The dragon twisted, his steel decimating the chamber until there was nothing left of the war room but blood as he painted the ground red, and Ronan sifted away.
We landed soundless, the soles of his boots barely sighing against the throne room’s floor. There were no soldiers. No fighting, no bloodshed. Only unmoving air, until Ronan turned from the shadows of a pillar and saw him. Rhydan stood at the dais of his throne. And beside him loomed another.
The air punched from my chest. My fingers prickled, numb, as I tried to make sense of what I saw. The peppered hair. The calculating dark eyes. The black suit worn like armor. I knew that man beside him. Younger here, but not by much—
It hit me harder than the devastation screaming through the memory. No wonder Obrann had the heirloom sword. Luamis hadn’t stolen it. It was given to him, handed like a prize.
But in exchange for what?
Their hands were clasped behind their backs as though Sahfyre wasn’t burning outside these very walls. Their voices were hushed, low conspiracies playing between them.
The bronzed heirloom of Ryuu hung across Rhydan’s shoulder, its indigo stone gleaming under the fractured light. Behind them rose the dragon throne, scorched, hewn from flame.
Ronan didn’t recognize the man yet. To him, he was still only a stranger. He didn’t understand how deep the blade of betrayal cut. Until Rhydan’s hand closed on the hilt. Until he slid it free and extended it toward the man.
The words rang out, a war cry as we stepped out of the shade. “What the fuck are you doing?”
Rhydan froze, arm suspended, steel glinting midair as Ronan’s eyes raged past the point of return.
“Sahfyre is burning,” Ronan snarled. “Luamis is orphaned. Nyctom has been left for dead—” The man staggered back, color draining from his face. His throat worked, his hands shaking. “And,” Ronan’s voice broke, “it was your doing?”
Rhydan turned, his own smoke lurching around him now, moving thick across the marble. “I will do whatever I must,” he snarled. “And you—” a finger shot toward Ronan, “you will sit back andobey. As I raised you to.”
Ronan didn’t retreat when his father moved toward him. His power vibrated through the stone, surging in feral waves as he charged. One stride. Two. Three. Rhydan hit the floor, thrown by his son’s fury before he could make him bow.
The man’s eyes cut to the heirloom sword. His choice was made in a heartbeat, leaving it was worth the loss. Worth the shame. He bolted for the door beyond the throne.
Ronan let him leave while he went back for Rhydan. A punch split the air, bone cracking under the blow. Blood spilled from Rhydan’s nose. Another strike. Another crack. His jacket twisted in Ronan’s fists, lapels clutched tight as if he could wring truth from the man.
Crimson streamed down Rhydan’s jaw, his teeth bared in a grotesque grin. Ronan was holding back. Not just his power, but his anguish. It drowned me. The anger, the grief, the betrayal, his torment poured through the bond until it gutted me.
I would hold it. I would carry it all for him.
Ronan drew his fist back, only for Rhydan’s laughter to gag it midair, spitting blood across his arm. “Someday you will understand.” His eyes, hazel and empty, locked with Ronan’s molten red. “Someday you will doexactlythe same thing.”
Ronan’s snarl was hushed, but I felt it anyway. He would never betray his kingdom. He didn’t need to say it.
Smoke rose around him, circling in a crown as he dropped his father to the dais. Chest heaving, he stooped to seize the heirloom, his grip closing around it with finality.
“I will never be like you.” He turned, leaving Rhydan broken at the foot of the throne, when something shifted, movement in the dark.
A figure stepped from it, Aelora’s mirror, yet not. Blue eyes pale and piercing beneath short strawberry blonde waves. But somehow, they felt even crueler.
He was beautiful, strange in an unsettling way. His expression was unreadable, save for the corruption that stained him from beneath. Ronan didn’t feel it, couldn’t see it. But I could, down to my soul.
“Auryn.” Ronan lowered the blade, both glancing warily toward Rhydan’s slumped form. Then, without hesitation, he shoved the heirloom into Auryn’s chest. “Take this. Find Aelora. Keep them both safe.”
Auryn caught the sword effortlessly, fingers securing around the hilt. “Your word is my command, Your Highness.” His bow was low, mocking, a wink glinting beneath as he backed away, retreating into the gloom.
A captive rage laced up my spine.Mine, not Ronan’s. Power boiling beneath my blood. Even with my body safe on the balcony, years away, it locked in my throat.
For the first time in days, the Viper woke. Because I knew what was coming before it even existed.
Ronan stood there, shaking, burning, the gravity of kingdoms collapsing on his shoulders. In a single shiver, the pressure snapped, two stones colliding. The sound of a world splitting open. Smoke tore from his body in a violent detonation, a scream dragging collapse down with it as a dark, hungry current unleashed.
Walls crumbled. Pillars split. Glass shattered inward, slicing air and flesh alike. Dragon-flame howled from the wreck, gutting the throne room, leaving nothing but rubble and ash. And when the smoke cleared—
It did not vanish. Itseared.
