Aelira woke to the sound of breathing.
Not hers.
Not near her.
But everywhere — like the stone itself was alive.
She lay in a circular chamber, bound not by chains, but by spells woven in thorned light. The floor beneath her pulsed like a heartbeat, and the air was heavy with incense and blood.
She remembered being dragged through the rift. The Thorn Order chanting her name like it was a hymn. And that woman—No. Not a woman. A blade. A weapon she herself had once forged in loyalty and fury.
And now she was here.
She sat up slowly.
The walls were carved with her history — not as Aelira, but as Seraiya. Victories. Wars. Betrayals. And at the center, a throne carved from bone and crystal. Empty.
"Still pretending to be someone else?"
The voice was soft. Familiar. Wrong.
Aelira turned.
A man stood at the far end of the chamber.
Tall. Ageless. Cloaked in deep violet robes laced with gold. His eyes glowed faintly — not with magic, but with something older. Divine ruin.
And his face — it stopped her heart.
She whispered, "Zeyr."
He smiled. "So you do remember."
Zeyr. Her sword-brother. Her right hand. The one who drank immortality so he could follow her beyond death.
The one she betrayed when she destroyed the old court.
"Why are you still alive?" she breathed.
"I made a vow. To never die until you wore your crown again."
Aelira's magic surged, but the thorns around her pulsed, and pain laced through her limbs. She bit back a scream.
Zeyr stepped closer, calm.
"I don't want to hurt you, Seraiya. I want to restore you."
"I'm not her."
"You are. You just forgot. You chose weakness. Mortality. Love." His mouth twisted on the word. "But you can still be what you were meant to be. A god among mortals."
"I'd rather burn."
Zeyr's smile faded. "Then I'll make you remember why you built the fire in the first place."
He gestured — and from the shadows, the Thorn Order stepped out. The circle closed in.
Far away, across the torn space between realms, Riven knelt in the dust.
They had followed the rift into a world that was dying.
No stars. No sun. Just a crimson moon hanging low, bleeding light across a broken sky.
Ashar paced like a caged flame. "We don't even know where she is."
"She's here," Kaelen said, pointing to a scar carved into the horizon. "That's a soul beacon. And it's screaming her name."
Theron drew a dagger. "So what's the plan? Break into an undead cult's fortress? Kill her immortal ex-bestie?"
"Yes," Riven said.
Kaelen raised an eyebrow. "You say that like it's simple."
"It is."
Ashar growled. "And if she's already gone full Star Queen again? If we're walking into a trap?"
Riven didn't blink. "Then we bring her back. Or die trying."
A silence fell.
And then Kaelen sighed, adjusting his sword. "Well. Wouldn't be the first stupid mission I've followed you into."
Theron grinned. "Or the last."
Ashar just set his fists alight. "Let's go get our girl."
And the four walked toward the storm.
Toward the Queen.Toward the end.