My head throbbed, a dull counterpoint to the roaring in my ears that wasn't the rush of a river, but the frantic pulse of my own blood.

  Disoriented and blinking away the afterimages of the spell, I stumbled to my feet. But before I could dwell on the bittersweet escape, a wave of nausea crashed over me. The violent sensation of Elyse’s magic had ripped through my stomach, and I doubled over, emptying my guts onto the floor. Dry heaves wracked my body as tears welled in my eyes.

  When the nausea finally subsided, I spat to clear the bitter taste lingering in my mouth. I wiped my lips with the back of my hand, only to find my skin smeared with soot. My clothes were streaked and stained with ash. The acrid smell of smoke clung to me, sharp and suffocating. I looked down at my trembling hands; the lines of my palms were etched with soot, the black grime embedded under my nails.

  We were no longer in the throne room. Instead, we stood in a vast, luxuriously furnished space. Gilded furniture gleamed in the soft light emanating from crystal chandeliers overhead. Thick carpets muffled the sound of our ragged breaths, and ornately framed paintings adorned the walls. Beneath each portrait, a caption in elegant script declared them: "Family Di Fiore."

  Panic clawed at my throat. This wasn't the escape route I’d envisioned. Were we still trapped within the castle walls, teleported to some opulent prison cell? I scanned the room, searching for any sign of danger.

  My gaze darted towards the others.

  Finn knelt beside an unconscious Elyse, his brow furrowed with worry as he checked her pulse. Kass lay sprawled on the plush carpet a few feet away, her face green with nausea as she fought back the urge to vomit. They looked as bewildered as I felt. Across the room, Isaac was in a similar state, groaning as he emptied his stomach onto the floor. His face was pale and clammy, his usually bright eyes dull with misery.

  Kilian, closest to me, caught my eye, his face painted with soot save for the whites of his wide, startled eyes. He coughed violently, doubling over as more soot-coated spittle splattered the ground.

  Tossing aside the throbbing pain, I lunged forward, burying my face in the familiar comfort of his chest.

  "Kilian!" I cried, my voice thick with emotion. The sound of it startled a sob out of me, a tear escaping to trace a glistening path down my cheek.

  He pulled me into him, his calloused fingers brushing away the tear with a gentleness that belied his weathered exterior.

  He held me tight, his arms surprisingly strong for a man that had been a prisoner for the past few months. "Kira, my brave, brave sister," he murmured, his voice rough with disuse.

  In that moment, the world melted away. There were no whispers of rebellion, no chilling tales of the king's cruelty. There was only the simple, profound joy of reunion, the warmth of family in the face of uncertainty. We held onto each other, a silent promise hanging heavy in the air – we would face whatever came next, together.

  Pulling back just enough to look into his face, my frantic search began. On Caleb and William, the king's mark – the vicious cuts he passed on through the soul bond – marred their forearms. But my brother’s arms, pale and weathered, were unmarked. Hope flared, a fragile flame in the darkness.

  "Kilian," I whispered, my voice trembling with urgency. "They didn't… they didn't bind you to the king, did they?"

  Understanding dawned in his eyes. "Ah, that," he said with a sad chuckle. "No. They interrogated me, of course, about the scrolls, about the rebellion. They weren't gentle, but they never…"

  "Kilian," I began, my voice quieter now, heavy with unspoken emotion. "Where did you go when Eldoria was destroyed? What happened to you?"

  He didn’t answer immediately, his gaze drifting to the floor as if the memories were too much to bear. Finally, he spoke, his voice rough but steady.

  "I got out of the basement," he said, his words slow, as though he were piecing them together in his mind. "The latch broke when the house collapsed. I don’t know if it was luck or if I was meant to survive, but the rubble cleared just enough for me to slip out."

  His hands tightened, and I could see his jaw clenched as he continued. "I took what I could carry—some of the scrolls, a few books. I couldn’t save everything, but I saved the most important ones. The ones you’d have wanted."

  I exhaled sharply, relief flooding through me. He had taken the scrolls. The very thought of them being lost in the rubble had haunted me for so long.

  Kilian's gaze darkened, his jaw tightening as he searched for the words. "I hid,” he admitted quietly, the weight of the confession heavy in the air. "When Eldoria fell, I ran. I thought I could make it to the eastern woods, find some kind of refuge, but they found me before I could even cross the river. They dragged me back, and for months, I was their prisoner.”

  He paused, his eyes flicking to mine, searching for understanding. "They asked about the scrolls, about the rebellion, over and over again. But they never bound me to the king, Kira. I swear it.”

  Relief flooded through me, loosening the tension in my chest. He wasn’t bound. He was still Kilian—fully himself. As he spoke, I noticed something strange. A thin trickle of blood began to escape from his nose, a dark red line against his pale skin. He didn’t seem to notice at first, too focused on his words.

  "I told them nothing,” Kilian continued, wiping at his face absentmindedly with the back of his hand. "No matter what they did, I—” He stopped mid-sentence, his brows furrowing as he looked down at the blood on his sleeve. "Huh.”

  "Kilian, you’re bleeding,” I said, the worry creeping into my voice.

  "It’s nothing,” he said, brushing it off. He wiped his nose again, this time with his sleeve, smearing the blood away.

  I wasn’t so sure. "Maybe Isaac should take a look at you later,” I said, trying to keep my tone light. "You might’ve hit your head.”

  Kilian waved me off with a strained smile. "I’m fine, Kira. The weird thing is… the king himself got involved. I don’t know why, but he was curious about me. About the books. When I told them I had restored some of the texts myself—how I rebuilt them from what little I had—the king took an interest."

  He looked up at me then, a flicker of something almost like defiance in his eyes. "He saw potential in me. Saw talent. So they made me work in the royal library. A prisoner with privileges. A strange kind of punishment, don’t you think?" He chuckled darkly, but it was short-lived, fading into a sigh.

  "That’s where I’ve been. I’ve seen things there, Kira. Heard things. I’ve gathered intel… hoping you’d come for me."

  His gaze met mine, and I could see the fire in his eyes, the fierce hope that had never quite gone out. My heart twisted.

  "I did," I whispered, my voice thick with emotion. "I came for you."

  A soft, crooked smile tugged at his lips. "I see that." His eyes narrowed slightly, then he tilted his head, as if he were studying me. "So, tell me," he said with a raised brow, a teasing glint in his eyes. "How did my nerdy little sister turn into a rebel? One who can wield a dagger and waltz into the king's throne room without a second thought?"

  I couldn’t help but laugh, though it was a breathless sound, thick with everything we had just been through.

  "I learned from the best," I said, meeting his gaze with a fierceness I hadn’t known I had in me.

  Kilian snorted, a wide grin stretching across his face. "Fair enough. Though, I have to admit, I always knew you’d be trouble. You just needed the right... encouragement."

  I raised an eyebrow. "Is that what you’re calling it? Encouragement?"

  He leaned in a little closer. "You know, I always thought you’d end up with the books. Never expected the knives."

  My mind was still buzzing with questions. His words from earlier had me thinking about our father more than I had in a long time. I hadn’t realized just how much I’d been avoiding the memories. How much I'd been avoiding him. I had been so focused on what came after, on the rebellion, on Caleb—on survival—that I hadn’t really stopped to wonder what had happened to our father.

  I glanced at my brother, hesitating for a moment before speaking.

  "I've been thinking about him a lot," I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper. "Our father. Do you know what happened to him, Kilian?"

  Kilian's reaction was immediate—he scoffed, the sound harsh, bitter. "You’re still asking about him?" His voice was low, tinged with frustration. "I’ve been over this a hundred times. He knew destruction was coming, Kira. He saw it in the stars, felt it in the air. That’s why he sent you and Kass away."

  I felt the weight of his words, and the old, familiar ache in my chest. I knew this. But somehow, hearing Kilian say it again, with that dark edge to his voice, made it feel different. He was still angry, still carrying the scar of what our father had done—or failed to do.

  "Three days after you and Kass left, everything fell apart," Kilian continued, his voice cold. "I remember the chaos that started after you were gone. The house shaking, people screaming. But Father didn’t come for me. He didn’t even try to get me out of the basement."

  His words hit me like a physical blow. I froze, stunned by the rawness in his tone. "What?"

  Kilian’s jaw tightened as he paced slowly, dragging a hand through his unkempt hair. "I was locked down there, Kira. I could hear the tumult, the panic. The guards breaking in, yelling orders. But Father never came for me. He just let me stay there. He left me to die, Kira."

  My chest tightened, and I fought to keep my voice steady. "He didn’t leave you on purpose, Kilian. He… he couldn’t get to you in time. The house was already coming down, the city was in flames—"

  "No." His voice was sharp, cutting me off. "He had days, Kira. Days to get me out. He knew what was coming. He could have warned everyone, told them to evacuate, to leave. But he didn’t. He let it all happen. He didn’t try to get me out, didn’t try to save anyone. He just… sat there, like he was waiting for it. Like it was all part of some plan."

  I stood there, silent for a moment, trying to process the words, the anger in Kilian’s voice. It was like everything I had ever believed about our father was being ripped apart, piece by piece. The father I had always looked up to, the one who had been so strong, so steady in the face of everything—could he really have abandoned us?

  Kilian’s voice dropped, rough with emotion. "I heard the guards question him after they took him. He didn’t fight. He didn’t even try to hide anything. He let them drag him to his death, Kira. He went like a martyr, like he was willing to die for some cause. But why? Why did he do that? Why didn’t he try to save me, or anyone else? Why didn’t he tell anyone what was going on, so they could get out in time?"

  The question hung in the air, heavy and painful. I had never heard Kilian speak with so much bitterness, so much hurt. He was right, though—our father had known. He had to have known. But why hadn’t he acted? Why hadn’t he told anyone, warned anyone? And why hadn’t he come for Kilian?

  I shook my head, my thoughts a tangled mess. "I don’t understand, Kilian. This doesn’t make sense. What was he hiding? What was so important that he couldn’t even save you? He couldn’t have been that blind. He must have known something—"

  Kilian’s eyes flashed with frustration, his fists clenched at his sides. "I don’t know, Kira. But there’s something off about all of this. And don’t tell me it was just the chaos of the moment. He had time. He had time to save us. But he didn’t. He couldn’t have just been caught off guard. There’s something more."

  I swallowed hard, the weight of his words pressing down on me. This was a new light on our father—one I wasn’t sure I was ready to face. What had he really been involved in? What had he been hiding all those years, behind that calm exterior?

  The pieces didn’t fit. The man who had sent us away, the man who had protected us from everything in the world… he hadn’t protected us at all. He had let everything burn, and worse, he had let Kilian suffer in that basement, knowing there was nothing to be done.

  I turned away slightly, looking out the window into the black night, my mind racing. I had spent so long clinging to the idea of our father as a protector, a man who would always put family first. But now... now I saw him for what he truly was: a man who had kept secrets, who had let his own son rot in a basement while the world burned around him. What had he really known? What had he kept from us?

  Kilian leaned back against the stone wall, his eyes still haunted by the memories of our father's abandonment. But as I pressed him for more answers, I could see the way his mind shifted. There was something else he needed to tell me. Something that had been eating at him for a long time.

  Suddenly, a voice, smooth and cultured, startled me out of my frantic thoughts.

  "Miss Erin, it seems the journey has taken its toll on you."

  I whipped around, my hand instinctively flying to the dagger strapped to my belt.

  A man stood a few paces away, his face etched with concern. He was dressed in a servant's uniform, a stark contrast to the opulence surrounding us. Time had etched lines on his weathered face, a testament to countless feasts served and whispered secrets kept. His salt-and-pepper hair was receding, leaving a neat fringe that framed his piercing blue eyes.

  "Who are you?" I demanded, my voice hoarse. "Where are we?"

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  Before the man could answer, Erin, pale but composed, rose from the floor with the help of the servant's outstretched hand.

  "We're at home, Kira," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "My home. Elyse brought us here."

  Home? Erin, the fiery rebel who had denounced the very foundation of this luxurious lifestyle, claiming it was built on the backs of the oppressed – she lived in a place like this?

  A bitter laugh escaped my lips. "Stop the cruel jokes, Erin," I spat, my voice laced with anger and suspicion.

  Then, a memory surfaced, a chilling echo of the king's words. He had spoken of a gift, a present Erin delivered on her last visit. He had talked about her parents with a familiarity that sent shivers down my spine.

  Fury, a venomous serpent, coiled in my gut. Who was this woman we had fought beside, bled beside? A Traitor? A Double agent? The questions hammered in my head, a relentless drumbeat.

  Before I could restrain myself, I lunged.

  Erin, caught off guard, crumpled to the floor with a surprised gasp. The cold steel of my dagger pressed against her throat, a silent scream in the opulent room.

  The servant next to her lurched back with a gasp. His face, pale and drawn, reflected the horror that mirrored my own.

  "Who are you?" I hissed, my voice barely a strangled whisper. "Who have you been working for all this time? Did the king invite us here for tea and crumpets? Or perhaps he just wanted to offer you a promotion for your stellar performance?"

  She struggled against me, her eyes pleading for a moment of reason through the haze of my anger. "If you could just take your knife away and let me explain!" she rasped, her voice tight with desperation.

  The dagger trembled in my hand, the weight of my burning questions and the blade suddenly feeling unbearable. Could there be more to the story? Could Erin be on our side, caught in a web of secrets spun by the tyrannical king?

  Hesitantly, I lowered the point of the dagger, my gaze never leaving hers.

  "Explain," I rasped, my voice barely above a whisper. "And for the sake of all we've fought for, let it be the truth."

  My eyes remained locked on Erin's, searching for any hint of deceit.

  Erin, her voice ragged, turned to the servant. "Edgar, could you please bring us some water and bandages?"

  The servant, Edgar, his eyes still wide with fear from witnessing the outburst, nodded curtly and scurried out of the room.

  The tension in the air hung thick as fog. I lowered the dagger completely, my hand dropping limply to my side. Shame burned in my gut, a hot coal alongside the lingering confusion.

  "You know," Kilian said, giving me a smirk, "at least he's got good timing. I could use a drink right about now."

  "Stay focused, Kilian," I muttered under my breath.

  Kilian winked. "I was just suggesting a more entertaining way to pass the time."

  I turned towards Erin. "Explain," I rasped, my voice barely above a whisper.

  Erin sat up slowly, gingerly rubbing her throat where the tip of the dagger had pressed.

  She didn't seem to know where to start. "This is my house," she began, her voice barely a whisper. "I own it. It used to be my family's."

  My breath hitched. Erin's family? Here, in this opulent monstrosity that reeked of the king's tyranny?

  "It's complicated," Erin said, her voice barely a whisper. "My father... he serves the king as an advisor. He and my mother, they live in the castle now."

  Her father was an advisor to the king? The revelation sent a fresh wave of nausea crashing through me. What secrets did this house hold? What dark machinations did her father whisper in the king's ear?

  "An advisor?" I spat, the word dripping with disgust. "Your father sits at the king's right hand, whispering secrets into his ear, advising him on how to crush the rebellion, while you waltz around in this opulent chamber, playing the part of the loyal friend? Forgive me, Erin, but this reeks of manipulation!"

  My voice echoed in the chamber, bouncing off the polished marble floor and the gilded tapestries that adorned the walls. The air crackled with a tension so thick it felt like I could taste it. Erin flinched as if I'd struck her. But her eyes, red-rimmed and filled with a raw vulnerability, held no deceit. There was pain there, a deep, festering wound that mirrored the one blossoming in my own chest.

  "It's not what you think, Kira," Erin whispered, her voice barely audible above the frantic pounding of my own heart. "Please, you have to believe me."

  Believe her? How could I? Trust was a fragile thing, easily shattered. And Erin, the woman I'd considered a friend, a comrade, had just revealed a colossal secret, a secret that rewrote everything I thought I knew about her and our fight for freedom.

  Tears welled up in Erin's eyes, spilling over and tracing glistening tracks down her cheeks. The sight of her pain, so genuine and raw, momentarily disarmed me. But the anger, the betrayal I felt, still burned hot.

  "Explain this, then," I demanded, my voice hoarse. "Explain how your father, a supposed advisor to the king, allows you such freedom to mingle with rebels? Does the king enjoy a good laugh at our expense, watching us squirm like rats in a cage?"

  Disbelief hung thick in the air, a suffocating shroud mirroring the turmoil in my gut. Erin's revelation shattered the carefully constructed image of the fiery rebel I knew.

  Kass, Finn and Isaac, their faces mirroring my own disgust, exchanged a wary glance.

  The creak of the door announced Edgar returning. His face was etched with concern as stepped into the room, holding a water carafe and a roll of bandages clutched in his calloused hands.

  Erin gestured towards Kilian, Finn, Kass and Isaac, who sat huddled together on the floor next to Elyse.

  "See to them first," she said, her voice hoarse but steady.

  Edgar nodded curtly, his gaze flickering between us for a moment before he moved towards the others. Kneeling beside them, he offered a reassuring smile.

  Erin, her shoulders slumped and face etched with pain, pleaded with me. "Now, just listen, please. It's not what it seems."

  Taking a shaky breath, she continued. "When Father got promoted to the king's advisor, we moved to the castle grounds. At first, I was blinded by the opulence, the endless feasts, the beautiful clothes. But that feeling didn't last."

  Her voice grew quiet, a haunted tremor running through it. "The truth seeped in, whispers of the suffering beyond the castle walls, the iron fist of the king's rule. I hated it there."

  "Your family," I said, the words laced with a hint of begrudging sympathy, "they were content with that life?"

  Erin shook her head, a bitter smile twisting her lips. "Content? Hardly. Their world revolved around balls and political maneuvering. They wanted nothing more than to marry me off to some pompous baron or duke."

  She paused, her expression darkening, and her voice grew colder. "Actually, they had someone specific in mind. Baron Edric Vale. ‘A suitable match,’ they called him. Twenty years older than me, widowed twice, and wealthy enough to buy their silence about his reputation.” Her lips curled in disgust.

  I frowned. "Reputation?”

  Erin let out a sharp, bitter laugh. "He was known for his... hobbies. Hunting wasn’t limited to game, if you catch my meaning. There were rumors—servants who disappeared, tenants who couldn’t pay their dues and vanished overnight. My parents didn’t care. ‘He’s powerful,’ they said. ‘He’ll keep you in comfort.’” Her voice dripped with venom, mocking their words.

  I stared at her, horrified. "They would’ve let you marry someone like that?”

  "They didn’t see it that way,” Erin said, shrugging, though her fists clenched at her sides. "To them, it wasn’t about love or safety. It was about connections, influence, and keeping our family’s name in the right circles. And if I suffered for it?” Her voice cracked slightly, but she forced it back into cold indifference. "That was just the price of ambition.”

  I swallowed hard, the weight of her words settling over me. "How did you get out of it?”

  Erin’s bitter smile returned. "I refused. Made a scene at one of their fancy dinners—spilled wine on his velvet robes, called him out in front of half the nobility. My father nearly disowned me on the spot. Said I’d ruined our family’s name.” She hesitated, her gaze distant. "But it wasn’t enough. They were still going to force me into it. That’s when I knew I had to leave. I needed a way out, a way to escape my cage. One day, I met one of the king's young soldiers, Thomas. We became friends. He told me about Falcata."

  Falcata. The elite academy, a breeding ground for the king's most loyal guard dogs. My stomach clenched.

  Erin's voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "I knew it was a gamble, a chance encounter with rebellion. I lied to my parents, told them I was accepted into some prestigious university far away. The training was brutal, but it was there I met others, rebels disguised as loyalists, and together, we formed a resistance within the very heart of the king's domain. It was where I met Caleb."

  My face fell. Caleb at Falcata? Was he a true believer, a wolf in sheep's clothing who had infiltrated the king's ranks for the purpose of dismantling the system from within? Or was there another explanation, a more cynical one? Had he simply used their resistance as a stepping stone to his own personal advancement?

  Erin's voice, usually laced with spite, softened as she spoke of Caleb.

  "He was...different from the others," she said, a hint of a wistful smile playing on her lips.

  Different? That was one way to put it. A rebel simmering in the heart of the king's viper's nest – it defied logic.

  "He dreamt of overthrowing the king," Erin continued, her eyes gleaming with a spark that mirrored the fire crackling in the hearth.

  Overthrowing the king? The audacity of it both shocked and intrigued me. Caleb clearly had never been afraid to dream big.

  "He actually talked like that?" I blurted out, unable to contain my surprise.

  Erin's chuckle, dry and humorless, sent a shiver down my spine. "Like that and worse," she said.

  A charismatic rebel with a way with words – a dangerous combination, especially within the king's ranks.

  A spark flickered in Erin's eyes, a stark contrast to the weariness etched on her face. "He spoke of justice, of a world free from tyranny, even if it meant sacrificing himself."

  She leaned forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "We formed a small group, those of us who believed in Caleb's vision. We trained harder, pushed each other further, all the while plotting the king's downfall. It was a heady time, filled with hope."

  "What about the others?" I leaned forward, my gaze intent on Erin. "Who were they?"

  I doubted that Marcus, the gentle giant who had only joined the Ironfangs for the sake of his family or Finn, barely taller than my sword, were a part of the Elite Royal Guard back then.

  Erin's eyes misted over. "There was a whole group of us who believed in the same cause. Just like us today," she said, her voice thick with emotion.

  The weight of her words settled heavily on me. A larger rebellion brewing beneath the surface of Falcata? It fueled a flicker of hope, but it was quickly extinguished by the tremor in Erin's voice.

  "But the king..." she trailed off, her gaze flickering to the fire as if seeking solace in the flickering flames. A tense silence stretched between us, thick with unspoken dread.

  Finally, she continued, her voice barely a whisper. "He...executed most of them. Treason," she choked out, the word laced with a bitterness that sent a shiver down my spine.

  The harsh reality of their situation slammed into me – a resistance brutally crushed, its members branded traitors and left to die.

  "Caleb and I were the only ones who managed to escape," Erin finished, a hollow echo of her former defiance. Her eyes reflected a kaleidoscope of emotions – grief, anger, a flicker of hope that refused to be completely extinguished.

  My thoughts churned as Erin spoke. The pieces began falling into place, each one sharper and heavier than the last.

  "You and Caleb…” I said slowly, trying to make sense of it. "You both trained at Falcata. That’s why you have enchanted swords.”

  Erin’s gaze flicked to me, a brief glimmer of surprise quickly replaced by resignation. She nodded. "Yes. The best of the king’s elite were given privileges others could only dream of—enchanted weapons to win his wars for him. To crush rebellion, to enforce his rule. It was a reward for loyalty.”

  "And yet here you are,” I said, the accusation unintended but clear.

  Erin smirked faintly. "Yes, here I am. We’re complicated creatures, aren’t we?” She glanced down at her sword, Wraithcaller, its smoky patterns swirling faintly even in stillness. "There were only three of us with that privilege. Caleb. Me. And Kael Voryn.”

  The name hit me like a thunderclap. My heart skipped a beat at the memory of Voryn’s screams as he burned, the sound etched into my mind like a scar. "You trained with him?” I gasped, my voice barely above a whisper.

  Erin’s smirk vanished, her expression hardening into something darker. "No,” she said, her voice sharp and bitter. "We didn’t train with him. He trained us.”

  Her words landed like a blow, knocking the air from my lungs. "He… trained you?” I repeated, struggling to process it.

  "He was already Captain of the Dusk Cloaks by the time he was twenty-five,” Erin continued, her tone heavy with contempt. "They called him a prodigy. I called him something else.”

  My stomach churned as the weight of her words settled over me. "He was your instructor?”

  She nodded, her jaw tightening. "For a time. He didn’t just teach us how to fight—he taught us how to hurt. Said it was necessary for survival in the field. But for him?” She shook her head, her voice dropping to a venomous whisper. "It wasn’t survival. It was cruelty for cruelty’s sake. He reveled in it. The drills, the endless exercises, the beatings—they were nothing compared to that.”

  A chill crept down my spine. "What did he… do to you?”

  Erin’s gaze grew distant, her jaw clenched tightly as she spoke. "He’d have us fight until we collapsed, beat us if we didn’t get up fast enough. But that wasn’t what broke people. It was the mind games. He’d force us to endure things designed to break our spirits, strip away every last shred of humanity.”

  My voice caught in my throat, but I managed to whisper, "Like what?”

  Her hands curled into fists, her knuckles white. "Isolation. Sensory deprivation. Days locked in total darkness without food or water, with nothing but the sound of your own heartbeat. Or he’d do the opposite—blare sounds, screams, metal clanging, for hours until you thought you’d lose your mind.”

  She paused, her voice thickening with emotion. "There were mock executions. He’d drag someone out, make them watch as he ‘killed’ one of their comrades—just an illusion, of course, but real enough to tear them apart. And when they broke, when they begged for mercy or spilled secrets he hadn’t even asked for, he’d beat them into a pulp.”

  I stared at her, horrified. "How did anyone survive that?”

  Erin’s gaze dropped, her voice trembling. "Not all of us did. One of my closest friends… Simon. He was strong. But the isolation… the games… it got to him. One night, after one of Voryn’s sessions, he just… snapped. He couldn’t stand it anymore.”

  "What happened?” I asked softly, though I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.

  She hesitated, her lips pressing into a thin line. "Cut his wrists in the barracks in the middle of the night. When we found him, there was so much blood. He’d written ‘free’ on the wall with it before he bled out.”

  My breath caught, a wave of nausea rolling through me. "Erin…”

  She shook her head, her voice hardening as she fought to keep her composure. "That’s the kind of man Voryn was. He didn’t just kill people—he destroyed them. He broke them from the inside out and watched them crumble like it was some kind of sport.”

  The weight of her words pressed down on me, suffocating. "And you survived that?” I whispered, a mix of awe and horror in my voice.

  "I didn’t have a choice,” Erin said, her voice raw. "None of us did. But I’ll never forget what he did to Simon. Or the others who didn’t make it. That’s why I fight now. That’s why I’ll keep fighting. Because people like him, people like the king, don’t deserve to rule. They deserve to burn.”

  "He did. And now he’s dead,” I said, almost to myself.

  "Good riddance,” Erin spat. "The world’s better off without him.”

  I let out a shaky breath, trying to process it all. Caleb, Erin, and Kael Voryn—three products of the same system, three wielders of enchanted blades forged to uphold the king’s tyranny. And yet here they were, Erin and Caleb, fighting against everything they were trained to protect. Voryn had stayed the course, the loyal dog to the end, while they had broken free.

  Or had they?

  I studied Erin’s face, the flickering light casting shadows across her sharp features. There was a fire in her eyes that spoke of rebellion, of resolve—but also of secrets. I wasn’t sure if I could trust her. I wasn’t sure if I could trust Caleb. But one thing was clear: they were more alike than I had realized. And they had been forged in the same crucible as the man who haunted my nightmares.

  "Falcata created monsters,” I said quietly, more to myself than to Erin.

  Erin’s eyes hardened. "And some of those monsters decided to bite back.”

  The weight of her words settled over me like a heavy cloak, but my mind raced ahead, unearthing fragments of memory I hadn’t thought to piece together before. The fight in the throne room flashed vividly before my eyes—the golden light, the shimmering shield that had formed around Isaac. I’d thought it was Elyse’s doing at the time, some spell she’d summoned in desperation, but now doubt crept in.

  I remembered clutching Alaric’s ceremonial dagger, its intricate carvings pressing into my palm. The shield had appeared as the blade was in my hand.

  I looked at Erin, my thoughts spilling out in a frantic rush. "The dagger,” I said, my voice low and urgent. "The king’s ceremonial dagger. I left it in the chamber after the fight. That light around Isaac—was that me? Was it the dagger?”

  Erin’s eyes widened slightly, her expression shifting to something between concern and intrigue. "You left it there?” she asked.

  "I didn’t think anything of it at the time,” I admitted, my voice trembling slightly. "It was just… a dagger. I thought it was ceremonial, just for show. But what if it wasn’t? What if it was enchanted?”

  Erin tilted her head, considering my words. "It’s possible,” she said finally. "If the king gave his most loyal guards enchanted blades, it stands to reason he would have some made for himself as well.”

  Her words sent a chill through me. I had held that dagger, felt its strange energy. Had I unwittingly tapped into its power?

  Erin’s expression turned serious. "If it was enchanted, it could be dangerous. Or valuable. Either way, leaving it there might have been a mistake.”

  I swallowed hard, the weight of my oversight settling in my chest. "What do we do?”

  Erin’s gaze didn’t waver. "We keep moving forward,” she said firmly. "If the dagger’s important, it’ll show up again—one way or another. For now, focus on the fight ahead. Dwelling on what you can’t change won’t help us.”

  Her words were pragmatic, but they didn’t ease the knot of anxiety in my stomach. The memory of the dagger burned bright in my mind, a lingering reminder of how much I still didn’t know—about the king, about his weapons, and maybe even about myself.