The night in Volcrist was suffocating, even with the icy wind blowing from the northern mountains. Lilith sat in a dark leather armchair in the chambers she had been given, staring at the fire burning before her. The flames danced like a distorted memory of battle, of the fire that consumed Dravenmoor and the blood that stained the earth. But her mind was elsewhere. It was on him.

  Aemon had yet to wake up.

  Her golden eyes reflected the fire as she pressed her fingers against her temples, feeling the rhythmic pulse of pain and exhaustion. She shouldn't care this much. She shouldn't feel this unease within her chest. He was just a warrior shaped by her own hands, the result of her guidance and her magic. And yet, even now, as the echoes of war faded, there was a question that wouldn't leave her mind: what exactly had awakened within him?

  Cerys' magic… it was a mistake. She should have never injected power directly into Aemon’s body. The clash between blood and magical essence could have killed anyone… but he survived. He survived and awakened something even she couldn’t understand. And that terrified her just as much as it fascinated her.

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  A noise outside her chambers made her lift her gaze. Rushed footsteps, hushed conversations in the corridors. Volcrist had been on constant alert since the battle. The people saw the castle as a beacon of hope, but darkness seeped through every crack. The alliance with Lysanthor was broken, the subdomains remained unstable, and the threat of betrayal hung in the air like an invisible poison. She knew Cedric and Thorne were trying to keep up appearances, but the truth was clear: Volcrist was unraveling, like a structure worn down by time.

  Lilith stood and walked to the small table beside the fire. Her fingers touched the cold wooden surface before picking up the one thing she had kept close since the battle: a fragment of Aemon’s armor, cracked and stained with blood. She stared at it in silence, as if expecting it to give her an answer.

  “You need to wake up soon,” she murmured, clutching the fragment between her fingers. “Or there will be nothing left of Volcrist when you return.”

  Her gaze shifted to the darkness of the night beyond the window. The fate of this kingdom, and perhaps something even greater, hung by a thread. And everything depended on the warrior who had yet to awaken.