The forest didn’t breathe. It watched.
Not with eyes. Not with sound. But with that ancient, predatory stillness that comes when the world holds its breath. The trees—black and twisted like skeletal fingers clawing at the sky—didn’t sway. The wind didn’t stir. Even the snow, dusting the frozen ground in delicate layers, seemed suspended in time. And at the center of it all, the altar stood like a wound in the earth, its stone cracked and stained with old blood, the sigil carved into its surface pulsing faintly with dark magic.
Vexis was gone.
Not dead. Not defeated. But withdrawn. Like a serpent retreating into the shadows after a failed strike. The vial of my mother’s blood—shattered. The ritual circle—broken. The enforcers—scorched to ash by the surge of magic when Kael and I remade the Oath. But he’d left something behind. Not a body. Not a weapon.
A warning.
Etched into the stone of the altar, just beneath where the sigil had been, was a single word, carved deep with what looked like a claw:
“Soon.”
I didn’t touch it. Didn’t need to. The air around it hummed with malice, the kind that seeped into your bones and whispered promises of pain. My fingers curled around the hilt of the relic dagger, its sigils warm against my palm. It had been forged to break the Oath. Now, it had helped me remake it. But I knew—this wasn’t over. Vexis wouldn’t stop. He’d been building toward this for centuries. And he wouldn’t let a single defeat—no matter how complete—deter him.
“He’s not finished,” I said, my voice low.
Kael stepped beside me, his coat flaring behind him, the silver runes glowing faintly in the dim light. His presence was a storm held at bay—controlled, but ready to break. He didn’t look at the word. Just scanned the tree line, his silver eyes sharp, his jaw clenched.
“No,” he said. “But he’s weakened. The ritual failed. His connection to the Oath is severed. For now.”
“For now,” I echoed.
Because I knew what “for now” meant. It meant time. It meant breathing room. It meant the luxury of believing we’d won.
And I refused to believe it.
Behind us, Silas shifted, his golden eyes scanning the forest. He hadn’t shifted back to his human form yet—still in his wolf shape, fur dusted with snow, breath steaming in the cold. He growled low in his throat, a sound that vibrated through the ground.
“He left a trail,” he said, voice rough. “Not with blood. Not with magic. With intent. Like a dog marking its territory.”
I turned to him. “Can you follow it?”
He didn’t answer. Just lowered his head, nostrils flaring, inhaling the scent of frost and decay and something darker—something that made his hackles rise.
“Yes,” he said after a long moment. “But it won’t lead to him. Not directly. It’ll lead to a place. A hideout. A nest.”
“Then we go,” I said.
Kael turned to me, his eyes narrowing. “It’s a trap.”
“Of course it is,” I said, stepping forward, my boots cracking against the frozen ground. “But it’s the only lead we have. And if we don’t follow it now, he’ll vanish. He’ll rebuild. He’ll come for us when we’re not ready.”
He didn’t argue. Just stepped in front of me, his hand closing around my wrist. The bond flared—hot, immediate—but not with fire. With connection. His thumb brushed the mark on my collarbone, and for a moment, I let myself feel it—the warmth, the certainty, the way his pulse synced with mine.
“You don’t get to die on me,” he said, voice low, rough. “Not now. Not ever.”
I didn’t pull away. Just leaned into him, my fingers tangling in the fabric of his coat. “And you don’t get to protect me by keeping me in the dark. If we’re doing this—if we’re ruling, if we’re fighting, if we’re together—then it’s not just your war. It’s mine.”
He stared at me, his silver eyes searching mine. And then—
He nodded.
“Then we go,” he said. “Together.”
Silas shifted back to his human form, the air shimmering around him as fur receded and bones realigned. He didn’t bother with clothes—he never did when shifting in the field—but just stepped forward, naked and unashamed, his golden eyes sharp.
“Then let’s move,” he said. “Before the trail goes cold.”
We followed him through the forest, the snow crunching beneath our boots, the silence pressing in from all sides. The trees grew denser the farther we went, their branches interlocking overhead like a cage. The air grew colder, the scent of pine and frost sharp in my lungs. And then—
We saw it.
A ruin.
Not just any ruin. A castle—crumbling, half-buried in snow and ivy, its towers leaning like broken teeth. The stone was black, stained with something dark, the archways shattered, the windows gaping like empty eye sockets. But at its heart—a single tower still stood, its peak piercing the sky, a faint red glow pulsing from within.
“That’s it,” Silas said, stopping. “The trail ends there.”
I didn’t hesitate. Just stepped forward, my dagger in hand, the sigils on my skin flaring to life. The bond hummed between Kael and me, warm and steady, a second heartbeat beneath my ribs. I could feel him behind me, close enough that his breath stirred the hair at my nape, his presence like a shield at my back.
We reached the gates—rusted iron, twisted like thorns. They were open, just enough to slip through. And beyond—
The courtyard.
Not empty.
Not still.
But watched.
Shadows moved in the corners. Not just from the trees. Not just from the ruins. But from the walls. Figures—hooded, silent—watched us from the archways, their eyes glowing faintly in the dark. Not vampires. Not witches. Not fae.
Something else.
“Dark Council remnants,” Kael murmured, stepping beside me. “Exiles. Rogues. The kind who’d follow Vexis for power, not loyalty.”
“They’re not attacking,” I said.
“No,” he said. “They’re waiting.”
And then—
A voice.
Not from the shadows. Not from the tower.
From the ground.
“Welcome, daughter of Elspeth.”
I froze.
The voice was familiar. Cold. Ancient. And it came from beneath my feet.
“The stones,” I whispered.
Kael’s hand tightened on my arm. “Don’t answer.”
But I already had.
My head turned. My eyes searched the cracked flagstones. And then—
I saw it.
A sigil—etched into the stone, glowing faintly with crimson light. Not like the ones I’d seen before. Not a binding. Not a protection.
A summoning.
“It’s not just a hideout,” I said, my voice low. “It’s a prison. A tomb. He’s not hiding here. He’s feeding.”
“On what?” Silas asked.
“On memory,” I said, stepping forward. “On pain. On the blood of the past.”
I knelt, my fingers brushing the edge of the sigil. The moment I touched it—
Fire ripped through my veins.
Not pain.
But vision.
The Winter Court.
Not as it was now. Not as a frozen sanctuary. But as it had been centuries ago—alive, vibrant, a place of ice and beauty and cruel elegance. The High Fae walked its halls, their faces masked, their voices like silver bells. And in the center of it all—a woman.
My mother.
Young. Strong. Smiling.
And beside her—Elara.
Not as I knew her. Not as a mentor. Not as a betrayer. But as a sister. As a confidante. As a friend.
They stood together, hands clasped, whispering secrets, laughing. And then—
The Council.
Seven figures, robed in shadow, their eyes glowing with power. They surrounded them. Accused them. Condemned them.
“You have broken the laws,” one said. “You have mingled blood. You have defied the natural order.”
“We love,” my mother said, her voice steady. “That is not a crime.”
“Love is chaos,” the Council said. “And chaos must be punished.”
And then—
The Oath.
Not as a curse. Not as a chain.
But as a gift.
Offered. Not forced.
My mother—kneeling. Not in submission. In sacrifice.
“If my blood can bind the peace,” she said, “then take it. If my death can protect my daughter, then let it be me.”
And Elara—weeping. Not in betrayal. In grief.
“I will carry this burden,” she said. “I will keep her safe. I will make sure she knows the truth.”
But she didn’t.
She lied.
She told me my mother was executed. That she died in chains. That she was a rebel, a traitor, a criminal.
But she wasn’t.
She was a martyr.
I gasped, jerking my hand back, my breath coming in short, sharp bursts. My heart pounded like a war drum, my skin slick with sweat despite the cold.
“It’s not just about power,” I said, my voice shaking. “It’s about truth. He’s not just trying to reclaim the Oath. He’s trying to erase it. To rewrite history. To make everyone believe the lie.”
Kael stepped beside me, his hand closing around mine. The bond flared—hot, immediate—but not with fire. With certainty.
“Then we remind them,” he said. “We show them the truth.”
“How?” Silas asked.
I didn’t answer.
Just stepped forward, my dagger in hand, the sigils on my skin flaring to life. I raised my free hand, blood welling from a cut on my palm, and whispered the words of binding.
“By blood and bone, by moon and mark, I call the past not to hide—but to rise.”
The ground trembled.
The sky cracked.
And the vision—
The vision exploded.
Not in my mind.
In the world.
The courtyard—
It changed.
Not with magic. Not with illusion.
But with memory.
The ruins faded. The shadows retreated. And for a single, breathless moment—
The Winter Court stood whole.
Ice and silver and beauty. The High Fae walked its halls. My mother—alive. Elara—whole. And the Oath—not a curse.
A promise.
And then—
It was gone.
The ruins returned. The shadows deepened. The cold returned.
But something had changed.
The figures in the archways—no longer watching.
No longer silent.
They were kneeling.
Not in submission.
Not in fear.
But in recognition.
One by one, they lowered their hoods. Not vampires. Not witches. Not fae.
Hybrids.
Like me.
Half-bloods. Outcasts. The ones the world had cast aside.
And they looked at me—not with hatred. Not with suspicion.
With hope.
“You see it now,” a voice said.
I turned.
Elara stood at the edge of the courtyard, her silver hair glowing in the moonlight, her staff carved with sigils of binding. Her golden eyes—so like mine—were sharp, but not with judgment. With sorrow. With regret.
“You see the truth,” she said.
I didn’t answer.
Just stepped forward, my boots cracking against the stone. I stopped a few paces from her, my heart pounding, my breath ragged.
“You lied to me,” I said, my voice low. “You made me believe she was a criminal. That she died in shame. But she wasn’t. She chose it. She sacrificed herself for me.”
“I know,” she said, her voice breaking. “And I was wrong. I thought I was protecting you. I thought the truth would destroy you. But you—” she looked at me, really looked at me—“you proved me wrong. You didn’t break the chain. You forged a crown. And I… I am so proud of you.”
I didn’t move.
Didn’t speak.
Just reached out.
Not to strike.
Not to push.
But to touch.
My fingers brushed her cheek—cold, weathered, real. And then—
I pulled her into me.
She didn’t resist. Just collapsed into my arms, her staff clattering to the ground, her body shaking with silent sobs. I held her, my own tears falling, freezing on her silver hair. I didn’t forgive her. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
But I didn’t hate her.
And that was a start.
“I don’t know if I can trust you,” I said, my voice muffled against her shoulder. “But I know you’re my family.”
She didn’t answer. Just held me tighter.
Kael didn’t speak. Just stepped beside us, his presence like a storm at my back. He didn’t touch her. Didn’t offer words. But he didn’t walk away.
And Silas?
He turned, giving us privacy, his golden eyes scanning the trees, his stance relaxed but ready.
When we finally pulled apart, Elara wiped her tears, straightened her spine, and picked up her staff. “The Concord will want to see you,” she said. “They’ll want proof. They’ll want control.”
“They won’t get it,” I said.
“No,” she said, a faint smile touching her lips. “I don’t think they will.”
“Then what do we do?” I asked.
She looked at me, her golden eyes sharp. “You rule. You lead. You show them that the truth is stronger than fear.”
I didn’t answer.
Just turned to Kael, my silver-lavender eyes locking onto his silver ones.
“Then let’s go home,” I said.
And the moon—
The moon was watching.