The courtyard turned into a suffocating arena of clashing aesthetics. On one side, the golden banners of the Council's approaching army shimmered with rigid order. On the other, the blinding, sterile white rift bled light into the ruins, framing the woman who had haunted my dreams since the day the Dreadmoor legacy was first whispered to me.
My mother stood tall, her robes pristine, unmarred by the ash and blood that coated every inch of our sanctuary. The blade in her hand hummed, a sound like glass shattering in slow motion.
"Mother?" I choked out, the word feeling like a jagged stone in my throat. My shadow-self, which had been standing independently, instinctively recoiled, sinking back into my heels as if burned.
"Do not call her that," Seraphina whispered, her voice trembling. Sh
