The royal capital of Ardenthal, once a city of gold and glory, now smelled of fear.
Smoke coiled in the air—not from war yet, but from the whispers of it. Merchants packed up their carts early. Noble windows were shuttered. The great bell at the top of the Citadel hadn't rung in days.
And still… no one spoke the name.
Noctarion.
The king remained hidden behind his council, claiming all was under control. But every day, the sun seemed weaker, the nights darker, and dreams… stranger.
In one of those dreams, Queen Mireya saw the city on fire.
And Evelyn standing in the center of it—crowned in blood.
Two days after their meeting with Kael, Evelyn and the others reached the outer ridge overlooking the capital. They could see it all from here—the once-proud towers, the glint of the royal spires, and the new, eerie shadows creeping along the walls.
"It's begun," Lucien said.
Evelyn nodded slowly. "He's inside already."
"Elara?" she asked.
But her sister's eyes weren't on the city.
They were on the mountains far beyond.
"Something's wrong," Elara murmured. "The energy here… it's not just him. There's something else under the surface."
Lucien turned toward her. "Do you mean magic?"
"No," she said. "I mean rot. Like something old was buried here… and now it's waking up."
Evelyn felt her stomach twist. "We don't have time for more enemies."
But fate didn't care about time.
In the city, a man knelt in the dark.
He wore the robes of the Royal High Priest, but the words on his lips were not prayers.
They were songs in a forgotten tongue—verses meant to open something.
Behind him, in a hidden chamber beneath the Citadel, a door began to bleed shadow.
And from that shadow, a voice answered:
"You've opened the gate. Now burn the crown."
Evelyn's arrival at the city gates caused an uproar. The guards knew her—some feared her, some hailed her.
But it was the commoners who stared most. A girl with fire in her eyes, flanked by a vampire and a warrior who never smiled.
And behind them now, for the first time, rode someone new.
Kael.
He had kept his word.
"Welcome to the war zone," he said dryly, glancing at the worried faces in the streets. "You'll find it's quieter than it looks. Too quiet."
Lucien muttered, "Always is before the screaming."
Kael smirked. "You're starting to sound like me."
Elara, from the back of her horse, gave Kael a sharp look. "Don't flatter yourself."
Kael simply raised an eyebrow. "Flattery's not my style. Just observation."
Evelyn almost laughed. Almost.
But then the wind changed.
And the sky turned black.
The first blast came from the eastern wall.
Flames shot up like geysers, bursting from inside the stone itself. Not enemy fire.
No—this came from below.
Lucien drew his blade. "He's in the roots of the city!"
Screams echoed across the towers. Panic swept the lower districts. The Citadel began to toll its bells—but it was too late.
From every alley, every sewer, from beneath cobblestone cracks—they came.
Wraiths.
Servants of Noctarion, shaped from shadow and bone.
Evelyn raised her hands, her light blazing. "We hold the center! Drive them back!"
Kael leapt from his horse, blade drawn in one hand, fire in the other.
Yes—fire.
Evelyn blinked in shock. "You're—?"
Kael grinned. "Half-blood. Didn't I mention?"
Elara slashed her sword through a wraith, spinning beside him. "No. You didn't."
"Must've slipped my mind," he said casually.
Their blades moved together—deadly, in sync. A rhythm of war.
Evelyn fought through a cluster, her magic pulsing with every strike. Lucien flanked her, cutting down the creatures with furious precision.
But still they came.
And in the center square, the shadows gathered.
A figure appeared.
Clad in armor made of bone and ash.
A twisted crown hovered above his head—not worn, but floating, spinning slowly like a halo of ruin.
Noctarion.
He looked at Evelyn and smiled.
"You made it."
She stepped forward, hands glowing. "This ends now."
He tilted his head. "Yes. It does."
He raised one hand.
And the Citadel behind him—collapsed.