The city below shimmered with dying light, the flicker of distant lanterns barely cutting through the fog that curled around the capital's bones. From the grand balcony of the eastern tower, Selene Everhart stood like a statue carved in mourning. Her hands gripped the cold marble railing as though it could anchor her to a world she no longer trusted.
The capital—once a beacon of Lucian's hope—now felt like a cage spun from guilt and doubt.
The storm inside her was quiet, but endless. And its eye had a name.
Kael.
She had fought beside Lucian. Bled for him. Sworn to love him until the last breath left her body.
But Kael's voice… his presence—it coiled through her soul like a whisper in the dark. Not loud. Not violent.
Inevitable.
"Still chasing the wind, Selene?"
She turned sharply, already knowing the voice before it reached her ears.
Kael stepped from the shadowed archway, clad in black and crimson. His movements were unhurried, almost lazy, as though the night itself made way for him.
"I needed to breathe," she said.
"You needed clarity," Kael replied, stepping beside her, his tone maddeningly gentle. "But clarity rarely comes from silence. It comes from confrontation."
Selene didn't look at him. She couldn't.
"I shouldn't be here," she said quietly. "With you."
"But you are."
That simple answer struck like a blade—no flourish, just truth.
Selene clenched the railing. "I love Lucian."
Kael didn't challenge it. He didn't laugh or scoff or roll his eyes.
"Then why do you look at me like you're the one betraying yourself?"
She faltered.
"Guilt," Kael said softly, "isn't born from loyalty. It's born from desire. And you feel guilty… because you want to want Lucian. But you don't."
Selene's breath caught. She turned to him now, face pale, eyes burning.
"Stop."
Kael obeyed in body, but not in intent. His voice dropped, velvet against the wind.
"You crave what I offer—not just power, but freedom. Lucian makes you a symbol. I see the woman. He builds walls around your fire. I let it burn."
His fingers reached out, hovering just beside her cheek, never quite touching. His restraint said more than a thousand caresses could.
"Tell me, Selene. If I'm the villain… if I'm the monster Lucian warns you about—why haven't you walked away?"
Her answer was silence.
Because deep down, she already knew the answer.
Kael's voice dropped lower, intoxicating and deliberate.
"You haven't chosen yet. But you will. And when you do… it won't be because I asked you to."
He turned, walking back into shadow, his presence vanishing like breath on glass.
And Selene stood trembling in the moonlight, not from fear…
…but from realization.
Far beyond the capital, the scorched earth of Varellan Plains bore the scars of a massacre. Smoke curled into the evening sky, and the once-proud banners of Everwyn now lay trampled beneath blood-soaked mud.
Lucian Dorne stood amid the wreckage, his armor cracked and bloodied. Around him, his soldiers—what remained of them—dragged the wounded from smoldering wrecks.
"They were waiting for us," a captain gasped. "They knew our exact path…"
Lucian's jaw clenched. He looked down at the war map in his hand—his strategy, now rendered worthless.
How does he always know?
His gaze shifted to the dying men around him, each one a testament to Kael's precision. The dark strategist had struck at their weakest point. Cut off their supply routes. Forced them into a trap.
He's always one step ahead.
Lucian's stomach twisted.
Unless someone's helping him…
The thought was poison, and it found its mark.
Selene.
She had been distant. Her letters grew shorter. Her voice more strained.
He'd told himself it was the war.
But now...
No. She'd never betray me.
Would she?
Lucian's hands curled into fists.
"We regroup," he said, voice strained. "We strike again."
But the words rang hollow.
There was no regrouping.
Only retreat.
Kael had won this battle—and if Lucian didn't face the truth soon...
He wouldn't just lose the war.
He'd lose everything.
To be continued...