The city breathes in time with my pulse.
Not the suffocating rhythm of fear, not the jagged gasp of survival, but something deeper. Something steady. The streets hum—not with whispers of treason or the clink of blood vials in back-alley bars—but with life. Children laugh beneath the new sapling in the square. Witches barter truth-charms for bread. Werewolves train in the open courtyard, no longer hiding their claws. Even the Fae linger in the sunlight, their glamours softened, their eyes less sharp with deception.
And above it all, the Spire rises—not as a tomb of lies, but as a beacon.
I stand at the edge of the balcony, my boots silent on moon-polished stone, my hands braced against the railing. Below, the city stretches—alive, defiant, free. The ruins are gone. The corruption burned. The old council’s shadow lifted. And yet—
I feel heavier than ever.
Not from power.
Not from duty.
From name.
Sage of the Moonblood line.
Co-leader of the Hybrid Accord.
Mate to the Alpha-King.
Queen.
Each one a weight. Each one a chain. Each one a reminder that I am no longer just me.
Kaelen steps beside me, his presence a wall of heat and stillness. He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t touch me. Just watches the city, his silver eyes scanning the streets, the rooftops, the distant horizon. He’s in full armor today—shadow-woven, seamless, the sigils along the pauldrons pulsing faintly with power. Not for war. Not for show.
For protection.
“They’re calling you ‘The Liberator’,” he says, voice low.
“I’m not a liberator,” I say. “I’m a survivor.”
“Same thing.”
“No.” I turn to him. “Survivors don’t get statues. Survivors don’t have their names carved into stone. Survivors don’t have people kneeling when they pass.”
He doesn’t flinch. Just studies me—really studies me. “And what do you want to be?”
I don’t answer.
Because I don’t know.
I came here to burn them all. To expose the lie. To reclaim my mother’s honor. And I did. But I didn’t expect to become something in the process. I didn’t expect the weight of a name, the burden of a crown, the way people look at me now—not with fear, not with hatred, but with hope.
And hope is heavier than vengeance.
“You don’t have to carry it alone,” he says, stepping closer, his hand finding mine. His fingers are warm, calloused, strong. “You don’t have to be everything to everyone.”
“But I have to be something,” I say. “I can’t just… vanish. Not now. Not after all this.”
“No,” he agrees. “But you don’t have to be a symbol. You can be real. You can be angry. You can be tired. You can be human.”
I look at him—his scarred chest, his fangs just visible, the bite on his neck where I marked him. The man who once stood between me and my revenge. The man who let me go—and chased me into the dark.
And I know—
He sees me.
Not the queen.
Not the weapon.
Not the savior.
Just Sage.
“I don’t want to be a myth,” I whisper. “I don’t want children telling stories about me a hundred years from now. I want to be able to walk into a market and haggle over apples. I want to argue with you without half the city thinking the Accord is collapsing. I want to love you without it being a declaration of war.”
He chuckles—low, warm. “Too late for that. Loving me was always a declaration of war.”
I glare at him. “You’re impossible.”
“And you love me anyway.”
“Unfortunately.”
He grins—fully this time—and pulls me into his arms, lifting me off my feet. I gasp, my hands flying to his shoulders, my legs wrapping around his waist. He carries me back inside, kicks the door shut, and lays me down on the furs, his body covering mine—his weight delicious, his heat searing, his arousal a hard line against my core.
“You’re distracting me,” I murmur, my fingers tangling in his hair.
“Good.” He kisses me—slow, deep, savoring—before his mouth moves to my neck, his teeth grazing the pulse point. I shiver. “You don’t have to be perfect,” he says against my skin. “You don’t have to be fearless. You just have to be you. And that’s enough.”
“It feels like it should be more,” I whisper.
“It is more,” he says. “But it starts with you. With us. With this.” His hands slide under my tunic, tracing the sigils beneath my skin, not as weapons, but as part of me. “You’re not just a queen, Sage. You’re a woman. A witch. A fighter. A lover. And I get to be the man who knows all of you. Not the world. Not the Accord. Me.”
And then—
He shows me.
Not with words.
With hands.
With mouth.
With heat.
He undresses me slowly—each button, each tie, each layer a promise. His fingers trace the sigils beneath my skin, not as weapons, not as curses, but as part of me. His lips follow, kissing every scar, every mark, every place where the world has tried to break me. And when he reaches the core of me, when his mouth closes over my clit, when his fingers slide inside—
I come apart.
Not silently. Not with restraint.
With a cry—raw, broken, unmistakable—my body arching off the bed, my fingers clawing at the furs. He doesn’t stop. Just drinks me in, his tongue circling, his fingers curling, my name a prayer on his lips.
And when I finally collapse, trembling, gasping, he moves over me, his cock pressing at my entrance, his eyes locking onto mine.
“Look at me,” he growls.
I do.
And he thrusts.
Not roughly. Not possessively.
Claiming.
Every stroke is a vow. Every groan is a promise. Every movement is a reminder—you are mine, I am yours, we are unbreakable. And when he comes, when his body tenses, when his fangs graze my neck, when he whispers my name like a spell—
I know.
The war isn’t over.
Malrik is still a threat.
The council still a prison.
But we’re not fighting alone.
We’re not just a weapon.
Not just a pawn.
Not just a hybrid.
We’re Sage and Kaelen.
And we are unstoppable.
—
Later, I walk the city alone.
No guards. No entourage. No fanfare.
Just me.
The streets are alive—lanterns lit, music playing, voices rising in song. A witch dances with a vampire. A werewolf shares wine with a human. A Fae child laughs, her hands sparking with harmless light. The air carries not just the scent of iron and jasmine, but of bread, of smoke, of life.
I wear simple clothes—undyed wool, no sigils, no armor. Just a woman. Just Sage.
And yet—
They see me.
Not with fear. Not with hatred.
With something sharper. Something quieter. Recognition.
A mother pulls her child closer—not in warning, but in reverence. A street vendor pauses mid-call, his voice dying in his throat. An old witch with milky eyes and a staff of bone raises her chin as I pass, and I know—she sees more than flesh. She sees the storm beneath my skin. The fire in my blood.
And she nods.
I don’t return it. Just keep walking.
I reach the lower district—the part of the city that was once hidden, where hybrids and rebels and outcasts lived in the shadows. Now, it’s alive. The buildings are repaired. The streets are clean. And in the center of the square?
The sapling.
It’s grown—taller, stronger, its leaves shimmering with moonlight, its roots spreading through the stone. And around it?
A crowd.
Not of soldiers. Not of spies.
Of people.
Witches. Werewolves. Fae. Humans. Hybrids—some young, some old, some with sigils like mine, some with none at all. They stand in silence, their hands raised, their eyes closed. And in the center of it all?
A single flame.
Burning in a basin of black stone—Malrik’s stone, repurposed, cleansed, transformed. A symbol. Not of destruction. But of truth.
I don’t move. Just watch.
And then—
A young hybrid steps forward—no older than sixteen, her hair shorn, her arms marked with ritual scars. She doesn’t speak. Just raises her hand. And from her palm, a single flame blooms—blue, steady, pure. A truth-light. A declaration.
And then another.
And another.
Witches. Werewolves. Even a Fae with storm-colored eyes. Humans too—donors, rebels, survivors—stepping from the shadows, raising their hands, their flames joining the growing glow. Not rebellion.
Witness.
They’re not here to fight.
They’re here to see.
And I realize—
This isn’t about me.
It’s about them.
They’re not kneeling.
They’re not bowing.
They’re standing.
And they’re free.
I don’t speak. Don’t step forward. Just stand there, my hands clenched at my sides, my breath steady, my heart full.
And then—
The young hybrid turns.
And sees me.
Her eyes widen. Not with fear. Not with awe.
With recognition.
And she smiles.
Not the smile of a subject. Not the grin of a fan.
The smile of a sister.
And in that moment—
I know.
I don’t have to be a queen.
I don’t have to be a symbol.
I don’t have to be a myth.
I just have to be here.
And that’s enough.
—
I return to the northern tower as the moon climbs higher.
The corridors are quiet—no messengers, no rebels, no healers. Just silence. Not the silence of emptiness. Not the silence of fear.
The silence of home.
Our chamber is no longer a prison. No longer a battlefield. The furs are clean, the candles lit, the arched windows open to the night. The scent of pine and smoke—his scent—fills the air, mingling with the faint trace of jasmine—mine.
Kaelen is waiting.
Not in armor. Not in battle stance.
In bed.
The furs are pulled back, his body stretched out, his scars on full display. He doesn’t speak. Just watches me—his silver eyes sharp, his jaw relaxed, his presence a quiet storm.
“You were gone a long time,” he says.
“I needed to breathe,” I say, stepping closer.
“And did you?”
I don’t answer.
Just climb into bed, curl against his side, my head on his chest, my hand splayed over his heart. His arm wraps around me, pulling me close, his heat searing through my tunic.
“They’re calling you ‘The Liberator’,” I say.
“Let them.”
“I don’t want to be a myth.”
“You’re not.” He presses his lips to my forehead. “You’re Sage. The woman who broke the bond. Who faced the council. Who chose to build instead of burn. That’s not myth. That’s truth.”
“And what if I fail?” I whisper.
“Then we fail together.” He cups my face, his thumb brushing my lip. “But we won’t. Because you’re not just strong, Sage. You’re right. And the world finally sees it.”
I close my eyes, leaning into his touch. “I don’t want to be a symbol,” I say. “I want to be real. I want to be able to walk the streets without people bowing. I want to be able to argue with you without half the city thinking it’s a crisis. I want to be able to love you without it being a political statement.”
He chuckles—low, warm. “Too late for that. Loving me was always a political statement.”
I open my eyes, glare at him. “You’re impossible.”
“And you love me anyway.”
“Unfortunately.”
He grins—fully this time—and pulls me on top of him, his hands on my hips, his cock hard beneath me. I gasp, my fingers clawing at his chest, my core aching.
“You’re distracting me,” I murmur.
“Good.” He kisses me—slow, deep, savoring—before his hands move to my tunic, pulling it over my head. “You don’t have to be perfect,” he says against my lips. “You don’t have to be fearless. You just have to be you. And that’s enough.”
And then—
He shows me.
Not with words.
With hands.
With mouth.
With heat.
And as his fingers slide inside me, as his mouth closes over my nipple, as he whispers my name like a prayer—
I know.
The war isn’t over.
Malrik is still a threat.
The council still a prison.
But we’re not fighting alone.
We’re not just a weapon.
Not just a pawn.
Not just a hybrid.
We’re Sage and Kaelen.
And we are unstoppable.