: The Ser

tuary, a place no one could reach. He fumbled for a hidden alarm, his hand shaking. But before his fingers could connect, Elara

ching his chest. "Y

lling authority. She looked around the opulent room, filled with stolen treasures and dar

from the night he ordered their parents' deaths. But these were not children. These were avenging spirits, po

l, jeweled dagger from his sleeve, a desperate, p

thin air. "Your kingship died the day you burned Oakhaven," she growl

odged his desperate lunge easily, her blade flashing. The king cried out as her dagger sliced his arm, not deeply, but enough

the bitterness of years of suffering. "This is for every breath my parent

bound by her presence. "You stole our land, you murdered our family, you enslaved our people," Lyra stated, her v

guards or alarms would interfere. He was a silent guardian, a

s collar, slamming him against the cold, carved stone of his personal throne. Her eyes, burning with a decade and a half o

eart. The king gasped, a spray of blood staining the gilded fabric of his throne. His eyes glazed over, fix

ara's ragged breathing and the distant sounds of the ong

her side instantly, his hand on her shoulder, his quiet strength a comforting anchor. Lyra released

voice soft, yet filled with a chilli

tyranny, but it was also the reason for their suffering, their journey. It was a crown of thorns. And now, in the quiet aftermath of their hard-won

unfurled in the hearts of the two sisters, bound by blood, fire, and an unbreakable vow. The