Chapter 19: The Sovereign’s Peace

Twenty years had passed since the snows of the Tundra Graves had settled over the ghost of Silas. The world had not forgotten the "Nothing Queen," but the legends had softened, turning the terrifying tales of the Deprivation into a foundation of a new era.

The Silver Heart Capital was no longer a hidden fortress in a ravine. It had grown into a sprawling, vibrant city where the walls were made of living vines and the lanterns were fueled by the gentle, stabilized glow of Aether-crystals. There were no Alphas here. There were only The Kin.

I stood on the balcony of the Great Hall, a cup of warm tea in my hands. My hair had begun to show streaks of true silver, not from magic, but from time. The silver scar on my arm had faded into a thin, shimmering line, a quiet map of a war that felt like a lifetime ago.

"The southern harvest is record-breaking this year," Kaelen said, stepping out onto the balcony. He wore the spectacles of a Master Scholar now, and his hands, though aged, were steady. "The soil is so rich with life-force that the jackfruit are growing the size of small boulders. I’ve had to tell the farmers to stop singing to the trees; the fruit is becoming too heavy for the branches."

I smiled, watching the golden sun dip below the horizon. "A good problem to have, Kaelen."

Jace dropped from the rafters, landing silently beside us. He looked exactly the same—the shadows seemed to keep him young. He was tossing a small, violet-tinted coin into the air, a relic of the old Western currency we now used for trade. "The Western Empires have sent another delegation, Elora. But they aren't bringing cannons this time. They brought a peace treaty and a request for three of our Aether-engineers."

"Give them the engineers," I said. "Knowledge should be a bridge, not a wall."

"And the treaty?" Jace asked.

"Tell them I’ll sign it when they learn how to bow to their own servants," I replied, a spark of the old Queen flickering in my eyes.

A heavy, familiar step echoed behind us. Thane walked into the light, his presence as grounding as the earth itself. He moved slower now, his shadow-steel armor replaced by a simple cloak of heavy wool, but his eyes were still the fierce, protective gold I had fallen in love with in the dark.

He placed a hand on the small of my back, pulling me into his side. "The children are asking for the story again," he murmured. "The one about the girl who took the sun away."

"Tell them she didn't take it," I said, leaning my head against his shoulder. "Tell them she just held it in her hands until everyone else learned how to see in the dark."

I looked out over the city. Below us, in the courtyard, a group of young wolves was playing. They were shifting effortlessly, their forms varied and unique—some small and swift, some large and powerful, none of them burdened by the weight of a 'rank.' Among them was a young girl with white-blonde hair and a stubborn set to her jaw, bossing around boys twice her size.

She was a 'nothing' girl, born to a family of weavers. And in this world, that meant she could become anything.

The Tri-Mark bond on my heart pulsed—a warm, steady thrum of three lives intertwined with my own. We had survived the hunger, the betrayal, the void, and the kings. We had built a kingdom out of the scraps they threw away, and we had watched it bloom.

I closed my eyes, breathing in the scent of blooming nightshade and woodsmoke. The debt was paid. The crown was just a memory. And for the first time in the history of the Silver Crest, the night was just a time for sleep.

"It’s a good night, Thane," I whispered.

"It’s a beautiful night, My Queen," he replied.

And as the stars began to poke through the twilight, the Silver Heart beat on, a steady, golden pulse in a world that finally knew the value of its shadows.