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The palace trembled.
A low rumble echoed through the marble halls as shadows poured into the courtyard like spilled ink. The golden light of the Realm flickered — not extinguished, but afraid. The air grew cold, brittle, as if the warmth of centuries was being drained in seconds.
Elara stood beside Ayela at the garden’s edge, their hands still clasped from the morning’s revelations. But now, the Queen’s grip tightened — not in comfort, but in warning.
At the head of the advancing darkness stood Vishkaniya.
Her beauty was cruel. Sharp as a blade. Her gown shimmered like obsidian fire, and her eyes — once the color of twilight — now burned with madness. She looked like a goddess fallen from grace, her soul hollowed by vengeance.
“Elara,” she said, her voice like silk soaked in venom, “you have your mother’s face. I should have killed you the day you were born.”
Elara didn’t flinch. Her heart thundered, but her spine held straight. She stepped forward, her voice steady.
“You tried. But love kept me alive.”
Vishkaniya’s smile twisted. She raised her hand, and darkness spiraled toward Elara — a storm of cursed magic, shrieking through the air.
But another figure stepped between them.
“Mother, no!” It was Serenya.
Vishkaniya’s own daughter. Her cloak fluttered like wings as she stood between Elara and the spell. Her eyes, bright with tears, flicked to Kael — and in that glance, a lifetime of silent love was spoken.
“I can’t let you harm the one he loves,” Serenya said, her voice trembling.
Vishkaniya’s face contorted. “Step aside.”
“I would rather die,” Serenya whispered.
And she did.
The dark magic struck her squarely, burning through flesh and soul. Her body arched, light spilling from her fingertips as she fell — not screaming, but smiling faintly.
Her gaze found Kael one last time.
“At least… I saved you,” she murmured, and then went still.
Kael’s cry tore through the battlefield — raw, broken, and endless.
Elara dropped to her knees beside Serenya’s body, her fingers brushing the girl’s cheek. She had never known her well — but in that moment, she mourned her like a sister.
Ayela stepped forward, her voice low. “She chose love over blood. That is the power Vishkaniya will never understand.”
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