Chapter 41

Snow fell in slow, soundless sheets, veiling the world in white silence. Each flake clung to Serenya’s lashes, melting under the heat of her tears as she stood at the mouth of the cave. The storm had swept down from the mountains overnight, burying the forest in ice, as though the land itself sought to erase the battle and the blood that had been spilled.

Behind her, Kaelen lay half-conscious against the cold stone wall, his cloak soaked crimson. His wound was deep—too deep—and each shallow breath rattled through his chest. The fire she had built sputtered weakly, offering little warmth against the chill that pressed in from every side.

She pressed her palms against his wound again, though her hands shook violently. “Stay with me, Kaelen,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “You said you wouldn’t let the night take you. You promised.”

His eyes flickered open, dark as the storm clouds outside, and a faint, broken smile curved his lips. “And I meant it… but the night is stubborn, Serenya.”

Her throat constricted. She wanted to scream, to rage at the heavens for daring to take him away when she had only just found him. But the storm smothered her voice, stealing even her grief into silence.

Her gaze fell to the relic resting on the ledge of the cave. Its glow had dimmed since Darian’s betrayal, but its light pulsed faintly—as if waiting, watching. Could it heal? Could it save? Or would it consume, demanding a price she was not ready to pay?

“Serenya.” Kaelen’s hand weakly grasped hers. His skin was ice. “If I don’t survive this—”

“No.” She cut him off sharply, her tears freezing against her cheeks. “You don’t get to say that. You survive. You fight. You don’t leave me here alone.”

Silence stretched, heavy as the snow outside. Then, with effort, he whispered, “Then you’ll have to fight for both of us.”

Hours passed like lifetimes. The storm showed no mercy, howling against the cliffs, shaking the cave as though it would tear it apart. Serenya’s body trembled with exhaustion, but her mind refused to surrender.

When Kaelen finally slipped into unconsciousness, she forced herself to act. She gathered her cloak tightly around her and stepped into the blizzard. The snow swallowed her instantly, freezing needles biting into her skin.

There was only one thought driving her forward: find Isolde Mirean.

The healer was rumored to wander the Valehaven forests, tending wounds others dared not touch, whispering truths that could mend both body and soul. Serenya didn’t know if the stories were true, but if Isolde existed, she was Kaelen’s only chance.

Her boots sank deep into the drifts as she staggered through the storm. Branches whipped her face, ice crusted her hair, and still she pressed on, guided by instinct more than sight.

She whispered Kaelen’s name with every step. Each syllable became a vow, a prayer, a promise carved into the frozen wind.

And then—light.

Through the curtain of snow, a faint glow flickered in the distance. A cottage, tucked into the roots of an ancient oak, its windows glowing gold against the white wilderness.

Serenya’s knees nearly buckled in relief. She stumbled toward it, pounding on the wooden door with numb fists.

The door creaked open. A woman with pale silver hair and eyes like molten amber stood framed in the warmth of the hearth. Her gaze swept over Serenya, sharp and knowing, before it softened.

“You found me,” she said, voice like falling snow. “Or perhaps the relic led you here.”

Serenya fell to her knees. “Please. He’s dying.”

Isolde’s eyes did not waver. “Bring him to me.”

By the time Serenya returned to the cave with Isolde, dawn had begun to break, painting the snow in hues of rose and gold. Kaelen still breathed, but faintly. His skin was ghostly pale, his lips tinged blue.

Isolde moved with steady grace, her hands glowing faintly as she laid them over the wound. She whispered words Serenya did not understand, a language older than kingdoms, older than crowns.

The air thickened, the cave trembling with unseen power. The relic pulsed in response, its light flooding the stone chamber until Serenya had to shield her eyes.

Kaelen gasped, his back arching as if fire had entered his veins. Then, slowly, his breathing steadied. His color returned, faint but real.

Isolde drew back, her expression unreadable. “He will live. But not without scars.”

Relief crashed over Serenya, leaving her weak. She clutched Kaelen’s hand, tears spilling freely now, hot against her frozen skin. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you.”

But Isolde’s amber gaze lingered on her, too sharp to ignore. “You carry more than gratitude, Serenya Vale. You carry a secret you’ve yet to face.”

Serenya froze. “You know who I am.”

“Of course.” The healer’s lips curved faintly. “The snow does not hide bloodlines. You are the daughter of the Vale throne, the heir hidden in shadow. You cannot run from it much longer.”

Her heart pounded. The truth she had buried for so long pressed against her ribs, threatening to break free.

“I never asked for this destiny,” Serenya said, her voice trembling. “All I want is to keep him safe.”

Isolde tilted her head. “And yet destiny has a cruel way of weaving safety and sacrifice into the same thread.”

Serenya wanted to protest, to shout, but Kaelen stirred then, his eyes fluttering open. His hand tightened around hers.

“I heard you,” he murmured weakly. “Every word.”

Her breath caught. “Kaelen—”

“You’re the heiress.” His voice was raw, but his gaze held no anger—only awe, and something she could not name. “I should have known. Every choice you made, every burden you carried… it was never just for you.”

Serenya’s chest ached with the weight of it. She opened her mouth to speak, to confess the fear that consumed her, but before she could, the ground shuddered violently beneath them.

Snow cascaded from the cliffs outside. The cave walls groaned, dust raining from above. Isolde’s face darkened.

“They’ve found us,” she said.

Through the storm’s lull, horns echoed—deep, triumphant, and unmistakable. Veynor’s soldiers.

Serenya’s blood turned to ice. She looked at Kaelen, still weak, unable to stand, then at the healer, her amber eyes blazing with calm fury.

“We can’t fight them,” Serenya whispered. “Not like this.”

Isolde’s hand brushed over the relic, her fingers glowing faintly as it flared once more. “Then you will not fight. You will flee.”

The relic’s light poured into the chamber, brighter than the dawn outside, wrapping Serenya in a cocoon of silver fire. She gasped, clutching Kaelen’s hand as the world dissolved around them.

The last thing she heard before the light swallowed everything was Isolde’s voice, echoing like prophecy:

“Snow falls for those who grieve, Serenya Vale. But the tears you shed today are only the beginning.”