And from that betrayal, Verena had risen. No longer merely the Viper, but the venom itself. Ronan had seen it then, the wound they’d all etched into her, how the last, trembling shred of innocence had finally sealed shut.
It didn’t matter what divine blood coursed through her veins; they hadallbetrayed her. And in the end, it was pain, not power, that taught her how to rise.
When Callum stepped forward, Ronan didn’t think, he swung, his fist cracking against Callum’s jaw. Callum reeled back, blood blooming like treachery on his lip.
“You lied to her,” Ronan bit out. “Her whole life, you fed her fiction. She worshiped you. Trusted you. And you failed her.”
Callum spat blood onto the ground, eyes sparking with something half guilt, half fire. “I made an oath. Not to her, to Kairos. I did what Ihadto. But I didn’t know she was the reincarnation of our fucking Primal!”
Ronan didn’t breathe for a moment, just dropped his gaze to the floor. “You broke her heart.”
Callum barked a bitter laugh that sounded too much like grief. “And you shattered whatever was left.” He pointed, magic flaring faintly at his fingertips. “You knew what I didn’t, Ronan. The moment that mating bond snapped into place, youknew. And you said nothing. Just like me.”
Ronan surged forward again, the muscles in his back seizing. Smoke guttered off him, not rising, butscraping, as if his magic had to work to find its way out.
But Nezra moved faster. “Enough,” she snapped. “Every word you throw only feeds her curse.” They both froze, breathing hard, eyes locked on one another. “You want to help her?” She looked between them. “Then stop tearing her apart for sport.” She paused, wincing at the throb in her core. “If she breaks again, it won’t be from the curse, it’ll be from the two of you.”
The fire in Callum didn’t die at that, embers still hissed and spat from his fingertips, but he wasn’t trying to fight Ronan anymore, just make him see it. That he wasn’t the only one with blood on his hands.
Each inhale from Ronan came uneven, dragging across the edges. His fists hung at his sides, chest aching at what had been ripped out of him. Verena had walked away, and he didn’t know if he’d ever get her back.
The others gathered close, their voices distant through the ringing in his skull. The only sound that truly remained was hers—
“You should’ve killed me.”
Maybe that’s what this was. Not survival anymore. Just a slower death.
“She knew,” Ronan said at last. “Isolde knew exactly who Verena was from the beginning.”
Nezra turned toward him, eyes dark with something that wasn’t quite pity. “She didn’t want you to kill Verena because she carried the curse. She wanted you to kill her because once the Primal God was gone, nothing would stand in Isolde’s way.”
A muscle feathered beneath his cheekbone, once, twice, then vanished beneath control. “Then she would’ve ruled unchecked,” he murmured. “Freed Deimos from his prison. Crowned herself the last true power while he rained his helfire upon us all.”
None of it changed what he already knew, what prophecy had whispered since the beginning. He was born to kill the Viper. But as the truth sank in, something colder crept beneath it. Maybe it had never been Verena the stars meant for him to destroy. Maybe it was the monster that had made her. A shiver brushed up the nape of his neck, a faint stir from the inside.
Elysian’s voice broke the quiet. “Why take Elva?” He stared at the empty space where her body had laid moments ago.
“Leverage,” Ronan said. “Or worse, her magic. She’s the daughter of the Night Kingandthe Light Queen. The witches would bleed her dry for what runs in her veins.”
Nezra knelt beside the scorch marks Verena’s power had left behind. “They’ve done it before,” she murmured. “Their blood rites once leveled entire realms before the gods stripped it from them.”
“Not entire realms,” Elysian said. His gaze lifted toward Callum. “Not even entire races.”
Callum met his stare, shoulders drawn tight. “What are you implying?”
Elysian stepped closer, voice edged with threat. “That it’s time you stop hiding, guardian. Tell us what you truly are.”
Ronan’s head turned slowly. “Verena wasn’t the only one you kept secrets from. History claims the Angels fell into extinction. But Killian being alive shows that story was written by your own kind, wasn’t it?”
Callum’s nostrils flared, a trace of light sparking across his palms. “My father—”
“We remember what he did.” Ronan groaned. “What I don’t understand is why he cut off your wings. Why he sent you crawling to guard Verena. And why another lost his only to swear fealty to her.”
The ache in his back was constant now, raw muscle and phantom agony where his own wings once belonged. He didn’t show it, wouldn’t, but every breath came laced with pain.
Callum exhaled through his nose, his tone stripped of pretense. “Fine,” he huffed. “The Angels aren’t gone. Like the Kaida, they’ve been…hiding. Until they’re needed again.”
“Needed for what?” Ronan asked. “To help kill Verena if the prophecy demands it?”
