The grand hallway of the Vernhardt manor was a graveyard of ambition. Varon, Rheo, and Gheo lay scattered across the polished marble. Verona stood in the center of the wreckage.
She did not feel the exhaustion of a mortal who had just fought three high-level elementalists. Instead, she felt a terrifying clarity. The "Verona" who had been bullied into silence for eighteen years was finally being stitched back together with the "Verenia" who had once commanded the stars.
"Verona... please..."
The voice was like silk sliding over a blade. Verona turned her gaze to the far end of the gallery, where a shadow detached itself from the door.
Marien stepped forward. Unlike her brothers, she didn't look angry. She didn't even look afraid. Her face was a mask of exquisite, heart-wrenching devastation. Her hands were tucked into her flowing silken sleeves, and her eyes were brimming with tears that looked entirely too real to be a fabrication.
