Chapter 63 Ashes, Chains, and a Lifeless Crown #2
They have muzzled him. Muzzled him.
A vólkin—one of our strongest, one of our own—bound like a beast. And at the end of the chain, holding him like a captured animal, stands a man. A human.
My claws curl, my stomach turns with rage. There are three of them. Three human males, walking through the trees as if they own this land, as if they have the right to defile it with their presence.
And between them, walking as if he belongs there, as if this is where he was always meant to stand, Gregor. My body locks, my breath stolen from my chest, my pulse thundering so violently I feel it in my ears.
The green humans, the vólkins, all of them, turn toward the unfolding nightmare, growls rising from their throats, their snarls breaking through the air.
Essin steps forward, her raw voice cracks as she roars, “Or?on!”
But Or?on does not answer.
Because he cannot. Because they have silenced him.
And Gregor is standing with them. I stare at him, my breath short, my vision darkening at the edges. And I do not understand.
“The tsar sends his regards,” the man holding Or?on’s chains sneers, and shoves him forward with a twist of his wrist. The heavy clang of metal rings through the growls of the warriors.
His grin is ugly, stretched too wide over his teeth.
“I believe it’s quite clear who holds the prize now.
” His every word is designed to dig deep, to hurt.
His gaze moves to Gregor, and his smirk widens. “Right, Gregor? Look at your friends.”
Gregor doesn’t respond. He doesn’t even lift his head. He just stares at his feet. The monsters beside the humans remain still, waiting. And then the human laughs.
“Noel and her mate are gone, aren’t they?” His fingers flex around Or?on’s chain as he yanks it tighter, forcing him to stumble. He barks out another laugh. “I’m very skilled with my arrow.”
My stomach twists. I have always known humans to be cruel.
But never like this. They are the real monsters.
The warriors around me shift, ready to strike. A low, warning growl rumbles from deep within their chests, fangs bared, claws twitching for violence. They are seconds away from launching themselves. And then, Elder A?na lifts her paw.
The warriors freeze.
She steps forward.
“I have done it before,” she says, closing her eyes. Her voice is calm. “And I will do it once again.”
I shake my head, my entire body tensing.
I want to stop her. But I don’t move.
The monsters charge, and their loud cries rip through the night like the wails of the damned. Their warped bodies jerk and sway, some moving on all fours, others stumbling upright with sickening, broken motions.
My breath catches in my throat, my knees threaten to give out. Every muscle in my body screams to run, to fight, to do something. But Elder A?na does not move. Her paws lift toward the sky.
Not a single warrior dares to disobey.
Even the green-skinned warriors stand still, as if instinct itself warns them not to interfere. And then, the wind shifts.
A sudden, violent gust tears through the land, howling like an enraged spirit. The leaf spirits scatter in every direction, flung into the air by the force.
The ancient trees groan under the weight of something unseen, their massive branches creaking and trembling, knocking loose a storm of leaves that swirl through the darkened sky. The ground beneath us shakes hard enough to rattle my very bones. I don’t know where to look. Everything is moving.
It feels as though the goddesses have reached down to twist nature before my eyes. The earth rumbles again. And more creatures appear from the tree line.
Their grotesque bodies spill from the shadows, pouring into the clearing like a wave of nightmares. They do not stop. They run straight past the humans and Or?on, their soulless eyes locked on us. But the moment they breach the clearing—they scream.
One by one, they collapse.
Writhing.
Howling.
Dying.
Frozen, heart hammering, I watch as the battlefield descends into madness. And then, Elder A?na turns to us. Her eyes are wide, as if even she did not expect this.
She didn’t . . . ?
The earth shudders furiously, deep cracks splintering through the ground, splitting the soil apart. I stagger and barely manage to catch myself before I fall. Did Elder A?na do this?
I knew she was powerful. I knew she could bend the forces of nature to her will. But this?
Even Elder A?na’s expression twists in shock, her pale eyes flickering as she watches the destruction unfold around us.
The nymphí look just as lost. They quiver, their hands raised to shield the lifeless bodies of our leaders, their glowing eyes darting in every direction as if searching for something, an answer, a reason for the madness around us.
Thick, blackened vines explode from the cracked earth and twist into the sky like writhing serpents with jagged thorns so dark they seem to drink the moonlight. They spread through the battlefield, spiraling in all directions.
ávera pulses.
The land hums with energy, the sacred blue roses shine brighter than the stars above. Their light is blinding, pulsing like a heartbeat, like a force awakened from slumber.
My fur stands on end. My fingers twitch, the raw energy in the air making my skin crawl.
I don’t know what’s happening. And then, a scream.
A scream that rips through the land, full of enough rage to shake the foundations of reality. The nymphí collapse with their hands pressed against their ears, their bodies folded onto the bloodstained earth. My breath catches.
My entire world stops.
Because Her Majesty moves. Her body, once lifeless, once cold in the embrace of death, lurches upright. Her hand rises.
And with one motion, she yanks the arrow from her forehead.
A choked gasp bursts from my throat. My claws dig into the dirt.
This isn’t possible.
This isn’t possible.
The arrow falls from her hand, falls to the ground, and as it does, her eyes open.
They are not the eyes of the leader I once knew. They burn with blue fire. Flames swirl around her, licking at her skin, but they do not burn. They do not devour the grass beneath her feet. They do not touch the roses that bloom in her wake. They obey her. She rises—no, she ascends.
The air thickens, making it impossible to breathe. My throat constricts. The ground beneath her quakes.
“When the Blue Rose falls, ávera will mourn. When ávera mourns, I shall rise again.”
The vines pulse.
The blue roses bloom. The land itself answers her.
And beside her, Theron moves.