Smoke still clung to the ruins of Velkareth like a mourning veil.
Kaelin stood at the heart of the shattered amphitheater, the dawn light painting the jagged spires in crimson and gold. Wind moved through the broken stone like a ghost, carrying with it the distant scent of scorched glass and old power.
She stared down at what remained of Isara—still, silent, wrapped in the remnants of her embered robes. Though she still breathed, the shards’ power had abandoned her, leaving behind only a woman broken by ambition and prophecy.
Theron stood beside Kaelin, arms crossed, the deep scar on his jaw freshly dressed. "We should take her back to the Hollow. Put her on trial."
Kaelin didn’t answer at first. Her gaze drifted to the obsidian throne where Isara had stood, casting herself as queen. "
