Pain.
White-hot, soul-rending pain tore through Lucien's chest, a supernova of agony that burned away the edges of his consciousness. Selaria's dagger, forged in the ancient halls of the Fallen, plunged deep into his heart, its cursed metal searing his flesh from within. The godkiller blade pulsed with malevolent energy, as if it were alive, hungry for his bloodline's power. Around him, the grand banquet hall dissolved into chaos—nobles screamed, their silken robes catching fire as flames raced along the velvet-draped walls. Chandeliers crashed to the marble floor like divine judgment, their crystal shards glittering in the flickering light of destruction.
But Lucien barely heard the cacophony. The world had narrowed to a single point: her face.
Selaria. His first love. His ruin. And now, his betrayer.
