Dawn came pale and cold.
Selene rose before the sun, dressing without speaking. Lucien watched her from the shadows of the war chamber, golden eyes soft but wary. Last night had given them brief stillness.
But the world was still bleeding.
And neither of them could forget it.
Reports came faster now, each more dangerous than the last.
Lira spread parchment across the war table, her eyes rimmed with sleepless shadows.
"They're sending something worse than armies," she whispered.
Selene's gaze sharpened. "What?"
Lira swallowed, tapping a finger on the sealed letter. "The Order of Veiled Saints."
Lucien's expression darkened immediately.
The Order wasn't part of any kingdom.
It was older.
A secret sect of sorcerers and priests bound to no crown, answerable only to their own laws. They enforced the ancient pacts, the ones written in blood and aether centuries ago.
They were not soldiers.
They were judges.
And when they came, they came for one reason:
To erase what they called unnatural love.
Selene's crimson eyes stayed calm, but Lucien could feel the tension beneath her skin.
"This is about the Binding," she whispered.
Lira nodded. "They consider your soul-bond a heresy."
Lucien's voice cut the air.
"They don't just kill people like us."
Lira's throat tightened. "They erase them. From memory. From history."
Selene stared at the frost-covered map.
The Order wasn't interested in thrones or rebellions.
They were interested in balance.
And soul-bonding between nobles wasn't just forbidden politically—it was considered a violation of cosmic law.
A sin that broke the natural order.
By nightfall, scouts reported strange sightings on the northern cliffs.
Figures in gray veils, walking barefoot across the snow, leaving no footprints.
The Order had arrived.
Selene stood on the eastern balcony again, her cloak snapping in the cold wind.
Lucien joined her silently, his golden eyes watching the distant horizon.
"They won't negotiate," he said softly.
Selene nodded. "I know."
But this time, it wasn't just their rebellion at risk.
It was their existence.
Because the Order didn't fight with blades or armies.
They used aether severs—magic that untwined souls.
If the Order succeeded, Selene and Lucien wouldn't just die.
They would be unmade.
Back in the war chamber, Lira gathered the commanders.
Some wanted to surrender the bond, hoping to appease the Order.
Some whispered of escape.
But Selene's decision came quickly.
"We don't run," she said, voice steady.
Lucien's gaze met hers across the room.
"We fight."
And for the first time since the rebellion began, the danger wasn't just about politics or war.
It was about erasure.
Not of a kingdom.
But of memory itself.
Outside, crimson snow fell thicker now, laced with magic.
The world was tilting toward something even older than rebellion.
A battle for love's right to exist in history.