The sky wept the day after Seraphine was laid to rest, but Valen did not.
He stood at the edge of the broken war chamber, staring into the storm with eyes hollowed out by grief, lips chapped from prayers that went unanswered. The world kept turning. Time moved. People breathed. And she—
She no longer did.
The thought tore through him like iron.
How dare the world continue?
How dare the sun rise without her to witness it?
He moved like a shadow now—silent, but not still. Something stirred inside him. Not just pain.
Something unholy.
The next sunrise never came for the first village.
He walked into the heart of it barefoot, cloak soaked in rain, hair clinging to his cheeks. A farmer greeted him hesitantly. “My king…”
And then the farmer was gone—reduced to ash before the man even
