POV: The Shadow King
The blood oath burned.
Not as pain—
but as insult.
Across the Veil, through layers of time, spell, and Moon-forged protection, I felt it slam into place like a locked gate forged from divine fire. The boy—the heir—had been claimed.
So the Wolves believe they have won something.
In the abyss that serves as my throne, shadows coiled and writhed at my feet. The stars above my realm bled silver and black, split by the great wound in the heavens where the Moon Goddess once struck me down.
I rose slowly.
“Damieon,” I whispered, tasting the name through the bond I had briefly touched. The echo of the child’s soul still thrummed faintly against my senses—warm, luminous, untouched by corruption.
Perfect.
One of my generals knelt at the base of the obsidian steps. His
