will scatter.”
I don’t care about the rogues. Don’t care about the political implications or the power vacuum or any of the thousand things Auren is probably already calculating. I care about the woman pressed against my scales, still breathing, still alive, still mine.
The flight back to the fortress takes hours. Aisling sleeps through most of it—real sleep, not unconsciousness. Her fire pulses in a steady rhythm against my scales, matching my heartbeat.
Dawn paints the mountains gold and rose by the time we arrive. The fortress rises from the cliffs like a promise kept, torches burning in welcome, the great hall already alive with movement.
We won. Valdris is dead. The Relic is destroyed.
