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The night in Moon Vale was quiet, eerily so, as if the land itself mourned. Outside, the moon bathed the silver forests in a melancholy light, while within Lycan's grand hall—a wide, open structure crafted from obsidian wood and silverstone—the mood was heavy.
The long, circular table at the center gleamed faintly under torchlight. It was wide enough to fit kings, generals, and advisors alike. But despite its vastness, all eyes occasionally wandered toward one woman.
Hazel sat near the head of the table, her back straight, one leg crossed elegantly over the other. Her silver hair spilled like liquid starlight over her shoulder, and the soft glimmer of her gown caught every flicker of fire. The poise in her posture, the grace in her silence—it was the kind of quiet beauty that demanded attention without asking for it.
But tonight, her glow was dimmed by guilt.
A heavy silence loomed over the council before Lycan finally spoke, his voice deep and restrained, though it trembled with anger. "The storm was no ordinary one. It wasn't born of nature—it was summoned. My scouts reported the dead rose with it. Souls… enraged, untethered, devouring whatever stood in their path."
He slammed a fist against the table, the wood groaning under his strength. "I lost good men. Women. Children."
The silence afterward was suffocating.
Ares leaned forward, his crimson eyes darkened by thought. "You're right. The storm reeked of corruption. I could feel it even from my borders. It was no act of nature—it was intent."
Hades, seated beside Hazel, rested an arm over the back of his chair. His expression was calm, but the undercurrent in his tone was sharp as a blade. "Velia."
Lycan's gaze snapped toward him. "What?"
"She's capable of summoning the damned," Hades said coldly. "She's consorted with the serpent demons before. She must've called upon them to tear through our realms while we were away."
Ares gave a bitter smirk. "Wouldn't put it past her. The last time she defied you, she made a thousand corpses rise in the blood marsh just to prove she could."
Hazel flinched at that—her mind immediately flashing to Velia's sly smile, the way the serpent demoness once hissed her name like a promise.
Lycan's claws brushed the table. "If Velia is behind this," he growled, "I'll tear her apart piece by piece."
The hall darkened slightly—his anger triggering a faint reaction in the air.
But through all the tension and vengeance-laced words, Hazel remained quiet. Too quiet. Her fingers tightened around the stem of her goblet, though she hadn't taken a sip.
Ares turned to her, concern mixed with curiosity. "You're awfully silent tonight, my Queen," he said, his tone deliberately softening. "Something troubling you?"
She lifted her gaze slowly, her amber eyes glimmering like honey under candlelight. "I…" Her voice trembled slightly. "I'm sorry."
Everyone froze.
"For what?" Lycan asked, confused.
Hazel's hand fell into her lap as she spoke softly, "For all of this. The storm. The chaos. The people who died." Her throat tightened, and she swallowed hard. "I should've known. I should've avoided Velia before she… before she became this."
Her words cracked mid-sentence.
Ares frowned. "Hazel, this isn't on you."
But she shook her head. "It feels like it is. Maybe if I had been smarter—less ignorant—she wouldn't have had the chance to…" Her voice faltered, eyes glistening with guilt. "I was naïve."
For a moment, the room was filled only with the sound of crackling torches.
Then Hades spoke, his tone low, protective. "You are not to blame."
Hazel looked up at him.
He turned slightly toward her, his midnight gaze unwavering. "Velia's darkness was her own choice. I should've ended her life when I had the chance." His words carried regret that almost mirrored hers. "If anyone bears the fault—it's me."
The intensity in his voice drew the others into silence again. Even Lycan, despite his rage, said nothing.
Ares broke the quiet first. "Regardless of fault," he said, "we need to act. The storm didn't just ravage Moon Vale—it swept through multiple regions. Alyssa's coven was closest to the source. If anyone was hit hardest, it was her."
Lycan nodded grimly. "Then we ride at dawn."
"Agreed," Hades said.
Ares leaned back in his chair, tapping a finger against his goblet. "To check the ruins, confirm Velia's involvement, and if it's true…" He glanced at Hades, a dangerous grin tugging at his lips. "We'll end her together."
Hazel said nothing, but a chill ran through her. The air in the room seemed heavier now, thick with the scent of vengeance and rain.
Her gaze drifted to the window—where moonlight poured softly over the misty hills—and though her body was present, her mind drifted far from the room. Somewhere distant, she felt something.
It was faint—a tug in her chest, like a whisper against her consciousness.
"H-Hades…" she murmured softly, almost involuntarily.
He turned toward her, brow furrowed. "What is it?"
But before she could respond, the connection vanished—snapped like a severed thread. Hazel blinked rapidly, her pulse racing.
"I thought I heard…" she began, then shook her head. "Never mind."
He didn't push, but his eyes narrowed slightly, as if he sensed something wasn't right.
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Meanwhile, back in Hellfire Citadel—
The Citadel no longer gleamed with infernal beauty.
Darius and Luke rode through the smoldering gates, their eyes widening at the carnage before them. The stench of smoke and blood clung to the air. Blackened walls, cracked towers, and bodies—too many bodies—scattered across the stone pathways.
"The Queen was right," Luke muttered, disbelief etched into his face. "It was under attack."
Darius dismounted silently, his crimson cloak sweeping through the ash-laden ground. "Velia's rogues," he said, surveying the claw marks and broken runes burned into the walls. "And vampires. Too many."
As they walked deeper into the ruins, a faint metallic clang echoed—the sound of a sword dropping. Two surviving guards stumbled from behind a wall, armor dented, blood on their faces.
"Captain Darius!" one called hoarsely. "We tried to hold the eastern wing—but they came in waves—"
"Save your breath," Darius ordered, steadying him. "Where's Stefan?"
"At the infirmary," the soldier rasped. "With the Queen's maid…"
That made both men freeze.
They exchanged a look, then sprinted through the shattered halls.
When they reached the infirmary, the scent of herbs and blood mixed heavily in the air. Dozens of wounded lay on beds, but one corner of the room drew their attention.
There—Miriam lay pale and still, a bandage wrapped around her neck, faint traces of dried blood staining the sheets.
Stefan sat beside her, his elbows resting on his knees, head bowed. His usually fierce expression was clouded with guilt and exhaustion. His sword lay abandoned by the bed.
When Darius approached, Stefan didn't look up.
"What happened?" Darius asked quietly.
"She was attacked," Stefan murmured. His voice was raw. "A vampire—one of Velia's. She protected a child… and got bitten before I could reach her." His hands clenched tightly. "She's been unconscious since."
Luke looked at Miriam, her breathing faint but steady. "She's strong. She'll pull through."
But Stefan's jaw tightened. "You didn't see her collapse in my arms."
The room fell silent.
A nurse entered briefly, refreshing the herbs on Miriam's neck, then slipped out again, leaving the three men in tense quiet.
Luke finally exhaled. "What are we going to tell the Queen?"
Stefan's head snapped up, eyes flashing. "You think that's what matters right now?"
Darius raised a hand slightly, but Stefan stood, his voice trembling with contained fury. "Miriam is fighting for her life, and you're worried about what to tell the Queen? You think she'd care more about that than her maid bleeding out?"
His voice cracked at the end.
Luke went quiet, shame flickering in his eyes.
Darius stepped forward, his tone calmer. "You blame yourself, don't you?"
Stefan didn't answer. He looked down at Miriam again—at her still hand, the faint warmth in her skin. "I should've been faster. I should've protected her." His voice broke slightly. "She's the only one who ever talks to me like I'm more than a weapon."
Darius's eyes softened. "Then stay with her," he said gently. "She'll need someone when she wakes."
Stefan didn't move for a while. Then, wordlessly, he sat again, brushing a strand of hair from Miriam's face. His thumb lingered near her temple—a touch both protective and tender.
The faintest flicker of her lashes made his heart lurch.
"Miriam…" he whispered. "Please wake up."
Outside, thunder rumbled faintly in the distance, echoing across the ruined citadel like the breath of something vast and restless.
And though none of them knew it yet—this was only the beginning.