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Archer and I left for the capital—a day’s flight away, and most of it was over the shadows of the Night realm.

Archer suggested we take Ciaran while Naraic was still healing.

The darkness stretched on, but the stars followed—gliding like fireflies weaving through fields.

I’d glimpsed Naraic earlier, a pearl dipped in oil from below, shining against the black sea.

We rode over the riptide, winding through valleys of crystalline mountains.

At the edge of Verdonia, at the edge of everything, I remembered Damien’s words—about a world without quells, where the restrictions of wards no longer separated Night from Day, where sunlight existed in seasons, not bartered for or brined.

And if I could be his calm for just a moment longer, I would.

I had dreamed of leaving the North my entire life—dreamed of darkness and daylight, of autumn leaves.

Now, the world seemed vast, infinite, with every beat of Ciaran’s heart echoing in my lungs.

I thought I would be a Winter, and make Father proud as snow danced between my fingers.

And when fire boiled in my blood, I thought I’d make my estranged grandmother proud, too.

My mother’s words about living in someone else’s shadow made sense now. I would not live in anyone’s shadow, but I would become one.

Archer guided Ciaran, his eyes accustomed to the dark, promising that in a few months, I’d see as clearly as daylight.

We’d sent a letter to the capital the night before our journey. No response had come, but Serpent Post worked differently. Archer had assured me the king had received our notice.

Night bent into light—a prism of stars above.

We flew for twelve hours, then stopped to rest at a Serpent hostel on the capital’s nomadic outskirts.

Once, this small plot had belonged to Spring.

I imagined lush mountainsides, not barren and withered, the trees alive with color.

The hostel was a dilapidated bunker, its walls coated with a decade of dust and decay.

I curled into Archer’s arms beneath the fractured, silver moonlight. The stiff mattress creaked beneath us as we shifted, but it was a bed—our bed to rest, for now.

“I promise the Capital is nicer. This place... well, it’s terrible,” he said, his mouth curling in distaste.

“I don’t care.” I nestled closer, threading my fingers through his.

He ran his fingers down my spine. “You’re already better than most Serpents. I don’t mind staying in these places. It is a reminder that nothing is permanent. I see the history of our land and what used to be.”

I was silent for a moment. “This was a Forgotten attack?”

“Yes. Verdonia is slowly dying with each attack. Charles was under compulsion that night. One of the Forgotten, or nomads, holds a forbidden quell that can compel. This was only the beginning of their attacks on us.”

“What do they want?”

“I thought it was to take over Verdonia, but knowing they could control the Malvoria army and wipe out half of our Continent, I am not sure anymore.”

“My mother said she wanted to fight for the forbidden quells. I’ve been thinking, what if they are the rebellion, fighting for our humanity? What if they aren’t the enemies?”

In the darkness, Archer shook his head. “Those kinds of words will get you killed, Severyn. There are no wards here. Even my shield is weak.”

Archer was right. My eyes danced over the whirling dust caught within the shabby lantern above us, the tight space only large enough to fit one other person.

My skin crawled, thinking of how it was stripped to nails and shredded curtains.

A cracked skylight was above, a narrow square, just large enough to see the stars above.

Then, the night took me under its veil and through a dreamless state.

The capital was a monstrous city along the coast.

We flew in as close as possible, docking Ciaran on a hill. The capital was neutral land. Not bound with wards of Spring nor heat. The ground was hard, stiffened with a layer of ice.

The first frost of the year was always the coldest and most ravenous time, as if our bodies had never felt a chill in our bones before.

Knox always hunted on the first sign of frost. The townspeople would gather, a silent weep to tame the wind.

Ash rippled the sky, and the burning of logs continued for months .

I never understood the cruelty of the lands that claimed lives like Bridger’s. I’d seen his ear, his fingers sewn together, but I never believed Winter was that harsh.

A year ago, I was reading by a fire. Now, I was trying to steady my flame as we entered the Capital.

Most of the king’s circle were Griffins—people who were great but not quite Serpents.

Those who survived three grueling years at the Serpent Academy.

Guards stood at attention, swords drawn, as towering buildings rose from the dirt, touching the golden clouds.

Scavengers lined the walls, their eyes hidden beneath tattered cloaks, their trinkets and knives clinking as they beckoned us, offering trades and bargains.

I shuddered, staying close to Archer as we passed through the gate leading to the white-stoned castle behind it. My dress clung to my body, tracing every curve.

One scavenger called after us, “What’s your price for the neval? King pays well.” He muttered something before slumping forward.

Archer pulled me closer. “Where do most scavengers come from?” I asked. “They are without quells.”

“Across Verdonia,” he said. “The lands like the one we stayed in last night. Those people had nowhere else to go. Most of those lands became nomadic long ago. My grandfather took many from the Spring land into Demetria. Some children have shown quells since. Amria’s family were refugees.

The aftermath of a barren land is always tragic. ”

I looked out, spotting grey patches where life once flourished. “That’s devastating. Amria is from a barren land?”

Archer nodded toward the guards. “Amria is the first in her bloodline to have a quell after surviving a barren land. She was only seven when she came to our land.”

My heart pounded as we ascended the final steps to the king’s estate. Wild griffins soared above, their golden armor gleaming. Their golden eyes watched us, talons sharp. I remembered the feel of those claws during Skyfall, grateful for the leathers Archer had given me.

The guards escorted us through dark halls. A haunting melody echoed, sending chills down my spine. I wrapped my flaming shield tightly around my mind.

A dragon, frozen in liquid metal, was carved into the throne. The king sat, one leg crossed, tapping his fingers along the chair.

“Severyn and Archer,” he rasped, his voice thick with age. “I didn’t expect you so soon.” His gaze sharpened on Archer’s hand gripping my elbow, how I leaned into him.

Did he see Veravine between us? The lust he could never fulfill?

I felt the leather of my new jacket—one Amria had made for me—press against my back. The serpent’s tail slid down my ribs.

Archer bowed, his head low. “Sir, Severyn has killed the lindworm. She is my heir.”

The king clicked his tongue, eyes narrowing toward the arched doorway behind us. “Show your mark, Severyn Blanche.” He rose, his eyes cold and piercing.

I closed my eyes and slipped off my jacket. Amria had sewn a diamond strand along the spine. The gown clung to my body, cinching at my waist before flowing out at the hem. I turned, revealing the serpent mark on my neck. My breath trembled as the cool air touched the still-healing skin.

The king’s breath caught—half fear, half disbelief. He flicked his wrist, and in an instant, he stood beside me. His hand hovered above the mark, his touch a sting of invisible light.

“That mark is rejecting her. Once we strip her of her quell, she won’t survive.”

I yanked the jacket back onto my shoulders and spun to face him. “Strip me of my quell? What do you mean?” The door creaked open. Charles stepped through, his eyes as hard as steel .

He glanced at me, frost dusting his lashes, a new silver badge pinned to his suit. “Severyn Blanche, you harbor a forbidden quell. Under Prospect Five of the Tome of Verdonia.” His voice trembled slightly as he read the ancient text. “Forbidden quells are punishable by death or stripping.”

Archer seethed. “How many of your siblings will you kill, Charles? You’re a traitor to your blood.”

My heart rattled. “You killed Klaus?”

Charles met my gaze, his expression calm, almost detached. “I had no choice, Severyn. He died with honor.”

“Tell her, Charles,” Archer spat. “Tell her how you stripped him mid-flight during Skyfall.”

Charles exhaled sharply, silver medals gleaming in the lantern light—one for bravery, two for nobility, and a fourth, with my name replaced by a silver badge. Rage surged through me, my fingers starting to smoke. Archer didn’t cool me with shadows. He let me burn.

“Monty Garcia provided this information. My hands are tied, sister,” Charles said, his tone clipped. “I must strip you of your quell. If you survive, Malvoria will take care of you.”

Archer slammed his fist into the ceramic column. “You’ll kill her if you do that. She’s healing!”

“There’s no other way, Serpent,” Charles muttered, his words heavy with duty. “I must do my duty as the lead guard of Malvoria. Severyn is a threat to our continent. And you,” he sneered, “are in no position to speak. Harboring a lindworm is treason. Perhaps I’ll deal with you both.”

This wasn’t the king’s decision. He’d spared me before, knowing I’d saved Knox. But with Malvoria’s wards breached, I knew I stood no chance.

Charles’s gaze faltered as he reached for me, and I sank to my knees, searching his face for any trace of tenderness, any hint of mercy .

“Charles! You’re my brother. You’re supposed to protect me.”

“This is me protecting you from yourself,” he said, his voice cold, almost pitying.

Veravine’s port rattled on my wrist. A voice echoed through the chambers.

The swallows of songbirds tore through the muggy Ravensla air that morning.

I watched her from afar, her beauty as she ran through the streets.

She’d once given me this bracelet as a gift, my heart nearly shattering as she embraced me.

It wasn’t made of fine material—just a simple silver chain with a glass pendant.

I kept it, crying as the relentless moon watched me every night.

I knew she was mine—her diamond-shaped face, the strand of blonde curling against her jaw.

I’d ensure her safety, and that Lynwood would care for her if she ever needed anything.

I never wanted this life for Fallon—a life of hiding, of mystery.

She was better off never knowing the truth.

They’d kill her if they found out whose daughter she was.

I watched her roam the streets. The knots in her hair were always untied weekly. Did she feel unloved? A life spent searching for a place in a cruel world. And was I cruel for letting her dwell on those thoughts, on the idea that she might never know her worth?

Her children were cursed with quells, tainted by Forgotten blood. But death was no punishment. The blood of the misjudged would rise. Weakness would find strength, sprung through the shallows of flame and shadow.

They’d come for me. But they didn’t kill me because my heart pounded for a man of power. They killed me because they believed I didn’t love them back. But I smiled as my blood ran red—the same color as theirs .

As my last breaths filled the night air, they came for vengeance, and I stared at her slender fingers as her quell broke through my body. If only I had told her how much I loved her, would she have killed me? Would the king still have stolen her eyes?

And on my last breath, I whispered, “You will rise, Fallon.”

“What was that?” I gasped. “Who was that?”

Charles struck me again with his relic of ice, its power seeming to drain not just my strength, but my very essence. Frost settled on my lashes and coated my vocal cords, and I was pulled lower, sinking to my knees on the cold stone before the king’s throne.

No one else seemed to hear it. Not Charles, not the king, not Archer. No one had heard Veravine’s voice.

Charles lowered his trembling hands. “You have no quell, Severyn. I don’t understand,” he murmured. “Monty said you resurrected two students and a dragon.”

The king narrowed his eyes. “Perhaps it wasn’t Naraic. In my old age, I see things... it must be the songbirds. They’re quite loud.”

Songbirds. The king had heard her port… but how?

I peeked between my hands, bracing for pain, for death—but neither came. Had I used all those keys? Could Damien be alive? Archer would have told me.

“What now?” My voice was thin, drained.

Charles glanced at the king, then back at me. “You have one week, Severyn. One week until I take you to Malvoria.”

Archer growled, “She is my heir. She will not leave my side.”

What Charles said next felt like a blow to the chest. “A false heir, Serpent. Severyn has no shadow blood in her. That mark will kill her before the lack of sunlight does. A ruler cannot love their second in line. I hope whatever crush lingers between you dies before her titling service. I’ll deal with you later. ”

“Then, fucking kill me. Take me to the prisons and see how well that goes when every realm has its stars stolen.”

Archer stared ahead, his gaze empty, as if he understood the lust between us was forbidden. He couldn’t protect me anymore.

And would I rise above it, too? Could I survive knowing I was a faltered heir?

In the silence that followed, I felt the weight of my name crushing me, the bloodline I’d never wanted tightening its grip, suffocating any hope I’d once had.

The question was no longer about survival—it was about what I would lose before the end came.

Would it be my soul? My family? Or my place in a world that had already cast me aside?

It wasn’t survival anymore. It was waiting for the inevitable.