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“You wear her rage like a crown,” Vael’Zhur growled.

“And you wear her curse like a shackle,” Aldaric shot back. “But not for long.”

Vael’Zhur roared and struck again, but the poison was working fast. His limbs grew heavy. The strength that had carried him through centuries began to falter. He fell to one knee, claws gouging the rubble, trying to stay upright.

Aldaric raised the dagger, savoring it. “The orchard dies with you.”

Then—

A cry. Behind them.

“No. It dies with you, Aladar.”

Aldaric froze. His name. His true name. Spoken aloud. Spoken with knowledge. With intention.

He turned, face blanching—And Ceryn was there. Behind him.

The dagger plunged through his back, straight into his heart.

His eyes widened. “How?—?”

“You should never have used me,” she said, her voice trembling with fury. “You should never have touched my family.”

She twisted the blade.

“And you should never have hidden your name.”

Light burst from the wound—silver and white, cracking through him like a shattering mirror. Aldaric—Aladar—screamed. The sound was wrong, ancient, full of unraveling magic. His body bowed inward, collapsing beneath the weight of his truth. His name. His end.

Then he was gone.

Ash. Bone. Smoke. Nothing.

Ceryn stood alone in the aftermath, the cursed dagger clutched in her shaking hand.

Vael’Zhur collapsed fully now, weakened, panting. The rage burned dimmer, the beast quieted.

And in the silence that followed, he whispered, broken and in awe?—

“You remembered.”

Ceryn dropped the dagger.

It hit the stone with a soft clatter, its power spent, its curse fulfilled.

Aldaric—or rather, Aladar—was gone. The air no longer felt suffocating with blood magic. The orchard, the castle, the world itself seemed to take a trembling breath.

And at the center of it all—Vael’Zhur lay broken.

He had fallen hard, the weight of battle and poison dragging his massive body to the fractured stones. Blood darkened the golden fur at his side. His breathing came in ragged shudders, and yet… his eyes were open.

Not mad. Not monstrous.

Just tired.

Ceryn dropped to her knees beside him, cradling his head in her lap, her hands trembling as they cupped his jaw.

“Auren,” she whispered. “Please… stay.”