Page 27 of Broken Fates (Severed Flames #3)

The castle was eerily quiet.

It wasn’t the silence of peace. It was the silence of exhaustion.

Nyrah and Briar were already tucked into healing cots, their skin still too pale. The healers fluttered around them, hands glowing with soft, steady light as they worked to undo the damage Zamarra left behind.

Freya, however, was actively avoiding care.

“I’m fine,” she snapped, batting away a healer’s hands as she sat on the edge of a cot. “There are actual dying people here. Go bother them.”

“You have at least three broken ribs and a bruised lung,” the healer argued.

Freya snorted. “I need blood and a nap, not healing.”

Talek, standing beside her, smirked. “She’s not lying, by the way. You wheezed when you sat down.”

Freya glared at him. “I’m not sure you even breathe, you storm-wielding asshole. Mind your business.”

“I do breathe,” Talek argued, arms crossed. “I just don’t complain about it as much as you do.”

Kian leaned toward me, whispering, “How long do we give them before we intervene?”

Xavier tilted his head. “I don’t know. I kind of like the show.”

I almost smiled—but the moment was too brief, too fragile. Because just past them, beyond the lines of healers, beyond the stretch of weary bodies, across the continent, the mountain was still standing.

The Guild.

A weight pressed against my ribs, tight and unfinished.

It wasn’t over. Not yet.

Idris must have felt the turmoil bubbling in my gut because he turned to me, golden eyes sharp, reading me through the bond. “We’re still going, aren’t we?”

I nodded. “We have to.”

Kian exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

Freya, mid-argument with Talek, went rigid. “Wait—what?”

And then, before I could answer, a curtain snapped open.

Nyrah stood in the opening, barely upright, her hospital tunic askew as she braced herself on the wooden frame.

She was barely strong enough to stand. Her fingers trembled against the wood as Briar stirred beside her, eyes fluttering open in alarm.

“You’re leaving,” Nyrah said.

It wasn’t a question.

I took a step forward, ready to catch her if she fell. “You need to rest. You’ve been through so much.”

Her jaw clenched, blue eyes sparkling. “And you need to stop acting like I’m still a kid.”

I softened, relief that she was alive and breathing, easing something in my chest that I never thought would be whole. But there was no fucking way she was coming with me.

“Nyrah.”

She shook her head. “I know what you’re doing. The mountain.”

Xavier exhaled sharply, rubbing his temple. “Of course she heard.”

Nyrah’s fingers curled into a fist. “You can’t just leave it there.”

I swallowed. “No. We can’t.”

The room stilled.

Freya finally looked away from her healer. Talek went unnaturally quiet. Briar, still weak from the fight, gritted her teeth and forced herself upright in her cot.

The mountain was still standing. And none of us could live with that.

Nyrah’s fingers twitched, like she wanted to move—wanted to follow.

I reached for her hands, gripping them tight. “You are my sister, and I love you more than anything in this world.”

She stared at me, defiant and stubborn and so much stronger than she should have been.

“But I need you to stay here where it’s safe.”

Her throat bobbed. “This isn’t my fight,” she said quietly.

I shook my head. “It was never yours, but I love that you still want to fight it with me.”

A long silence stretched between us as her gaze searched mine. Then she nodded—not a big nod. Just enough to let me go.

I pressed a kiss to her forehead, brushing her pale hair back from her face. “We’ll be back soon.”

Freya huffed, throwing herself back on the cot with a grunt. “Fine. Go knock over a mountain without me. But if you get crushed under it, I am not digging you out.”

Kian grinned. “I knew you cared.”

She flipped him off.

I turned back to my mates. “Let’s go.”

The flight was eerily quiet.

Even Kian, usually the first to crack a joke, said nothing.

The mountain loomed ahead of us, its dark exterior scarred from centuries of greed, of cruelty, of sacrifice. As the morning sun bled across the sky, the Lumentium veins vibrated faintly, a lingering echo of the magic that had once imprisoned Zamarra.

A prison. A tomb. A graveyard.

Now, it was empty.

The Guild, the miners—gone. Whether they had fled or died with their cause, I didn’t know. All that remained were the tunnels, carved deep into the earth—the only proof left of Arden’s desperation, of centuries spent chasing a lie.

A frigid wind whipped around me. The Dreaming stirred beneath my skin, whispering through my bones, humming in the air.

This wasn’t just a mountain. It was the past. It was everything we had been forced to endure. And it was time to let it go.

Idris stood beside me, his gaze hard, golden magic flickering at his fingertips. “You ready, my brave one?”

I nodded. “Together?”

Xavier’s fingers threaded through mine as Kian hooked an arm around my waist, steadying me in the rising wind. Idris lifted his chin, his magic coiling through him, through us, as he took my other hand.

The bond flared, snapping taut between us.

And then the mountain trembled.

A deep, thundering crack split through the rock, spreading like veins, like fractures in time itself. The Lumentium shimmered, its unnatural glow flaring one last time—before shattering.

The once-impenetrable walls caved inward, the tunnels crumbling, the foundation giving way beneath the weight of its own sins.

Stone and bone and history collapsed—a kingdom of shadows swallowed whole.

The ground groaned, dust billowing into the sky like a dying breath, rising into the air, scattering into nothing.

And then all that was left was silence. Not just quiet. Not just stillness. But true, final silence.

The weight of it pressed against my shoulders, an absence so heavy it felt like the world itself had exhaled. A life’s worth of pain, of ghosts, of curses—buried.

For real this time.

The Girovian envoy arrived three days later.

A stiff, pinched-looking man, his uniform too perfect, his shoulders too straight, his expression like he’d swallowed curdled milk.

But the worst part? He didn’t bow.

Not when he entered the throne room. Not when his gaze locked on Idris and me, standing at the head of the chamber, his golden magic twisting through the air like something alive.

Not once did he bow.

The room seemed to hold its breath, a single ripple of tension coiling through the space. It was something deeper than silence, something waiting. My hands fisted at my sides, the weight of the crown on my head almost more than I could bear.

This man had come here to surrender, and yet, he acted as though he still had a choice. I didn’t know what unsettled me more—the sheer arrogance of it, or the fact that Idris didn’t so much as shift.

He simply stood, his presence filling the room like a storm waiting to break.

The envoy's breath hitched. He felt it. The power in the air, the force of a king restored, the quiet, coiled rage of a queen crowned.

And then—his knees hit the floor. Not gracefully. Not willingly. Like a body bowing under a weight too great to bear. His head lowered. His breath shallowed. And when he finally spoke, his voice was tight, strangled under the weight of the very air itself.

“The Province of Girovia recognizes King Idris’ reign.”

A long, suffocating pause stretched for far too long.

Say it.

My magic curled against my ribs, the pressure building behind my lungs as the envoy’s jaw clenched, his throat bobbing.

“We… will honor the accords as written.”

It was done. The war was over before it had really begun. They had hoped for a kingdom without a king. A land without power. They had counted on Idris being severed from himself forever.

They had been wrong.

Idris tilted his head, eyes bright with power, his expression unreadable. He studied the man, as if weighing something unseen.

Then, he spoke a single word. “Good.”

That was it. No fanfare. No gloating. No long-winded speeches or demands for penance. Just a single, unshakable declaration. Like the fall of an empire was nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

The envoy stayed kneeling. He didn’t dare to rise.

A sharp, amused snort broke the silence.

“Damn,” Freya drawled from my left. “I was hoping they’d grovel or something, with all the headache they’ve been giving us for the last two centuries. You’d think an apology was in order.”

The envoy barely looked at her. That was his second mistake.

Freya’s grin widened, all sharp teeth and bloodstained humor. “I think I’m going to like keeping them in line.”

Kian, lounging against one of the stone pillars like he was entirely too entertained, hummed thoughtfully. “Maybe next time we should make them grovel. Would that be undiplomatic?”

Xavier sighed, rubbing his temple. “Kian, you are not leading the council.”

Kian sighed dramatically. “Freya and I would make an excellent team. Consider it.”

Xavier stared at the domed ceiling, his patience wearing thin. “I think you’ll be too busy being—I don’t know—a fucking general?”

Kian’s grin widened. “What? A guy can’t multitask around here?”

Idris finally—finally—laughed. A deep, satisfied sound, warm despite the tension in the room.

Kian grinned, looking far too pleased with himself. “See? The king approves.”

Freya rolled her eyes but grabbed the envoy by his collar, yanking him upright. His eyes widened, his mouth opening in a strangled sound that wasn’t quite a protest.

Freya leaned in, her voice all silk and steel. “And yet, here I am, doing all the dirty work while you fools argue about it.”

I smothered a laugh at the envoy’s shocked face while Freya bodily escorted him from the room. “We’ll rebuild the council. But not today.”

Freya tossed me a look over her shoulder. “Fine. But if any of them betray you, I call dibs on the execution.”

Idris, still grinning, simply shrugged. “Fine by me.”

I found her in the stables, standing beside Vetra, brushing slow, even strokes down the mare’s sleek coat. Sunlight streamed through the open doors, catching in the strands of her pale hair, turning them almost silver.

Briar stood nearby, her wings fluttering absently as she handed Nyrah a softer brush. They weren’t talking.

Just being.

When Nyrah had been well enough, she’d come with us to Idris’ estate to bring back the warhorse that had carried me through battle.

She’d taken one look at Vetra, and I’d known. She wasn’t just interested in the horse. She had claimed her. Before I could even blink, the two of them had bonded, as if something in Nyrah recognized the battle-hardened mare, and Vetra had recognized something in return.

A quiet strength. A shared survival.

I leaned against the stall door, crossing my arms. Waiting.

Nyrah didn’t turn, but I felt the moment she sensed me. A tiny, almost imperceptible pause in the rhythmic drag of the brush.

“You’re hovering.”

I smirked, moving closer. “I’m the queen. I’m allowed.”

She cast me a side-eyed glance before turning her attention back to Vetra, brushing out the mare’s mane. “Abusing your power already?”

I grinned. “Absolutely.”

For a moment, the only sound was the soft rustling of hay, Vetra’s slow exhales, the rhythmic strokes of the brush.

Then, Nyrah exhaled. “I’m not broken, you know.”

I swallowed against the sudden knot in my throat. “I know.”

She turned fully, meeting my gaze. Her eyes—once dulled by pain, by fear—were clear now. Steady. Stronger. Her body was gradually filling out, her cheeks not so hollow, her body finally getting what it needed.

“But I’m not whole, either.”

A heartbeat of silence stretched between us.

“You will be,” I murmured, the promise tasting like the truth.

Nyrah’s fingers curled around the brush. Then, after a long moment, she murmured, “And if I never get magic?”

I stepped closer, covering her hand with mine. “Then you’ll still be my sister.” I squeezed gently. “You’ll still be you.”

Her throat bobbed. She nodded once, exhaling slowly. “Okay.”

We stood there in the warm quiet of the stable.

The scent of sun-warmed hay, the steady breath of a horse, the distant hum of the castle waking up wrapped around us.

Nyrah was still healing, but she would be okay.

And that was enough.

The Dreaming whispered beneath my skin. A familiar hum. Not a threat. Not a burden. Just… there .

I stood at the massive windows of my bedchamber, overlooking the kingdom. The sky stretched beyond, endless and quiet.

She was waiting for me.

Lirael.

Her form shimmered in the reflection of the glass, golden light woven into something like a smile. “You did well.”

I still found it odd that I didn’t have to be asleep to see the Dreaming anymore. I exhaled, my chest aching with something like relief. “It’s done.”

"For now."

I met her gaze. “Will it ever really be over?”

Lirael tilted her head. “People seeking power? Never. But you mean her .”

I lifted my shoulder in a halfhearted shrug. “It’s crossed my mind.”

Her joy thrummed in my chest, a warmth I hadn’t expected. “She is no more, my daughter.”

“Then why—” I struggled to describe the feeling that lingered in my bones—not unease, but a kind of knowing. Like the Dreaming wasn’t finished with me yet.

Lirael’s expression softened. “The Dreaming will always exist, Vale. But now, it’s yours to shape.”

I hesitated. The weight of the last battle still set heavy on my chest. “If it was always your domain—why didn’t you stop Zamarra? Why didn’t you help?”

The question had been clawing at the edges of my mind. Not in anger. Not in resentment. Just in wonder.

Lirael’s golden light pulsed like a heartbeat. “I was never meant to rule the Dreaming, Vale. I was simply its guardian. A keeper, not a wielder. Not like you.”

A flicker of understanding eased through me. She could protect it. Preserve it. But she had never been able to command it.

"And I was bound," she continued. "Just as Idris was severed from himself, just as the Luxa were chained to their fate, I was trapped within my own realm, powerless to change what had already been set into motion.”

“But I wasn’t.”

Her smile was knowing. “No, you weren’t. You were the only way to break our fates.”

It had always been me—not by prophecy. Not by fate. Not because anyone had chosen me for it. But because I had fought for it.

"You can always come to me when you need answers."

Her golden light pulsed once, the warmth of it brushing against my skin like a farewell. Then she was gone.

The Dreaming still hummed. It always would. But I didn’t fear it now.

The door creaked open behind me. The warmth of their presence drifted through the bond before I even turned.

Idris. Kian. Xavier.

I turned as Idris crossed the room first, golden eyes searching mine. He didn’t speak. He didn’t have to. His hands found my waist, grounding me, steady as ever.

Kian leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, a slow smirk playing at his lips. “You keep sneaking off to talk to ghosts. Should I be jealous?”

I huffed out a laugh. “Maybe.”

He pushed off the frame, closing the distance between us, slipping in beside me. “At least you always come back to us.”

Xavier came next, warm and steady as always, his fingers trailing against my wrist before curling around my palm. “If you needed a distraction, all you have to do is ask.”

I arched a brow, but his grin was already forming, his gaze dipping just slightly.

“That is not what I was thinking about,” I muttered.

Xavier hummed, low and knowing. “No, but it should be.”

I exhaled, letting the tension in my shoulders finally loosen. The past was over. The war was over.

Kian pressed a kiss to my temple, whispering, “Then let’s start living.”

Idris let out a slow, deep laugh—something rare, something real.

And as I looked at them—the three who had fought, bled, and stood beside me through it all—I knew the truth.

Our story wasn’t ending.

It was just beginning.

This concludes The Severed Flames Series.

Thank you so much for reading.