Chapter 68 ATTACK ON TIR'NAREL

Chapter 68 ATTACK ON TIR'NAREL
AUREN

“What the fuck were you there thinking letting her do something like this? I yell, frustrated after trying everything humanly and magically possible and the only response I can get from Haven's lifeless body is a pulse.

The fire in the hearth has burned low, reduced to glowing embers that cast long, flickering shadows across the walls of our bedroom. I stand motionless at the foot of the massive bed, every muscle in my body locked tight as if one wrong movement might shatter the fragile illusion that Haven is only sleeping.

She lies there on the silk sheets we shared two nights ago perfectly still, her chest rising and falling in slow, shallow breaths that are nothing more than mechanical habit. Her skin is warm when I touch it, but there is no life behind it

Her eyes remain closed, lashes dark against pale cheeks, and her silver-streaked hair fans across the pillow like spilled starlight. She looks peaceful. Beautiful. And terrifyingly empty.

It has been almost a full day since she stepped into her mother’s memories.

Almost a full day since Imogen completed the ritual in the relic chamber and carried her limp body back here, whispering apologies I could barely hear through the roaring in my ears.

I was in the throne room going through a late night meeting that gave me the migraines of my life when the door to the courtroom opened and he barged in. He was trembling all over as he informed me of what went down in the relic chamber.

I have not left this room since last night

Fuck , I have barely eaten.

My dragon fire simmers low and restless beneath my ribs, still weakened from the Hydra wounds but now burning with a different kind of heat, raw, protective fury mixed with a fear so deep it threatens to choke me. The mate bond between us feels stretched thin, like a single golden thread pulled taut across an endless abyss. I can sense her presence, faint and distant, but it is like reaching for smoke on the wind. Every time I try to push deeper, the thread trembles as if it might snap.

I tried everything I could to bring her back, but there's nothing to be done once someone has stepped into the world of memories.

Imogen stands near the tall arched window, arms crossed so tightly over his chest that his knuckles are white. His usual calm demeanor is gone; exhaustion etches deep lines around his eyes, and he keeps glancing at Haven as though willing her to wake. Amelyn paces slowly at the foot of the bed, her emerald scales faintly visible beneath her skin whenever her emotions spike. She has not stopped moving since she arrived, as if constant motion can somehow keep the panic at bay. Lyra sits curled in the large armchair beside the bed, clutching Haven’s limp hand between both of hers. Silent tears track down her cheeks in steady streams, but she does not sob aloud. She simply holds on, as if sheer love and willpower alone can anchor her sister to this world.

And hovering near the headboard like a silver ghost is Athalia—Haven’s mother. Her translucent form glows faintly in the dim firelight, wings of rose and gold folded behind her. She watches her daughter with quiet sorrow and unbreakable faith.

They are all worried, but I couldn't care less.

“You let her do this,” I growl, my voice low and dangerous as I finally turn to stare at them.

My eyes lock first on Imogen. “You, of all people, should know bette than to perform the ritual. You sent my queen into a labyrinth that could swallow her soul whole and leave nothing but this breathing shell behind.”

Imogen flinches but does not look away. His voice is hoarse when he answers. “She ordered us not to tell you, Your Grace. She was terrified you would stop her. She said she needed these last days with you in peace, without fighting. She believed this was the only way to find the Library without walking straight into Euron blind.”

“Damn right I would have stopped her!” The roar tears out of me before I can contain it. I slam my fist against the heavy wooden bedpost. The crack of splintering oak echoes through the room like thunder. A small shower of wood chips falls to the rug. “She is not some expendable scout or desperate fae ambassador. She is my mate and will not stand for her playing hero. She is the only thing in this entire gods-forsaken continent that keeps my dragon from burning everything to ash just to feel something. And you three—you stood by and helped her risk dissolving into her mother’s memories like some forgotten dream? What if she never comes back? What if I am left ruling this kingdom with nothing but this empty body in my arms every night?”

My chest heaves with each word. The dragon inside me stirs violently, scales rippling just beneath my skin, claws threatening to emerge. I want to shift, to roar at the sky, to fly until my wings give out. Anything to escape this helpless rage.

Amelyn stops pacing abruptly. She turns to face me, her emerald eyes flashing with a mix of guilt and defiance. “She did it for you, Auren. For all of us. The fae flowers are withering to nothing. The portal at Euron grows thinner by the hour. Monsters are slipping through faster than we can burn them. She thought if she could find the Library hidden inside her mother’s memories, she could pull Athalia’s power back into this world. Eurolys is mobilizing a massive army of things I don't know of. If the fae can come back into the game, it'll be a huge help. She was trying to give us a real chance.”

“I do not care what she thought she was doing!” I snap, voice cracking on the last word. I rake both hands through my hair, tugging hard enough that it hurts. “She does not get to decide to leave me behind. She does not get to make that choice alone and expect me to simply accept it. She is my wife. If she slips too deep and becomes nothing but another echo in her mother’s mind…” I cannot finish the sentence. The thought alone feels like a blade sliding between my ribs.

Lyra’s soft, broken sob cuts through the heavy air. She presses Haven’s hand to her cheek, tears soaking the pale skin. “She wanted to save us all, Auren. She once told me that she could not live in a world without you. If Eurolys is truly free and weakening the portal from the outside, then we are all running out of time. She made us promise to watch over her body. To keep her safe until she returns. She said… she said she would come back to you. She promised.”

The words land like stones in my gut. I cross the room in two strides and drop to my knees beside the bed, reaching out to brush a strand of silver-streaked hair from Haven’s forehead. My hand trembles. She feels so warm, so alive, yet so far away.

“Little Flame,” I whisper, voice raw. “You stubborn, impossible woman. You cannot do this to me. Not after everything. Not when I finally have you.”

Athalia’s glowing form drifts closer, her presence filling the room with a gentle, silver warmth. She places an ethereal hand just above Haven’s shoulder, not quite touching. “She is still there, Auren. I can feel her moving through my memories even now. She found the book, the old rose-leather volume I hid the Library inside. She is close to freeing us. My daughter is stronger than any of us truly know. She will not dissolve. Not while her heart is anchored to yours, and not while she knows we're all waiting for her.”

I lift my head and glare at the spectral queen, my golden eyes blazing with barely contained fire. “Safe? You call this safe?” I gesture sharply at Haven’s motionless form. “She is gone from me, Athalia. Our bond is nothing but a whisper on the wind. Every second she spends deeper in your memories, I feel her slipping further away. If she does not return soon, I will lose her. And when I lose her, there will be nothing left of me to rule this kingdom. Nothing left to stop the darkness.”

Athalia’s expression softens with ancient sorrow. “I know the fear you carry. I lived with a similar fear for centuries beside Eurolys. But Haven is not me. She carries both dragon fire and fae storm. She carries your love. That is a stronger anchor than any spell I ever wove. Trust in her, Auren. She fights for you. For Lyra. For this entire realm. She will come back.”

Before I can snarl another reply, the heavy bedroom doors burst open with a violent bang that rattles the windows.

Draven stumbles inside, breathing hard, his armor splattered with fresh blood and streaks of black ash. His face is ashen, eyes wild with exhaustion and horror. He does not bow, nor does he wait for permission. He simply leans heavily on the doorframe, chest heaving as he tries to speak.

“Your Grace…” His voice cracks. He swallows hard and tries again. “There was an attack on Tir’Narel at dawn. The creatures came without warning, twisted shadows with too many limbs and eyes that glowed the same sickly violet as the Hydra’s runes, the same kind attacking the villages. They tore through the outer defenses like wet parchment. We lost dozens before the wyverns could even take to the air.”

The room goes deathly silent.

Amelyn freezes mid-step. Imogen’s arms drop to his sides. Lyra’s tears stop as she stares at Draven in shock.

Draven continues, voice rough with grief. “Tyren’s daughter… she was defending the eastern gate with a small squad of elves. She fought like a storm, fire and ice and wind magic blazing around her. But there were too many. One of the larger beasts got through. It… it ripped her apart before anyone could reach her. Tyren arrived too late. He saw the end. He is… he is broken, Your Grace. He sent me here with a warning.”

I rise slowly to my feet, the dragon inside me roaring to life. Scales ripple visibly along my forearms. “What warning?”

Draven meets my gaze, fear and determination warring in his eyes. “He has a feeling they are heading for Drakotath next. The creatures did not just attack randomly. They moved with purpose, as if something is directing them. As if someone is calling them toward the heart of the kingdom. Toward the Dragon King and his queen. Tyren believes Eurolys is behind it. That the ancient one is testing our defenses, weakening us before the final strike.”

The name Eurolys lands like a physical blow.

I feel Athalia’s presence flare with sharp alarm behind me. Imogen curses softly under his breath. Amelyn’s hands curl into fists, emerald scales flashing brighter.

My mind races. Haven lying here empty, Eurolys free and moving against us, Tir’Narel attacked, Tyren’s daughter dead, and now the threat turning toward Drakotath, toward the very heart where my mate’s body rests defenseless.

Something tells me that she's the one they're coming for.

I turn back to Haven’s still form. My hand reaches out, fingers brushing her cheek with a gentleness that contrasts the storm raging inside me. “Little Flame,” I whisper, voice breaking. “You have to come back. Now. I cannot do this without you. The kingdom cannot do this without you.”

The bond flickers—faint but there. A tiny spark of recognition, warm and golden, brushes against my mind like the ghost of her laughter.

She is still fighting.

I straighten, turning to face the others with fire blazing in my eyes.

“Imogen, strengthen every ward around this room and around Haven’s body. Amelyn, gather the strongest fighters we have left and prepare the wyverns. Lyra, stay with your sister. Do not leave her side for even a moment. Athalia, if you can reach her, tell her we need her. Tell her I need her.”

Draven pushes off the doorframe, already reaching for his sword. “What are your orders, Your Grace?”

I bare my teeth in a savage smile that holds no humor. “We prepare for war. If Eurolys wants Drakotath, he will have to come through me first. And when Haven returns—and she will return—we will burn that ancient bastard back into the void where he belongs.”

The room fills with determined movement. But as everyone rushes to obey, I remain beside the bed, one hand resting on Haven’s chest where her heart beats slow and steady.

“Come back to me, Little Flame,” I whisper into the quiet space between us. “The world is falling apart without you. And I… I cannot rule it alone.”

“Well hello, Auren."