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Haven Blackburn’s body collapsed, limp and lifeless, as if the force holding her upright had vanished.

Her long limbs sprawled at unnatural angles, a forsaken figure abandoned on the bloodstained floor, fragile and broken.

No grace, no dignity, just a husk of what had once been vibrant and fierce.

Her shadow-serpent released a harrowing screech—a sound so raw, so steeped in sorrow and fury, that the world itself seemed to hold its breath, silenced in reverent mourning for its fallen mistress.

It slithered across Haven’s still form, coiling gently above her heart, and there it lay—its eyes closing with a tenderness that spoke of loyalty beyond words.

Then, without ceremony, the shadow began to unravel, its form dissolving into nothingness, slipping quietly from their world to accompany Haven into whatever lay beyond.

Wren’s gaze snapped to Kage.

She had never seen such a look before—a storm so dark and violent it made the air around him pulse with heatless fire.

His face twisted with something wicked, something feral, and the way he moved, fluid and predatory, sent an instinctive shiver through her bones.

He wove through the chaos, his path set towards Hagan.

‘Wren!’ Freya’s urgent voice cut through her thoughts. The valkyrian had done her part—Bryn was out, safe beyond the chaos, no longer held captive by the spell that had frozen him. The way was open, but the war had only just begun.

‘Call your wolves, you need to go,’ Freya warned.

‘I can’t leave him.’ Wren’s voice was steel, her stance unyielding. She jerked her chin towards Kage.

‘Wren, we need to warn our kingdom.’ Bryn’s voice carried the weight of reason, but Wren only clenched her jaw. Her people. Her duty. But Kage…

‘Yer sisters?’ she asked the valkyrian, already fearing the answer.

Freya did not speak. She did not need to.

They lay among the dead.

‘Take me brotha to safety,’ Wren pleaded, her blue eyes burning. ‘Wait for me on da outskirts of town. I’ll find ya.’ She sucked in a breath. ‘But I must bring Kage to safety or I’ll neva forgive meself.’

The wolves obeyed her whistle, their hulking forms vanishing with the figures of Bryn and Freya. And Wren? Wren turned back, her boots silent on the blood-slick floor.

Kage had reached Hagan. His blade had been poised, his body a force of vengeance incarnate, but before he could strike—he was caught. Suspended mid-motion, as though held in the grasp of invisible currents, frozen between rage and release.

Wren crept closer, silent as snowfall, taking advantage of the gathering witches whose attention now turned towards Hagan. They thought they had won.

But Wren was not leaving without Kage.

Her pulse quickened when her gaze landed on the one who had ensnared him.

Vera .

The sting of betrayal sliced through her like a dagger honed too sharp. She had always known this day would come. And yet, it still hurt.

A warning glimmered in Vera’s purple eyes. Turn back. Walk away. Live.

Wren’s grip tightened on her dagger. No .

A sound, low and deep, rumbled through the air like a beast waking from slumber.

The castle trembled.

Then it came.

A roar.

So vast, so terrible, the very walls shook, dust and stone crumbling from their ancient foundations.

Wren clutched the throne for balance, her breath caught between her ribs.

Above them, something moved.

A great, shifting shadow swept across the Grand Hall, the sudden hush thick as the moment before a storm .

Then—

The ceiling ripped apart.

Talons—longer than swords, sharper than glass—pierced through stone like parchment, pulling the roof away as if it were nothing more than brittle paper.

A head loomed through the shattered sky.

A wyvern’s head.

But it was no longer a creature of flesh and bone.

No. It was something darker. Something made of shadow. An otherwordly presence that could rip through the world, its power capable of destroying anything.

Smoke coiled along its sleek, black scales, curling and twisting as though caught in an unseen wind. Its teeth—tall as men—gleamed white, a cruel contrast against its darkness.

And atop the beast—

Mal.

Or what had once been Mal Blackburn.

She no longer appeared as flesh and blood, but as something beyond mortal, beyond wyverian—something spectral, something ethereal.

Her form flickered like a mirage, half-light, half-night, as though she existed between worlds.

Wren had never known fear like this.

Mal’s gaze—piercing, merciless—first found Haven.

Then, Ash.

The Grand Hall seemed to shrink under the weight of her presence.

She parted her lips, and when she spoke, her voice was not her own. It was low, guttural, ancient.

It was a promise. A prophecy. A command.

‘Run.’

The word sent a shock through the room, through the very bones of those who still drew breath.

Mal did not wait.

She moved with the grace of something liquid, something born of night and nightmare. Sliding down from the wyvern’s back, she landed effortlessly, sword in hand—a blade woven of shadow and smoke, a weapon not bound to mortal steel.

Wren did not linger to watch what happened next.

She moved.

‘Kage.’ Her fingers curled around his wrist, shaking him from whatever trance had taken hold. He turned to her—dark eyes wide, haunted. ‘We need to go.’

His eyes cut back to Mal, to the sister who had become something unholy.

‘My sister…’

His voice cracked.

Wren tightened her hold on him. They didn’t have time for this.

‘We cannot do anything for her now, Kage.’

His body remained rigid, his face a battlefield of grief and anger. Then his gaze dropped—to Haven, who lay forgotten, crumpled on the blood-soaked stone.

Another explosion rocked the castle, sending Wren stumbling into Kage’s chest. The witches were fighting back. If they didn’t leave now, they wouldn’t leave at all.

With shaking fingers, Wren whistled and a blur of silver and white barreled through the wreckage—her wolf, snarling, fangs bared, a creature of speed and savagery.

She climbed atop its powerful back, then reached for Kage. ‘Please, ya cannot stay here.’ Her hand trembled, stretched towards him—a lifeline.

His eyes remained on Mal.

His shoulders sagged. Like a man defeated .

But Wren would not let him fall.

Another spell struck—stone shattered, raining down in heavy chunks, the castle groaning under its own ruin.

Finally, finally , Kage turned.

His face—so lost, so broken.

But when his gaze met hers, he took her hand. And Wren pulled him up onto the wolf’s back, gripping him tightly, as if holding him together.

They would flee. For now.

But this was not the end.

No.

This was only the beginning.