In the depths of the Dark Moon Citadel, the air was thick with the metallic tang of blood and the acrid bite of failed curses, the crystal veins in the walls pulsing erratically, as if the fortress itself sensed defeat. The fleeing vampires and dark witches stumbled through a swirling portal, their cloaks tattered, faces smeared with ash and the blood of fallen comrades. They collapsed in the Throne Hall, the black marble floor cold against their knees. The thirteen mirrors reflected their defeat in fractured visions, Blizzard Moon’s gates breached, rogues abandoned, the royal forces triumphant. Cassian no longer, the boy’s mask shed like old skin, sat upon his living throne, the World Tree roots pulsing beneath him like a heartbeat. His red eyes gleamed in the blue torchlight, expressionl
