Chapter 40. What Remains After Fire

The dawn broke not with trumpets, but with fog.

It rolled across the ridge in slow, pale waves, softening the jagged edges of Hollowridge’s scarred walls and shrouding the blood-stained earth in something close to mercy. The sky above was cloudless—sunlight filtered gently, not fiercely, as if even the stars had learned restraint.

Seraya stood barefoot at the edge of the ceremonial basin, water lapping around her ankles. The basin had been used for coronations once. For blood rites. For binding vows in ash and fire.

Now, it was quiet.

The ripples around her feet glowed faintly, reacting to the mark that wrapped her body in golden flame-threaded sigils. Her reflection in the water shimmered—flickering between the girl who had first returned to Hollowridge and the woman who now stood in its heart.

She breathed in.