The silence that followed the rig’s departure was more violent than the explosion. The Great Hall, once a cathedral of lunar light, was now a tomb of damp stone and freezing shadows. Elara lay on the fractured obsidian floor, her fingers still clawing at the spot where Kaelen’s ice-pillar had stood.
Through the Blood-Union, she felt… nothing.
The vibrant, cedar-scented hum of his soul had been severed. It wasn't the quiet peace of sleep; it was a jagged, hollow ache, like a limb that had been torn away. For the first time since the Rejection, Elara felt truly, utterly alone.
"Your Majesty..."
A weak, gargling voice pulled her from the edge of the void. She turned her head slowly, her neck creaking. Thorne was crawling toward her, his indigo scales charred by the violet discharge. One o
