Chapter 66

He was the mountain that wouldn’t move. The blade that never bent.

“No—he’s alive. You didn’t find his body, did you?” I choked out.

“There were no bodies left intact, my lady,” the guard whispered. “Only ash. Craters. Melted steel.”

I screamed.

I screamed like the sky was collapsing around me.

Thunder cracked.

Outside, sunlight vanished. The clouds rolled in thick and fast, like black smoke pouring from the heavens. The birds stopped singing. The world held its breath.

And then—

The first drop of rain.

It hit the palace courtyard like a tear. Then another. And another. And suddenly, the storm broke.

Rain crashed down in sheets. The kind that flooded streets and drowned prayers. Lightning split the sky with such force the ground shook beneath us.

And far in the distance, from the Wolfpeak Mountains—

A volcano erupted.

Flames. Ash. Smoke spiraling like a dark omen toward the heavens.

As if the entire realm was mourning with me.

I was dragged inside by the Prince, my body limp in his arms. I didn’t remember much. Just the cold. Just the weight.

He pressed a dry cloak around me as we reached my chamber, his voice trembling. “We’ll find him. Or what did this. I swear it.”

But I didn’t respond. I sat curled in the corner of the room, drenched, numb, the sound of thunder louder than my heartbeat.

“He promised he’d return,” I whispered. “He—he promised he’d protect the others.”

The Prince knelt in front of me. His normally composed face twisted with pain.

“I know,” he said, his eyes searching mine. “But if Alaric is truly gone… then we need you more than ever.”

“Don’t,” I snapped, tears falling freely now. “Don’t talk to me about needing me. I don’t want to be a savior. I don’t want to summon anything. I want him back!”

Lightning lit up the chamber again, casting jagged shadows across the stone.

The floor beneath us trembled faintly.

Something ancient was stirring.

Outside, the world wept. People lit candles in windows. Clerics gathered in the temple to chant mourning rites. Black banners were hung by the gates.

The Rift had claimed too many.

And somewhere deep inside me — past the grief, past the agony — something cold and sharp began to awaken.

This wasn’t over.

Alaric wouldn’t die like that. Not without a fight.

Not without me.

Even if I had to break the world to bring him back.

That Night – Through Storm and Ruin

The storm hadn’t stopped.

Thunder growled like a wounded beast across the palace skies. Rain slammed against the windows in a relentless rhythm, as if the heavens themselves were grieving. But no amount of weeping skies could match the emptiness inside me.

Alaric was gone.

Every time I blinked, I saw his face—stern, steady, frustratingly proud. The way he’d scold me for being reckless. The way his eyes softened when he thought no one was watching. The way he would always, always, walk ahead of me in battle—like a shield.

I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t eat.

Even in the safety of the palace, wrapped in silk and guarded by a hundred blades, I felt like I was suffocating.

So when the storm struck again that night, painting the sky violet with streaks of lightning, I made my decision.

I was going back.

Even if it killed me.

“You’re what?!” the Queen hissed, grabbing my arm as I packed my cloak and herbs. “You cannot return to the Rift! It’s cursed. It’s sealed! Abby—please, this is grief speaking.”

I looked her in the eyes, soaked with rain even under the arched hallway. “It is grief. But it’s also duty. And I won’t sit here while the Rift eats my people.”

Before she could argue further, the door creaked open. Prince Lucien stood in the frame, already wearing dark riding leathers, his sword belted to his side, rain streaming from his soaked cloak.

“She’s not going alone,” he said, voice firm.

The Queen’s face fell. “Damian—dear—”

“I’ve made my decision,” he interrupted gently, placing a hand on her shoulder. “You know what Father would want. The Rift won’t stop until someone forces it to.”

“I’ve already written the incantations,” I said, shoving scrolls into my satchel. “I need to finish the ritual we began. If there’s still a chance someone—he—is alive… I’ll find him.”

Behind me, Norma, my maid and closest confidante, entered the room quietly. She wore her traveling cloak and boots. Her face was pale, but her eyes—sharp with defiance.

“You’re not leaving me behind, my lady. I already brewed the potions. And packed your clean undergarments.”

I laughed bitterly through the ache in my chest.

“Of course you did.”

We left that night.

Lightning lashed the palace walls as we rode through the gates under cover of darkness. Our horses galloped down the muddy road, hooves slapping puddles, manes soaked to the bone.

The city was quiet. Asleep. Mourning.

But we weren’t going to sleep. We weren’t going to mourn. Not yet.

As we passed through the outer district, a gust of wind nearly knocked me from my saddle. The storm howled in our ears, and in the distance, the volcano from earlier spewed ash again—molten red streaks glowing in the clouds like the eyes of a sleeping god.

“Is that normal?” Norma shouted over the rain, her voice barely audible.

“No,” I muttered. “But nothing’s been normal since the Rift opened.”

By the time we reached the edge of the capital, my cloak weighed as much as armor. I couldn’t tell where the storm ended and my tears began.

Prince Lucien rode beside me in silence, rain dripping from his chin. Every now and then, his eyes would flick toward me—worried, solemn, maybe something else I didn’t have the heart to name.

Finally, he spoke. “When we reach the Rift… what then?”

“We finish what we started,” I said. “We summon the dead. We talk to whatever soul still lingers on that battlefield. And we find a way to open the seal.”

“And if there are no souls left?”

I turned to him. The wind cut across my face like knives, but I didn’t blink.

“Then we raise the mountain itself until it gives them back.”

We pressed forward through the storm.

Past the ruined watchtower. Past the splintered road where the last supply cart was overturned and abandoned.

And finally—past the final tree line, where the Rift pulsed like a living wound in the land.

It waited for us.

The earth cracked with heat. Lightning illuminated the horizon in ghostly white. And in the center of the chaos, the Rift stood—sealed, yes, but far from dormant.

It breathed.

It hungered.

And I was going to tear it open, no matter the cost.