Chapter 110 Hundred and fifteen
“Is this really the life you chose, Renna, creeping around like a ghost in the ruins of the Council?” Elder Theron’s voice curled through the abandoned chamber long before his figure emerged, its sound cold enough to slither along the stone walls and settle in the corners like a stain. Renna stepped into the pool of faint blue torchlight, her steps sharp and elegant, the echo of her heels a deliberate declaration of presence rather than caution. Her dark hair spilled around her shoulders in a controlled cascade, and her eyes gleamed with the kind of hunger that made even seasoned leaders uneasy.
She tilted her head in amusement, letting the torchlight kiss the sharp lines of her cheekbones. “Theron, darling, if I wanted to hide, you would never find me. Besides, ghosts don’t scheme. They haunt. I prefer the former.” Her voice was honey dipped in venom, controlled, seductive, calculated. She approached him slowly, allowing the silence to stretch around them like a taut thread waiting to snap. “I assume you came alone?”
Theron watched her carefully, his gray brows narrowing as he straightened the heavy cloak around his shoulders. “When you request a meeting in the middle of the night in a place the goddess herself once blessed, I come alone out of respect.” His gaze hardened, a shadow crossing his face. “Or out of caution.”
Renna laughed softly, a melodic sound that carried a vicious edge. “Caution with me has never saved anyone.” Her fingers brushed along the table that once hosted council decrees and royal signatures. Now it was layered with dust, cracked documents, and dim remnants of power. “Tell me, Elder, what rumor reached your ears this time? Which fear drove you to me instead of staying tucked in your chamber pretending to rule?”
Theron did not appreciate being mocked; it showed in the stiffness of his jaw. But he played along, stepping closer until their shadows intertwined across the ancient stone floor. “Fear is not my motivator,” he muttered, though the lie trembled faintly beneath the practiced calm in his voice. “But concern? Yes. The realm is turning, Renna. The packs murmur. The throne trembles. Sienna’s hold weakens by the day. If we do not act soon, chaos will devour us all.”
Renna’s smile grew, slow and wicked, stretching the softness of her lips into something sharp. “Chaos is simply order wearing new clothes. Sometimes you must let the old world burn before building the one that should have existed.” Her eyes glinted with a cruel delight. “And I assume you want to build this new world… with me.”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” he snapped, but he didn’t step back from her. His gaze flicked across the fading runes carved into the council basin, the remnants of old magic. “I came because you claim to have evidence. Proof that Ryder intends to overthrow Sienna, that he is no longer stable enough to live among us, much less lead anyone.” His voice lowered, thick with skepticism. “If you’re lying, I will, ”
“Theron, please,” she interrupted, her tone dripping with bored indulgence. “You’ve threatened me so many times over the years that I can recite your warnings by heart. Yet here I stand, and you still need me.” She pulled a pack of forged scrolls from her cloak and placed them on the table with a graceful flick of her wrist. The parchment unfurled itself like a serpent coming to life, revealing intricate ink strokes and fabricated accounts of Ryder’s ‘attacks,’ ‘attempted murders,’ and ‘escape attempts.’ “Here,” she said softly. “Read your salvation.”
Theron hesitated. That hesitation , brief but undeniable , pleased her. She stepped closer, her breath whispering against his ear. “You asked for proof. I brought you a story the people can believe, fear, and follow.” She leaned in further, letting her lips nearly graze his ear. “All you must do is fan the flame.”
He looked down at the scrolls finally, and she watched the slow shift in his expression. Disgust, fascination, doubt, hunger , all of it played across his features like a storm passing across a field. “These accounts… you intend to claim these came from Sienna’s own guards?”
“Correct,” she purred. “Men loyal to her until they saw Ryder’s truth.” She touched one of the scrolls gently, admiring her handiwork. “Fear is the easiest tool to mold. And right now, Ryder’s curse is the biggest fear in the realm.”
Theron’s voice grew low. “If this spreads, the people will revolt. They will see Ryder as a threat. And they will see Sienna as weak.”
Renna’s smile blossomed into something triumphant and dark. “Exactly.” She leaned against the table, her gown swaying like black silk water. “Sienna’s love for him is already cracking her throne. We simply widen the break.” Her fingers danced along the dusty surface. “If the packs see Ryder as a monster… and Sienna as the fool who clings to him…” She shrugged lightly, as if the ruin of a queen was nothing more than a change in weather. “The realm will beg for someone stronger to take control.”
“Someone like Zane,” Theron said slowly, watching her reaction.
Renna’s smirk deepened. “He is easier to guide than Sienna. And he has something she lacks.”
“And what is that?” Theron pressed.
“Blind ambition.” She flicked her wrist as though dismissing Sienna entirely. “Sienna rules with heart. It makes her predictable. Soft. Dangerous to herself.” Renna’s eyes sharpened, cutting through the dim light like blades. “But Zane… Zane wants power so badly he would drink it like blood if offered. That kind of hunger is easier to shape.” Her voice lowered to a whisper. “And easier to control.”
Theron considered her words silently for a long moment. Then he clasped his hands behind his back, pacing slowly around the broken council chamber. “If we move forward with this… if we ignite the packs against Ryder, against Sienna…” He stopped and met her gaze. “There will be no turning back.”
“That’s the beautiful part,” Renna murmured, stepping forward to meet him in the center of the room. “I don’t want to turn back. I want the future that should have been mine.” She tilted her head, her voice dripping with pride. “I want the throne.”
Theron stiffened. “The throne is not promised to you.”
Renna’s laughter was soft. Dangerous. “No throne is promised. Every throne is taken.” She leaned closer, lowering her voice to a whisper. “With your help, I can make sure Sienna loses hers. And once she falls…” Her eyes glimmered. “I’ll make the realm kneel.”
Theron swallowed, a flicker of unease moving through his posture. “And Ryder?” he asked. “What if he survives this? What if he returns stronger?”
Renna paused, her smile fading into a darker, sharper expression. When she spoke, her voice held a quiet, burning malice. “If Ryder dares return, I will finish what the goddess started.” Her eyes shifted to the shadows behind Theron. “He will never reach Sienna again. And when he tries…” She stepped back, letting the last torch flicker across her face. “We will be ready.”
A cold draft swept through the chamber, making the banners shiver like ghosts waking from sleep. Theron felt the chill crawl up his spine, but Renna simply closed her eyes, savoring the taste of her coming triumph.
Then, from somewhere deep within the Citadel, a howl echoed , low, broken, and unmistakably familiar.
Theron’s eyes widened. Renna’s smile sharpened.
“It begins,” she whispered.
And darkness shifted, hungry for war.