Chapter 110 Seraphine
“He came to you,” Lukas said, “after years of experimentation.”
“Yes,” Valin replied. “He said extinction was accelerating. That desperate measures were required.”
“And you believed him,” Lukas said flatly.
Valin’s eyes flicked to me.
“I believed dragonkind was in danger,” he said. “And I believed Thane was willing to do what others would not.”
My dragon snarled quietly.
“And the witch’s heart,” Lukas continued. “The construct placed in Lucian’s penthouse.”
Valin closed his eyes briefly.
“That was me,” he admitted. “At Thane’s request.”
The room went razor-still.
“Explain,” Lukas said.
“Thane claimed Fire territory was compromised,” Valin said. “That emotions needed to be… clarified. He said conflict would reveal truth.”
I laughed.
It came out sharp and ugly.
“Conflict?” I snapped. “You turned us against each other. You nearly broke the bond between me and Dante.”
Valin flinched.
“That was not my intent,” he said quickly. “The heart was meant to amplify truth, not distort it.”
“And yet it did,” Lukas said. “Because witchcraft does not obey intention. It obeys cost.”
Valin nodded once. “I see that now.”
Lucian’s voice shook with restrained fury. “You destabilized a safehouse. You endangered civilians.”
“I know,” Valin said quietly. “And I will answer for it.”
Lukas studied him for a long moment.
“Were you aware,” Lukas asked, “that Thane intended to rewrite blood laws?”
Valin’s head snapped up. “No.”
The word rang true.
I felt it.
“So you did not consent to that,” Lukas said.
“No,” Valin said firmly. “I would never have allowed it. Blood law rewriting requires original blood consensus. It fractures the world if done wrong.”
“And yet,” Lukas said, “you supplied the means that allowed him to try.”
Valin bowed his head. “Yes.”
The admission settled heavy.
“Did you benefit,” Lukas asked, “from the deaths of those women?”
Valin’s head jerked up. Lightning flared uncontrolled this time.
“No,” he said sharply. “Never. If I had known—”
“But you didn’t look closely enough,” Lukas interrupted. “Because extinction frightened you.”
Valin went still.
“Yes,” he said softly. “It did.”
Lukas turned his gaze to me then.
“To you,” he said, voice carrying through the hall. “Did Valin ever act directly against your will?”
I straightened.
“No,” I said. “He interfered. He destabilized. But he did not chain me. He did not drown women. He did not steal bodies.”
Valin’s shoulders sagged in something like relief.
“But,” I continued, my voice hardening, “his inaction and his cooperation made everything worse.”
Valin met my eyes. “I accept that.”
Lukas nodded once.
“Then this is my judgment,” he said.
Every breath in the room caught.
“Valin of Storm acted out of fear, not malice,” Lukas said. “He enabled atrocity through complacency and pride. He will not be banished.”
Thane snarled.
“But,” Lukas continued calmly, “Storm territory will submit to oversight. Witchcraft within its borders will be bound to High Priestess review. All compacts suspended until reevaluated.”
Valin bowed deeply. “I accept.”
Lukas turned next to Thane.
“And you,” he said softly.
My dragon surged.
Not outward.
Not yet.
She coiled inside me like a blade being drawn inch by inch from its sheath, heat humming through my veins as Lukas faced Thane fully.
Thane straightened, chin lifting, shadows writhing at his feet like they were ready to strike. Even now—after everything—he looked every inch a king who believed himself inevitable.
Lukas didn’t raise his voice.
He didn’t need to.
“You stand accused,” he continued, “of unlawful experimentation, forced awakenings, kidnapping across territories, manipulation of consorts, destabilization of neutral ground, attempted rewriting of blood laws, and the deaths of dragonborn and humans alike.”
Thane laughed.
A sharp, ugly sound.
“You call it crime,” he sneered. “I call it survival.”
My dragon hissed.
Lukas held up one hand—not to Thane, but to the room.
“This is no longer a matter of opinion,” he said. “It is a matter of governance.”
He turned slightly, addressing the Old Guard and the remaining kings.
“By ancient accord,” Lukas said, “a king may be stripped of title and banished by council vote when he proves himself a threat to dragonkind itself.”
The air thickened.
“I call for that vote now.”
Murmurs exploded.
Before anyone could speak, the women stepped forward.
All of them.
“Please,” one of them said, voice shaking. “You have to listen to us.”
“He drowned us,” another cried. “He told us we were failures if we screamed.”
“He said our bodies were resources,” a third whispered. “That consent didn’t matter if the world was ending.”
Thane snarled. “Lies.”
My dragon growled low and dangerous.
Lukas raised his voice just enough to cut through the chaos.
“Enough,” he commanded.
The room obeyed.
He turned to the women, expression grave but not unkind. “Your testimony has already been heard. It weighs heavily. But this vote will be taken by kings and the Old Guard alone.”
I felt the women bristle—but I nodded once, subtle, steady.
This wasn’t silencing.
This was procedure.
Lukas began to count.
One by one, the voices came.
Against.
Against.
Against.
Each word struck like a hammer.
Thane’s shadows thrashed harder with every answer.
When the tally finished, Lukas didn’t hesitate.
“Eight against,” he said. “Two in favor.”
Silence.
Then—
“By the authority of this council,” Lukas declared, voice ringing through stone and bone alike, “Thane of Death is hereby banished and stripped of his title.”
The words slammed into the hall.
“A new Death King will be appointed when balance allows,” Lukas continued. “Until that time, Thane is restricted to neutral territory only. Entry into any domain requires invitation.”
Thane’s face twisted.
“You can’t—”
Lukas spoke over him.
“He will bear a tracking aura at all times,” Lukas said calmly. “His location and status visible to the council and the High Priestess. Any violation will be met with immediate containment.”
Thane snapped.
“You’re all weak!” he roared. “You’re letting humans rot us from the inside out! You think mercy will save you? You think restraint will—”
“Enough,” Lukas said sharply.
Thane kept yelling.
Calling them fools. Cowards. Short-sighted kings clinging to tradition while extinction crept closer.
That was when it happened.
Dante roared.
Lucian roared with him.
Fire and water collided in sound alone—no magic released, no destruction—just raw dominance, ancient power amplified by unity.
The hall shook.
Thane stumbled backward, shadows recoiling as realization dawned in his eyes.
He wasn’t a king anymore.
He was outnumbered.
Cornered.
I snorted.
It slipped out before I could stop it.
Lukas didn’t even look at me—but his mouth twitched.
Then he turned.
“To Kael.”