Chapter 154 Hundred and fifty six

Chapter 154 Hundred and fifty six
“Move aside,” Zane snarled, shoving a trembling guard out of his path as he stormed toward the war tent rising like a scar across the frozen valley. “If Sienna thinks she can hold the Citadel after tonight, she’s more delusional than I thought.”

The guard swallowed and lowered his gaze. No one dared stand in Zane’s way anymore. Not with the army he’d built. Not with the rituals Renna had dragged out of forbidden archives twisting through his veins like smoke.

Renna followed behind him, her voice smooth as polished venom. “They’re waiting for you. The commanders. The priests. All of them. They want a sign you’re ready.”

“I’m beyond ready,” he hissed. “Tonight, the Citadel burns.”

Renna’s smile sharpened. “And Sienna with it, if the gods are kind.”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. The hatred radiating off Zane was enough to warm the frigid air. He pushed through the tent flaps, and every conversation died instantly.

Commanders rose from their seats.

Priests lifted their heads, ink smeared across their palms from drawing blood sigils.

The air inside was thick with incense and smoke from dark candles that crackled with unnatural blue flame.

Renna stepped forward first. “Our leader is here,” she said. “Show him the respect he deserves.”

Zane let the silence stretch, drinking in the power. The fear. The anticipation.

Finally, he spoke. “Tonight, we march.”

A murmur rippled through the room. One commander, an older wolf with scars mapping his face, cleared his throat. “General… our forces are strong, yes, but the Citadel’s protections, ”

Zane’s glare cut him off. “The Moon Gate is failing. The capital is exposed. The goddess’s attention is elsewhere.”

“And Sienna?” another asked. “She’s powerful. Some say she’s becoming something beyond, ”

“She is nothing compared to me.” Zane slammed his fist against the table, rattling maps and sending a quill flying. “I took everything from her once. I’ll do it again.”

Renna glided to his side, laying a hand on his forearm. “Show them,” she whispered. “They need to see what you’ve become.”

His eyes gleamed with dark pride.

With a sharp inhale, he raised his hand.

The candles in the tent exploded upward in streaks of blue flame.

Gasps filled the air. Chairs scraped. The priests fell to their knees.

Zane smiled, a cold twist of triumph, while the fire curled around him, bending like obedient creatures.

“I am the storm that will drown her reign,” he said. “The gods have abandoned her. But power…” His eyes swept the army leaders, glowing unnaturally bright. “Power has not abandoned me.”

The flames collapsed back into the candles all at once, plunging the tent into silence so thick it hummed.

Everyone was staring.

Everyone was afraid.

Renna laughed softly. “You see? The true ruler stands before you.”

A priest bowed low. “Lord Zane… the ritual is almost complete. When the final sigil is carved, your army will march with the blessing of the old powers.”

Zane smirked. “Then carve it.”

A young commander stepped forward, hesitant. “General… there were rumors. About the last ritual. That the soldiers who touched the runes felt, ”

“Pain?” Zane asked.

The commander nodded.

“Pain is the beginning of loyalty,” Zane said. “If they fear me, they obey me. If they obey me, they die for me.”

Renna stepped closer, her hand skimming Zane’s jaw. “And for me.”

The commander’s throat bobbed. “And what of Ryder? His shadow packs, ”

Zane’s jaw clenched. “Ryder is a ghost. Let him haunt the woods like the broken beast he is. He won’t stand in my way.”

“He already has,” Renna said quietly, but not quietly enough.

Zane’s eyes snapped to her. “What do you mean?”

A hush fell. Renna lifted a small, charred fragment of leather, once part of a soldier’s armor. “Three assassins died last night. Killed before they reached the border outpost. Something shredded them. Something… fast.”

Zane grabbed the fragment, fingers trembling with rage. “Ryder.”

Renna leaned in, her voice a purr of poison. “He’s protecting her.”

Zane’s snarl tore from his throat. “I’ll end him. And then I’ll end her.”

He threw the armor piece onto the table and turned to his soldiers.

“Arm the battalions. Ready the siege wolves. I want every claw sharpened, every rune ignited. Tonight we strike the Citadel from three sides. No mercy.”

A roar rose inside the tent.

Renna smirked. “Shall I prepare the ritual circle?”

He nodded. “Do it. And bring me the bloodstone.”

Her smile grew almost feral. “With pleasure.”

She swept out of the tent, silk and shadow trailing behind her. Zane stayed, breathing hard, gripping the table so violently his knuckles whitened.

One commander dared whisper, “And Sienna? What do we do if she tries to negotiate?”

“She won’t,” Zane growled. “She cares too much for her people. She’ll break before she lets them die.”

“And if she doesn’t?”

Zane’s gaze burned like the candles.

“Then I will break her.”

He turned sharply and strode out of the tent, boots sinking into the snow as his army parted for him like waves.

Drums thundered across the valley.

The ground trembled beneath marching feet.

Renna appeared atop a ridge, holding a crimson stone that pulsed like a sick heart. Runes snaked across her arms in dark ink, alive and writhing.

She lifted the stone high.

A shockwave of red light burst through the valley, making soldiers gasp as it seared across their skin.

Some cried out.

Some dropped to their knees.

Zane spread his arms, letting the light pour into him, filling him with a wild, burning force that made the very air crack around him.

When the glow faded, he stood taller.

Stronger.

Unhinged.

Renna walked to him, brushing frost from his shoulder. “The last push begins,” she murmured. “By dawn, the Citadel will be ash.”

Zane didn’t look at her. His eyes were fixed on the distant silhouette of the Citadel, glowing faintly against the horizon.

“Sienna,” he whispered. “I’m coming.”

And as the army surged forward, the moon flickered in warning, its silver light shaking like a heartbeat on the edge of breaking.