LOGIN{Revna’s POV}The caravan was late.That annoyed me.Late meant sloppy. Sloppy meant unpredictable. And unpredictable meant variables— things I disliked almost as much as sentiment.I crouched atop a limestone ridge overlooking the trade road, the night stretched thin and moonless above us. Below, torchlight crawled slowly through the valley like a wounded serpent— six wagons, reinforced axles, Palace insignia scraped clean but still recognizable beneath the grime. Smart. Cowards learned quickly these days.They were carrying grain, steel, medical supplies, and a small chest of coin meant to “restore confidence” in the western villages.Confidence could not be restored with bread; only blood can. And medical supplies could not heal emotional wounds— only retribution can.Behind me, my rebels waited in disciplined silence. Not rogues anymore. Not scavengers. They had learned to hold still. To listen. To obey without being told twice.I had taught them that.“Positions,” I whispered.T
{Levi’s POV}If the Reigns had a pulse, it was skipping beats.I felt it the moment I left the Palace gates.The surrounding cities hadn’t fallen apart yet— not visibly. Their walls and borders still stood. The banners still hung and locals still marched in intentional lines, their occupation still their priority. But beneath that?Cracks.Everywhere.I pulled my coat tighter as I moved through the westward axis lower districts, blending into the morning crowd. The streets were busier than usual; too busy with the hum of trade or routine.It appeared restless as wolves were pacing instead of walking while conversations cut off the moment a guard passed. Too many eyes flicking upward toward the Palace like it might suddenly decide to strike and fear had a smell that I could sense. Metallic. Sharp; like rain before a storm, and it clung to everything.I adjusted the strap of the satchel bag slung over my shoulder— empty for now, but not for long. My assignment was simple: secure weapo
{Liam’s POV}The Palace no longer slept.It breathed, unevenly and anxiously, like a wounded animal that didn’t yet know whether it would survive the night.I stood on the eastern battlement field of the Palace long after the moon had dipped behind cloud and ash, my hands resting on cold stone as if it were the only solid thing left in the world. Below me, torchlight crawled along the outer walls, guards pacing in tight, relentless loops. Every clang of armor echoed sharper than it should have. Every raised voice cut too quickly into silence.Fear had a sound… and it lived here now.“Ava.”The name left my mouth before I realized I’d spoken aloud. The wind caught it, tore it apart, and scattered it into the dark beyond the walls— into forests, ravines, and places I couldn’t reach.I hadn’t slept.I hadn’t eaten.Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her back as she fled; bloodied, furious, terrified, and the way my hand had reached for her not as a man, not as someone who cared, but as a
{Ava’s POV}The forest did not sound the way it used to.That was the first thing I noticed.Not the cold biting through my clothes, not the ache in my legs that never fully left anymore, not even the way my breath kept fogging too fast, too sharp— like my lungs were trying to outrun my thoughts.The forest itself was… wrong.I crouched low beneath a thicket of twisted roots, my back pressed to a bark that felt older than memory. I had stopped moving minutes ago; no, longer than that. Time blurred when I ran too long— when the power inside me surged and receded like a tide I didn’t know how to swim against.I listened… and I heard everything.Too much.A beetle shifting beneath the soil three paces away. The slow drip of water sliding down stone far to my left. The heartbeat of something small and warm hiding inside a hollow log.I squeezed my eyes shut.Stop.I didn’t want this.Every sense felt sharpened to a blade, cutting into me from the inside. My ears rang with sound that refus
{Gregon’s POV}The wastelands had learned my name.They whispered it through cracked stone and dead rivers, through the bones half-buried beneath blackened sand. Even the wind carried it now— low but afraid.Good.Fear was the purest form of remembrance.I stood at the edge of what remained of my encampment, watching Corrupters crawl back from the edges of the Reigns like wounded insects. Fewer than before. Far fewer. The moonchild’s interference had seen to that.My jaw tightened; not in rage, but in calculation. Loss was not failure. Loss was information.My Corrupters knelt when they reached me. Every last one. Their bodies were warped by corruption and loyalty alike with spines bowed, and eyes glowing faintly with the echo of my will. The strongest of them trembled, blood crusted at their mouth where Ava’s shadow had burned through him.These were the ones who had gone to attack the Palace. After days of weary travelling, they were finally home, coupled with the two soldiers I had
{Revna’s POV}~ In The Space Of A Few Days ~Power is loud when it is first born.It shouts. It boasts. It spills blood too quickly and mistakes noise for dominance.I did not allow that mistake.By the second night after the ruins and Scrotes bowed to me, I stripped the camp of chaos.The Rogues had spread themselves across the broken outpost like scavengers— fires everywhere, voices raised, and laughter too sharp, too careless. They thought themselves victorious simply because they had chosen a name and knelt once.Fools.I stood at the edge of the camp and watched them for a long moment, committing every weakness to memory. The way some wolves clustered in groups, feeding bravado off one another. The way others lingered on the fringes; quiet, observant, and dangerous in the way storms are dangerous before they break.Those ones would be useful.I stepped forward and the fires dimmed as if they sensed me.“Form ranks.”My voice was not loud. It did not need to be. It cut cleanly thr







