How long have I been gone, that even the rain of Baev’kalath feels foreign to me?
But it is not just the rain.
Baev’kalath may still rise like a fortress of nightmares, spires piercing the sky, obsidian stone swallowing the light, endless corridors and stairs that spiral into nothing, but something has shifted. The soul of this place has changed.
Where are the Blades? Where is Ilyra?
We should have been met the momentThe Shattered Edgeappeared on the horizon. But no watchmen stood on the towers. No horns. No movement. No sound.
Baev’kalath feels... empty. Abandoned.
My chest tightens. Have they fled? Or fallen? Have I returned not to a stronghold, but to a tomb?
I grip Ashen’s mane, and with a command, guide him to the high balcony. His massive paws strike the stone with a heavythud, sending muddy water rippling outward. I slide off his back, the leather of my boots hissing against wet stone. One by one, my warriors land beside me, their blades at their sides, wings folding in before vanishing with the soft flicker of rune-light.
Ashen bows his head. He will wait.
We press forward.
Still, even this close to the heart of the fortress, there is no sign of life. No torchbearers. No guards posted at the thresholds. Not even a whisper echoing off the walls.
I don’t need to speak. The scrape of steel follows, blades drawn with silent precision. I nod once, then turn toward the nearest alcove, stepping beneath the overhang and out of the punishing rain. The torches here still burn low, their flames guttering in the damp, casting flickering shadows across the black stone.
But there is no line of Blades guarding the throne room passage.
I move soundlessly, hugging the darkness as we approach. My steps are deliberate, every inch of my body tuned to the silence.
I glance back. My eyes find Orios and narrow. He understands immediately, peeling away to stalk the far wall.
The massive doors of the throne room loom.
Memories assault me.
I have stood before these doors more times than I can count, summoned by my father, by Lanneth, by the cruel weight of bloodbound duty. Dread was always waiting on the other side. Orders I could not refuse. Betrayals I could not undo.
I wonder now if anything has truly changed.
We halt. I listen, straining through the thunder and the hiss of rain for the faintest sign of life.
Nothing.
My hands press to the cold wood, my heart a furious rhythm in my chest, skin prickling like something unseen brushes against it.
And then, the doors explode open before I can push.
Standing within the yawning threshold is Lady Ilyra.
She is illuminated by moonlight, a vision carved from ice and grace. Her gown is the color of glacier water, pale and flowing, caught in a wind that doesn’t touch me. Her hair, fair and thick, is braided loosely and long over one shoulder, and her blue eyes are wide with shock.
“Your Highness,” she breathes. “You’ve returned?”
My brow furrows, rain trailing down the side of my face and along the sharp line of my jaw. I swipe it away with the back of my sleeve, narrowing my gaze on her.
“Lady Ilyra,” I say. My eyes flick past her, to the hall cloaked in shadows behind her. “Are you alright?”
She straightens. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”
I peer into the gloom again, eyes straining for movement in the corners. “Where are the Blades? The Reapers?”
