Snow fell like ash upon the capital, soft and slow, hiding the city's darker truths under a blanket of white silence. The dawn had not yet broken, and the air felt too still—like the world was holding its breath.
Evelyn stood at the monastery gate, the message in her hands still warm from the raven's blood. The crimson ink bled into her gloves, seeping into her skin. Kaelith stood behind her, reading over her shoulder.
"She knows you're here," Kaelith said quietly. "She's summoned you to the Crimson Citadel."
Lucien stepped forward, snatching the parchment and scanning the jagged runes. "This isn't an invitation. It's a challenge. A trap."
Kaelith nodded. "She wants to see how far you've come. And how far you'll fall."
Evelyn's lips parted. "She's afraid of me."
"No," Kaelith said grimly. "She's afraid of what you remind her of—what she used to be."
Lucien turned to Evelyn. "We don't have to go. Not yet."
"She'll never stop," Evelyn said, voice firm. "Not until one of us is dead. I have to face her."
Kaelith frowned. "You're still growing into your power. If she attacks, you might not be strong enough."
Evelyn looked away. "If I wait, I'll lose everything."
Lucien touched her arm. "Then we go together."
But Kaelith stepped between them. "No. If she sees how much he means to you, she'll use him against you. That's how Seraphine plays. With hearts, not just blades."
Lucien didn't flinch. "I'd risk it."
"I won't," Evelyn whispered, turning to him. "Not your life."
Their hands remained joined for one last heartbeat.
Then Evelyn let go.
The gates of the Crimson Citadel creaked open at dusk, revealing a vast hall of ice-black stone. Fires burned violet in silver braziers. The walls echoed with silence and unseen eyes.
The trio entered—Evelyn, Lucien, and Kaelith. The cold bit deep.
Shadowed guards lined the hallway. Witches. Vampires. Creatures twisted by Seraphine's dark will. Their eyes glowed faintly—soulless, obedient.
And at the far end of the throne room, Elara waited.
She stood tall, radiant and terrible, dressed in a gown of living silk and thorns. A crown rested on her head—not of gold, but of twisted vines, blackened and soaked with dried blood.
Her voice echoed through the hall. "Sister."
Evelyn's steps slowed. "Elara."
"You came," Elara said, descending the stairs of her dark throne.
"I had to."
"You always come when duty calls," Elara murmured. "But never when your heart does."
"That's not true," Evelyn said, her voice breaking. "I never forgot you."
Elara's face flickered. Something wounded surfaced in her expression, just for a moment.
"You left me to rot," she whispered. "While you played at being human."
Evelyn stepped forward. "I didn't choose what happened to us. But I'm choosing this now. I'm choosing you."
Elara stared.
And for one breathless second, the crown of thorns atop her head softened. The vines wilted. Her face, once hardened by pain, almost looked like it had all those years ago—when they were girls under the same moonlight.
Then—
The doors burst open.
A scream rang out.
Kaelith spun—too late.
Steel flashed.
A dagger plunged into her side.
"Kaelith!" Evelyn cried out, rushing to catch her before she fell.
Lucien turned, eyes blazing. "Who—?"
A cloaked figure stepped from the shadows, blood on his blade.
Kane.
The traitor. The spy who had once served them.
Now Seraphine's loyal assassin.
"I told you," he sneered. "Love makes fools of all of you."
"You—" Elara's voice cracked. "That wasn't the plan!"
Kane smiled coldly. "You hesitated. I didn't."
Elara's crown flared—
Thorns ignited with black flame. Her eyes burned.
"You dare act without my command?" she hissed.
Kane stepped back.
Elara raised her hand.
Magic roared.
A wave of dark fire consumed Kane, his scream shrill and short.
Then he was gone.
Ash.
Evelyn cradled Kaelith's head in her lap.
"Stay with me," she whispered, pressing her hands against the wound. "Please…"
Kaelith coughed, her lips stained with blood. "Don't stop now… You're so close."
"I need you—"
"No," Kaelith said softly. "You never did. I just helped you see it."
Her eyes closed.
And her hand went still.
Lucien bowed his head. He didn't speak.
The silence was louder than any scream.
Elara stood still, the fire in her crown gone. The vines had turned to ash. Her arms hung limply at her sides.
"I didn't want this," she whispered.
Evelyn looked up, eyes burning. "Then why call me here?"
"To see if there was anything left of the girl you used to love," Elara said, her voice cracking. "The sister you used to trust."
"And is there?"
Elara met her gaze. She didn't answer.
But in her eyes—there was something Evelyn hadn't seen before.
Regret.
Outside, the snow had turned to storm.
Inside the citadel, the tide had turned.
A death. A betrayal. A flicker of forgiveness.
Evelyn stood, her grief deep and sharp.
But now she wore the weight of prophecy.
The power of light and shadow burned in her veins.
And on the cold stone floor behind her—
Kaelith's blood formed the shape of a crown.
Not thorns.
Not fire.
But choice.