The war table was no longer just a map—it was a battlefield of decisions.
Kieran stood over it, his golden eyes molten with fury, his jaw locked so tightly Selene feared he might shatter his teeth. Every inch of him radiated barely contained violence—the kind that once tore legions apart and turned bloodlines to dust.
"You're not thinking clearly," Selene said, stepping closer, her voice breaking through the charged silence.
Kieran didn't look at her. His hand moved across the table, dragging markers into formation—a full-scale assault pattern across the Ravkor mountains, the heart of the Hollow Flame.
"This isn't about thinking," he said coldly. "This is about ending Malrik before he lays a single finger on you again. Before he uses your son to destroy everything we've fought for."
Selene's breath caught at your son. Even in his rage, he claimed Rael as his own. The thought seared her heart, but it didn't make this easier.
"Kieran, listen to me." She placed a trembling hand over his. "Charging into Ravkor will give him what he wants. He's waiting for you. For us. Every move we make—he's already seen it."
Kieran turned then, and the storm in his eyes nearly unmade her resolve. "So what? We sit and wait while he twists your child into a blade aimed at your throat?"
"I'm not asking you to wait," Selene whispered. "I'm asking you to trust me. There's a way to break the oath, but it will demand everything from me—everything. If you march to war now, you'll trigger the blood-binding. Malrik will force Rael to kill you. Do you understand what that would do to him?"
The fury in Kieran's face faltered, replaced by a shadow of pain. He sank into the nearest chair, dragging a hand through his dark hair. "You're asking me to do nothing while the man who tortured you holds your child as a weapon."
Selene knelt before him, her silver eyes fierce. "No. I'm asking you to help me fight smarter. Malrik doesn't just want war—he wants to break us before the first blade is drawn. I won't let him."
Their gazes locked, and for a moment, the silence burned hotter than fire.
Finally, Kieran spoke, voice like ground steel. "Then tell me what you need."
Selene exhaled shakily. "Time. The ritual to sever the blood-oath isn't in any spellbook. It's locked in the oldest tongue—the language of origin. I need the fragments. The sigils. The chants. They're scattered across the vault cities."
Kieran stood slowly, his resolve hardening into something lethal. "Then I'll bring you the fragments."
"No," Selene said quickly. "If you leave now, Malrik will sense it. He's watching you. You're the piece he fears most."
Kieran's lips curled in a humorless smile. "Good. Let him fear me."
Selene gripped his wrist, desperate. "Kieran. Please. Trust me to do this my way. If I fail, then you can burn the world for me. But not yet."
The words hung heavy between them. For a moment, Kieran looked ready to defy her. Then, slowly—agonizingly—he nodded.
But when he spoke, his voice was a vow carved in blood. "If he hurts you—if he touches a hair on your head—I won't just burn Ravkor. I'll salt its ashes so nothing ever grows there again."
Selene believed him. And gods help her, part of her wanted him to.
Before either could speak again, the war chamber doors slammed open. Eryndor strode in, his cloak streaked with crimson.
"They've moved," he said breathlessly. "The Hollow Flame has left Ravkor. They're marching toward the Blackstone Chasm."
Selene's blood ran cold. The Chasm—the deepest rift in the realm, where shadows breed monsters and magic fractures reality.
"Why there?" Kieran demanded.
Eryndor's jaw tightened. "Because that's where the Binding Forge is. If they reach it…" He trailed off.
Selene finished for him, her voice like ice. "They'll remake Rael into something even Malrik can't control."
The room fell silent, broken only by the sound of her heartbeat—wild, relentless, the beat of a mother preparing to defy prophecy.
She looked at Kieran, her voice steady now. "Get the riders ready. We don't have time to argue anymore."
Kieran's golden eyes burned like the heart of a dying star. "Finally," he said. "A war worth killing for."