Page 67

“Empire.” The word crosses my mind as we pass a group of exiles repairing a battered cart wheel.

The notion once meant armies, palaces, the seat of absolute power.

Now, it signifies something else to me—a place where half-bloods and outcasts can live without fear, where illusions aren’t used to oppress, but to protect.

Maybe we can never replicate the grandeur of House Draeven’s citadel, nor would I want to.

Something simpler, more genuine. A sanctuary, if not an empire.

Valeria catches my pensive expression. “What are you thinking about?” she asks, voice low. She rests a light hand on my arm, guiding me away from the main camp toward a quieter corner near the stream. Water gurgles over smooth stones, reflecting the sky’s pale morning light.

I hesitate, then smile wryly. “I was thinking of how I once believed House Draeven was the pinnacle of power and heritage. How I wanted to reclaim its glory. Now I stand here, content with a handful of tents and a valley we can call our own for a while. I wonder if that’s the beginning of a new empire—our empire, forged from free hearts, not forced allegiance. ”

She studies me. “You’ve changed a lot.”

I breathe a laugh, wings shifting behind me.

“So have you. I recall the terrified human concubine you pretended to be, back when we first met, and now look at you—a half-Vrakken warrior leading sabotage missions, forging alliances with exiles, standing up to the Council’s archaic laws.

And me? I was a proud prince who believed the Council had all the answers.

” I shake my head, marveling at the transformation.

She tilts her face to the sunlight, letting the warmth caress her cheeks.

“It’s surreal sometimes, how drastically everything’s shifted.

But I’m… grateful. I used to think I’d die as a captive, or as a pawn in someone else’s game.

Now I see a horizon open to possibility. Even if it’s uncertain, it’s ours.”

An ache of tenderness swells in me. I reach, clasping both her hands in mine.

The rush of the stream underscores the hush between us.

She steps closer, searching my eyes, her half-blood senses likely reading the subtle illusions that swirl around me—illusions that reflect my mood.

Hers are calmer, a faint shimmer like quiet starlight.

The synergy of it nearly steals my breath.

“I can’t promise we’ll never face war again,” I admit softly. “But I promise I won’t run back to the Council or compromise my beliefs to appease them. I’m done wearing false crowns. I want to stand with you, forging something new—maybe an empire by our definition, not theirs.”

She exhales, a trembling note in the sound.

“I want that too, Vaelorian.” Her voice carries raw sincerity that cements my resolve.

She leans in, pressing her forehead to mine.

“We can shape a future that doesn’t revolve around enslaving half-bloods or enforcing cruel castes.

Maybe it’s just a dream, but it’s worth chasing. ”

I let my wings fold around her in a gesture of intimacy, ignoring the onlookers who might pass by.

After everything we’ve survived—burning dark elf fortresses, fleeing the Council’s wrath, nearly dying in each other’s arms—this closeness feels like a gift.

“We begin here,” I whisper, “with these people who believe in us. This valley can be our starting point. We gather resources, build trust, and see where it leads.”

A rustle from the bushes draws our attention.

One of the outcasts, a woman in battered leathers, approaches hesitantly.

“My lords,” she starts, catching herself, “I mean, Valeria… Vaelorian. We found a damaged orchard a ways north. Might have fruit if we clear the brambles. Could help with our rations.”

Valeria smiles, eyes bright. “That’s perfect. We’ll organize a work party after midday to see what we can salvage. Thank you for telling us.” The woman nods and retreats, leaving us alone by the stream again.

I chuckle at the exchange. “They still call us ‘lords,’ even though we keep saying we’re just exiles like them.”

Valeria shrugs, amusement lighting her eyes. “Maybe they need titles to ground themselves. Some are used to following a chain of command. For now, if it helps them feel secure, let them call us what they will.”

A comfortable silence follows, the morning sun now climbing higher, bathing the stream’s surface in dappled light.

The gentle stirring of illusions around us reflects our shared calm.

The swirl of recent battles recedes in my mind, replaced by the sense of an open road leading forward.

In that quiet, I revisit the vow I made: I won’t be the proud Vrakken prince of old, nor the empty-handed fugitive who cowers from the Council.

I will be something new, a leader by choice, a partner to Valeria.

Thoughts drift to the ashes of House Draeven’s citadel, the final image of it crumbling as we fled.

I recall the coldness in the Council’s eyes when they declared me a traitor for refusing to condemn half-bloods.

That memory once filled me with shame, but now it only solidifies my conviction: I’d rather be exiled with Valeria than a crowned puppet lording over a realm built on oppression.

She squeezes my hand, drawing me back to the present.

“Vaelorian,” she begins softly, “I think we should hold a gathering tonight. For the outcasts. Let them voice their hopes, their ideas for this place. We can talk about how we handle security, trading with neighboring regions—build a sense of community.”

I grin, heart lifting at the suggestion. “A meeting, then. Possibly a feast if we can scrounge enough supplies. We might even plan to explore the orchard you mentioned. If we’re going to found our own empire—small as it may be—a bit of unity can’t hurt.”

She nods, her expression determined. “Exactly. Unity without fear. That’s what I want to see.”

My chest swells with affection for her. I lean down, pressing a light kiss to her forehead, ignoring the twinge in my wings.

She closes her eyes, exhaling a contented sigh that resonates with all we’ve been through.

For a single heartbeat, we linger in that gentle touch, the stream’s melody and the hush of the valley weaving around us.

Pulling back, I cast one final glance at the horizon.

The sunlight now fully embraces the hills, revealing a landscape that no longer frightens me.

Once, I faced the dawn with dread, suspecting an attack or betrayal.

Now, I face it with Valeria at my side, forging a place where half-bloods, exiles, and even disillusioned former knights can stand united, free from the Council’s iron fist or the dark elves’ cruelty.

I hold her hand as we turn away from the stream, heading back up the slope toward the camp.

My illusions remain faint, a soft shimmer that reflects my mood.

Valeria’s illusions mingle with mine, an unspoken dance of color that radiates hope rather than fear.

We pass by small clusters of outcasts busy with morning tasks—gathering wood, patching tents, whispering about the orchard.

They nod respectfully, but I offer them genuine smiles in return, letting them know we’re all equals here.

As we climb to the crest of the ridge, I pause, breathing in the crisp air.

The memory of my first steps as a proud Vrakken prince flits across my mind—the pomp, the illusions of power, the hollow sense that something was missing.

I look at Valeria, her half-blood aura strong and confident, and I realize that missing piece was never about controlling land or commanding armies.

It was about forging real connections, free of lies, building a future where illusions serve to protect loved ones, not to enslave them.

We halt at a vantage point overlooking the valley, the same place where I watched the sunrise not long ago.

From here, we can see the scattered tents of our people, the stream glinting, the orchard’s trees in the distance.

Beyond that, rolling hills vanish into the hazy line of the horizon.

It’s ours to shape, or so it feels. A small empire of exiles, half-bloods, rogue knights, and visionaries who refuse to bow to old oppression.

Valeria’s hand is warm in mine. I lace our fingers together, letting the wind ruffle my wings. “What do you see?” I ask quietly, gaze roaming the landscape.

She tilts her head, a ghost of a smile curving her lips.

“I see a place of second chances,” she murmurs.

“A place where half-blood children grow up without hiding their gifts, where illusions aren’t weapons but tools to craft beauty or guard loved ones.

A place where you can stand with your wings spread wide and not worry about who’s there to claim you. A place where we can actually live.”

Her words spark a thrill of possibility.

My illusions ripple involuntarily, a shimmer passing across the stones at my feet.

I smile. “That’s exactly what I see, too.

” My chest tightens, emotion swirling. “We might have come from fear—from a time when we stood on fortress battlements, each chasing power or just survival. But now we stand here, defiant, forging our own path.” I tilt my head, letting her see the sincerity in my eyes. “And we’ll do it together.”

She nods, eyes shining. The hush around us resonates with finality—the epilogue of what we once were, the prologue of what we choose to be.

I close my eyes, letting the last vestiges of old illusions melt away, feeling the weight of crowns and burdens slip from my shoulders.

In their place stands the comfort of Valeria’s grip, the promise of building an empire not with stone walls but with the resilience of people who’ve tasted both horror and hope.