Chapter 146: The witch queen awakens.

Lilith looked toward the distant tree line. The passing Elves bowed their heads in unison. Lilith turned her piercing gaze back to Anastasia.

“But we will face that storm when it arrives,” Lilith said. "For now, your people need you. The witches, the vampires, the realms. They need their Queen to return to the realm.”

Anastasia scoffed softly. “I have never been anything useful to them before. Why would they need me? I was the one always needing their help. I was always the damsel in distress.” Seeing the look on Lilith's face, her gaze drops to her, dirt-stained, bloodstained hands. A heavy knot formed in her throat, thick and suffocating. “Even if that was true. How? My magic is gone.” she whispered. Her voice cracks under the weight of the title. “I spent my entire time with them as a fragile, dying human. I break fast. How am I supposed to lead those powerful beings? I do not know if I am capable of being their Queen.”

Lilith steps closer. The gossamer fabric of her gown drags across the vibrant grass. She reaches out and tips Anastasia's chin up until their eyes meet. “You do not need to learn how to be a Queen, Anastasia. You only need to remember. The strength of Lord Liam's true mate always slept in your veins. You are the blood of Xylvarna.”

A strange calm washes over Anastasia. It bypasses her racing heart and settles deep into her bones. The fear begins to retreat.

“Will I see you again?" Anastasia asked. A desperate pull tugs at her chest. She feels a profound connection to the woman she met only minutes ago. “Will you fight with us?"

"When my time comes, I will be there with you all,” Lilith promises. Her voice echoes with the weight of a prophecy, ringing through the wide garden. "But for now, Anastasia… it is time to go back. It is time to awaken the power within.”

Lilith steps in front of her. Her eyes flared with a bright, blinding sliver fire. The air grows hot.

"Do not fear the magic,” Lilith whispered. The sound rushed like wind through the trees, vibrating in Anastasia's soul. “It has been there all along. Let it erupt."

The world of sunlight and beautiful trees shattered like glass.

Anastasia's eyes fly open. The pitch-black abyss of the shadow-rift swallowed her vision. The freezing mud bites into her skin. The smell of rot fills her lungs.

A sharp sound echoed through the execution pit. The wooden pendant resting on her chest split into two. From the splintered rowan wood, pure silver light erupted. It pushed back the absolute dark, illuminating the jagged rough stone walls.

The Fae venom stands no chance. The ancient witch magic hunted the poison through her veins and boiled it away in seconds. Anastasia arches her back. A loud gasp tears from her lips. The excruciating pain vanishes, replaced by a vibrating, overwhelming pressure building in her chest.

The magic rushed into the deep, aching void where her leukemia festered for months. The hollow fragility in her bones filled with absolute power. The stones of the abyss begin to hum in submission. The agonizing weakness that defined her human life burned away. The cold leaves her limbs. Strength, raw and unyielding, anchors her to the earth.

Anastasia inhaled. It is the first full, deep breath she had taken without her chest aching. Air fills her lungs, crisp and clean.

She pushed her hands against the damp mud. Her arms do not tremble. Her twisted ankle snapped back into place with a sickening pop, but there was no pain — only the rushing warmth of accelerated magical healing knitting muscle and bone back together.

As she stood up, the freezing temperature of the deep execution pit no longer bothered her. Her torn dress is a mess of mud and blood. The heavy, oppressive shadows that crept toward her earlier recoil. They hissed and scrambled up the walls, desperate to escape her radiant silver light.

Anastasia raised her hands. She stared at her palms. The ethereal glow bled from her pores, bright and steady. She felt the earth beneath her feet. It was not dead and terrifying anymore. It felt like a living, breathing extension of her own body. She felt the roots buried miles deep in the stone. She felt the moisture in the air, the heavy weight of the Fae magic above her, and the iron wards locking the rift shut high above her head.

She did not wait in the crater. She closed her eyes and commanded the earth. The thick roots burst from the walls. They wove together, forming a solid platform beneath her bare feet. The roots surged upward, carrying her out of the deep rift at blinding speed. She ascended through the dark, rising past the iron wards, toward a soft, impossible light above her. She breached the surface, and stopped.

As she emerged into the garden where Aeliana had first lured her into the darkness. The same sweetness hung in the air. The gentle wind moved through the same white petals, as if everything that had happened never happened. Like she had not died in that pit.

Her jaw tightened. Now she recognized a lie when it was placed before her.

When her eyes moved, standing on the other side of the garden was William, his fingers locked around Prince Eryndor's arm. His crimson eyes burned with a feral, untamed anger and fear.

Anastasia glanced at him. Her face held no fear, no tears, and no expression at all. But the man before her looked utterly deranged, she had never seen him like this before. Not calm. Not composed.

“You're late,” she said.