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There is nothing worse than discovering a terrible truth and knowing that no matter what you do, the world will never be the same.

I am going to destroy absolutely everything.

Everyone will hate me for it.

But it is the only way.

Tabitha Wysteria

Ash watched in horror as Mal fought to climb higher, pushing Nyx towards the heavens, a desperate attempt to outrun fate itself. The sky around her shuddered with magic, green tendrils of smoke slithering through the air, hunting her like starving wolves.

On the ground, he had landed mere moments ago—his sword drawn, his breath ragged—as he positioned himself between Kage, Wren, and the two valkyrians, shielding them from the witches closing in like a storm on the horizon.

But all else fell away when he heard the roar.

Nyx’s scream ripped through the sky, splitting apart the battlefield like a war horn of death itself. Ash’s head snapped up, his blood running ice-cold at the sight above him—Mal struggling against a figure who had materialised out of green smoke, a specter pulled from the depths of a nightmare .

Ash's first instinct was to leap onto his dragon, to launch himself into the sky and tear through anyone who dared lay a hand on his wife. He opened his mouth to demand Wren, Kage, and the valkyrians flee before the witches turned their magic upon them.

And then—

His entire body locked into place.

She was there.

Standing only a few feet away.

The past stole the breath from his lungs.

A face he had once known too well, a face that had haunted his darkest hours and devoured his dreams with whispers of betrayal.

Adara.

His soul staggered. He had not seen her in years—he could barely even recall the last time his eyes had beheld that terrible beauty.

They had been sixteen when she had entered his world. A nobleman's daughter, radiant, untouchable—and he, the Fire Prince, had fallen for her like a fool reaching for the sun, only to be burnt to the bone.

She had been everything . He would have left his kingdom for her.

And then, with trembling hands, she had pulled the glamour away.

She was not drakonian.

She was witch-born.

The truth had shattered him, leaving nothing but splinters in his chest. He had cursed those purple eyes, had hated the sight of the black inked tattoos curling up her hands, had begged himself to forget the feel of her white hair between his fingers.

And yet, here she stood. A phantom from another lifetime .

Their gazes collided—a single moment suspended in time, a silent war waged between them.

But Adara’s eyes flicked past him, her attention shifting from the boy she had broken to something far more important.

Mal .

Mal, who was falling.

The world tilted as Ash turned, a sickening lurch in his stomach. His wife tumbled from the heavens, her body weightless, her scream swallowed by the rushing wind.

No .

No. No. No.

Ash tore himself free from the past, a furious command leaving his lips as he spurred his dragon into the sky, propelling forward with all the speed the beast could muster. He could still catch her—he could still save her.

And then, the witches below lifted their hands.

A single, deadly purpose.

Their magic gathered into a singular force, a colossal wave of green fire meant for one final, unforgivable blow.

Nyx.

Ash’s eyes widened in silent, frozen horror as a hundred bolts of power collided with the wyvern all at once.

A moment of paralysing silence.

The world detonated.

A shockwave tore through the sky, and Nyx’s final roar was a sound that should never have existed, a sound of agony so raw, so unnatural, it made the heavens themselves tremble.

The wyvern—her mighty heart, her indomitable wings—was torn apart.

Blood, fire, and flesh rained from the heavens.

And Mal…

Mal did not fall .

Mal became something else .

…

Something awoke in Mal.

It stirred from the depths where she had buried it for years, where she had hidden it beneath layers of fear and restraint, terrified of what it might mean. But now, there was no more hiding, no more pretending to be something she was not.

Her power shook free of its chains.

It roared through her blood, unfurling like a storm, ready to consume the world in darkness, to tear flesh from bone, to burn her enemies to cinders.

Mal’s body shattered into nothingness. She was no longer flesh, no longer bound by mortal limitations—she was shadow, the stuff of nightmares, an echo of darkness that slipped unseen through the chaos.

She was the storm on the horizon. The death lurking in the dark.

She reformed beside Nyx, her fallen beast, though her body remained insubstantial—a specter draped in grief. Smoke in the shape of a girl, her hand, formless and shifting, rested upon the wyvern’s lifeless wing.

Nyx was still.

The mighty creature’s soul had already fled to the Forest of Silent Cries, where all the lost ones went to rest beneath its ghostly trees.

Mal could not weep. Not in this form. But she would make the world scream for her instead.

Above, Ash’s dragon had abandoned warnings. No longer did it hold back, no longer did it hesitate—its fury blazed across the battlefield, leaving nothing but fire and ruin in its wake.

But the witches had already turned their attention to it, lifting their hands once more.

Mal followed their gaze, her hollow, shadowed eyes flickering upward—the dragon was too slow, too large. Too easy a target.

They would strike it down.

They would take him from her too.

Mal did not hesitate. She moved faster than the wind, faster than thought, a living darkness streaking across the battlefield, her form twisting through the air as the witches unleashed their power.

The dragon barely avoided the attack, rolling mid-air, but the magic still grazed its belly.

And Ash—

Ash fell.

No .

The world fractured around Mal.

The sky vanished.

The battlefield blurred.

All that existed was him, plummeting .

She lunged and became the wind.

But the witches had seen her move.

A bolt of green fire shot through the sky.

It struck him in midair.

Ash cried out, the sound wrenched from his throat like something torn apart. His body twisted, spiraling down, and Mal dove after him, her form encircling him, cradling him in her shadows as they fell together.

She landed with him gently, her power shielding him from the impact.

But his golden eyes were closed .

His chest did not rise.

Mal's breath hitched, the edges of her soul unraveling.

No no no.

A scream of anguish built inside her, but before she could unleash it, a voice cut through the haze.

‘Mal, we need to go!’

Kai.

He was running towards her, his sword dripping red, his armour battered, his voice urgent.

‘He’s dead.’

The words were a whisper, a plea, a wound.

Kai hesitated for only a moment before reaching down, hauling Ash over his shoulder.

‘No, he’s not.’ His voice was steel. ‘We are outnumbered. We must move. Cover me.’

Mal forced her shaking hands to obey.

She rose, her shadowed fingers curling around the hilt of her sword.

And then—she became death .

Witches fell before her like leaves in a storm. Her blade sang, her power roared, bodies hurled through the air like dolls tossed aside by a petulant god. She was vengeance. She was fury incarnate.

A shadowed princess, a creature of war, wielding not just steel, but the very air itself.

By the time she reached the wall, Kai was already lifting Ash onto the dragon’s back, the beast wounded but still breathing.

Mal climbed up, pulling Ash’s body against her chest, clutching him as if by holding him, she could keep him tethered to this world.

She dared one last glance back .

Nyx lay still upon the battlefield, a body no longer home to the soul she had once loved.

Mal’s blackened heart bled out, her sorrow stretching across the sky, rumbling like thunder, vibrating through her bones.

And then she screamed.

It was not the sound of a girl mourning.

It was a war cry.

A curse.

A promise .

The witches would remember this day as the moment they sealed their fate.

Valkyrians, wyverians, and drakonians took to the skies, fleeing towards the horizon.

…

Ash’s eyes fluttered open, a low groan escaping his lips as a searing pain tore through his side.

The dull ache pulsed beneath his ribs, each breath a struggle, each movement an agony.

His vision swam, the dark canopy of his bed framing his sight, heavy curtains drawn to cast the room in dim shadows.

And then, like a wave crashing over him, the memories struck—the battle, the witches, the fall. Mal .

His heart thundered in his chest as panic gripped him, and he sat up too quickly, a sharp cry wrenching from his throat. Pain, raw and merciless, bit into him like fire.

Hands pressed against his chest, firm but gentle, easing him back down.

‘Where is s-she?’ His voice was raw, trembling with urgency.

Alina’s brown eyes narrowed, a mixture of exasperation and relief shifting through them. ‘You ought to be worrying over your condition right now, Ash. Your wife is unscathed and somewhere off praying as she’s been doing for the past three days.’

‘ Three days ?’ The words barely made it past his lips. His head spun, his pulse roaring in his ears. He turned towards the balcony as if, by some miracle, Mal might step through the veil of shadows, returning to him in the form he had last seen her.

The form that should not have been possible.

One moment, she had been the wyverian princess plummeting from the sky—the next, she had become something terrifying, something unseen before.

Something not mortal.

‘Father is dismissing the entire ordeal.’

‘Dismissing? What exactly do-does that mean?’

‘It means he’s pretending like it never happened.’

‘So how do-does he explain my injuries?’ Ash’s teeth ground together, frustration simmering beneath his skin. ‘How do-does he explain the wyvern’s death?’

Alina leaned back in the high-backed chair beside his bed, her fingers toying with the embroidered hem of her sleeve. The chair was made from imported black wood—a rarity, something he had fought to bring into their kingdom.

Something the drakonian court had not seen in decades.

‘Riding accident. You fell,’ Alina said flatly. ‘And the wyvern…He says there is a reason why women are not permitted to ride in this kingdom.’

Ash’s breath left him in a harsh exhale, rage curling through his veins. His fingers curled into fists, nails biting into his palms. Of course. Of course their father would twist it into another reason to subjugate women.

Alina’s gaze shifted to him, uncertainty dancing behind her usual composure. She chewed on her lower lip before asking in a hushed voice, ‘What happened exactly?’

‘Witches attacked the wa-wall.’ Ash wet his dry lips, his throat aching with every word. ‘We were foolish think-thinking there were none left. They are so po-powerful, Alina. I’d never seen anything like it before.’

She stiffened, her fingers tightening around the fabric of her dress. ‘Mother was right.’

‘What?’ Ash’s brow furrowed.

‘Nothing.’ She shook her head too quickly, as if trying to erase whatever thought had crossed her mind. Then, reaching for his hand, she squeezed it. ‘Thank our Sun God you were blazed by his light and not truly harmed.’

‘I saw her , Alina. Among them.’

Her reaction was immediate. She did not need to ask who .

The air between them turned sharp, cold.

Alina spat onto the polished marble floor, fury twisting her delicate features. Then, realising what she had done, she quickly wiped the evidence away with the toe of her slipper, muttering an apology.

‘I hate her.’

‘It’s my fault.’ His voice cracked. ‘What ha-happened to Mal. I was t-too busy loo-looking at her . I could have saved Mal’s wyvern.’

‘No, Ash. You couldn’t have done anything.’

‘You weren’t there.’

Alina flinched as if he had struck her. ‘No, I was not.’

Ash closed his eyes, guilt sinking its claws into his chest. ‘I’m s-sorry.

’ He wanted to ask about Mal—about whether anyone else knew what she had done, what she had become.

But the words lodged in his throat. He couldn’t say it aloud.

Instead, another memory clawed at him, something that had been gnawing at the edges of his thoughts.

‘Alina, do you know Ka-Kage Blackburn and Wren Wynter?’

‘Not really.’

‘There was someone with them. But it does not make sense.’

‘Who?’

‘I probably imagined it.’ He shook his head, frustrated. ‘Never mind. But I co-could have sworn there was a witch with them.’

Alina’s nose scrunched. ‘That’s ridiculous, Ash. Why would Kage Blackburn and Wren Wynter travel with a witch? She was probably attacking them and in the chaos you misread the situation.’

Ash’s jaw remained tight, his mind refusing to let it go. The witch had not fought against them. She had fought with them.

And he was almost certain there had been three valkyrians.

Three .

Each carrying someone.

So if it wasn’t the witch… who was the third person?

‘Ash, you need to rest. You’ve been asleep for three days. You must regain your strength.’

Suddenly—it hit him.

His breath caught in his throat.

He knew why he had recognised that witch.

Not because he had seen her before.

No, it was something else—something in her features, in the way her white hair gleamed like moonlight, in the golden hue of her bronze skin.

It was because she looked just like—

‘Adara.’ The name spilt from his lips, his body going rigid.

Alina turned sharply, eyes narrowing. ‘What?’

Ash met her gaze, his skin paling.

‘She looked just like A-Adara.’ It dawned on them at the same time. Alina’s breath hitched, horror seeping into her expression. Ash swallowed hard, voice nothing more than a whisper. ‘As if they were—sisters.’