Not the oppressive, crushing darkness of the throne room under the Devourer’s influence, but something gentler. Ordinary. The kind of quiet that came from the simple absence of noise rather than dread.
Then I felt warmth.
Sunlight brushed my face, and a gentle breeze lifted the fatigue from my eyes.
Despite the comfort, I was in pain. It was dull, distant, muted.
I opened my eyes to find the work of healers all over my body.
A ceiling greeted me, stone vaulted high overhead, carved with decorative flourishes that spoke of wealth and permanence. Compared to the cell at Blackstone Keep, it felt as though I had been placed in an entirely different world.
The room around me was beautiful, but it bore the marks of chaos. Shattered windows let in morning light that painted everything gold. A feathered mattress cradled me, softer than anything I’d ever slept on. Clean bandages wrapped my shoulder where my hand should have been.
The phantom sensation of fingers I could no longer move made my stomach twist.
I pushed myself upright with my remaining hand. The world tilted briefly, then steadied. My body felt hollowed out, wrung dry of everything that had kept me standing during the battle.
But I was alive.
Somehow, impossibly, I was alive.
Across the room, a door stood closed. A pitcher of water waited on a small table, along with bread and fruit that looked fresh. Someone had been tending to me. Someone had cared enough to make sure I woke to comfort rather than chaos.
I stood. Swayed. Caught myself against the bedframe and waited for my legs to remember how to hold me upright. The floor felt strange beneath my bare feet.
How long had I been unconscious?
The balcony called to me. I had to see what remained.
I crossed the chamber slowly. Each step felt like relearning movement, my wounds speaking louder with every shift.
The city sprawled below, massive and broken.
Smoke still rose from buildings throughout the lower districts. Entire blocks were decimated. Roofs caved in. Walls blackened. Streets littered with debris. The scars of battle were fresh and raw, testament to how thoroughly the Devourer’s corruption had spread before we’d stopped it.
But people moved through those streets.
I could see them from this height, small figures picking through rubble, clearing pathways, carrying supplies, helping the wounded.
Living.
The gates stood open. No soldiers guarded them now. Just citizens coming and going freely, bringing aid from outside or carrying the injured to healers beyond the walls.
We’d won.
The thought should have brought relief. Instead, it brought a question that seized my chest like a fist.
Where was Daemon? Kael, Kane, and Zephyr?
I remembered Daemon holding me as my consciousness faded. I felt his heartbeat, his shadows trying to save me. Without words, he begged me to stay.
And I did.
But had he survived the aftermath? The curse had been killing him, accelerating with every use of his power, every moment he spent near mine.
What if stopping the Devourer hadn’t been enough?
What if breaking the binding had come too late?
