LOGINThe Cathedral of St. Jude was bathed in a light so pure it felt like a judgment. Today was the day of the Royal Investiture, the moment Leo Draven would officially become the Protector of the Realm. Thousands gathered outside, their cheers muffled by the thick, ancient stone walls, while the high
The weeks following the "Great Glitch"—as the official palace records called it—were the most delicate in the history of the realm. While the public celebrated a swift recovery of the kingdom’s infrastructure, the Draven estate became a high-security sanctuary for a population that didn't officially
The North Wing of the palace was a place of soft carpets and muted sunlight, designed to be a sanctuary for the future of the realm. But as the Dravens sprinted through the gilded corridors, it felt like a labyrinth of ice. The silence here was worse than the screaming of the machines in the High Co
The High Court chamber, usually a sanctuary of measured speech and ancient law, became a slaughterhouse of chrome and code. The grey smoke was so thick that the only things visible were the glowing blue optics of the Twelve Judges. "Lucien, get down!" Kaiser’s voice boomed over the hiss of the gren
The surface of the harbor was a churning cauldron of black grease and freezing foam. Kaiser, Izora, and Caspian collapsed onto the swaying deck of the salvage barge, the massive crane still groaning under the tension of the warehouse roof it had just ripped away. "Leo!" Izora scrambled to the edge
Benedict paused by the tall window, the rain casting streaks across his reflection. He stared at himself, at the monster he had willingly become, and smiled. Monsters did not regret. Monsters survived. Let her mother protect her now, he thought, a sneer tugging at his lips. Let her husband shield
The palace had grown too quiet. Not the peaceful kind of quiet—the heavy kind, the kind that sank into the marrow of the walls and made even the chandeliers seem like they were holding their breath. It was the hush of suspicion, the silence that came after whispers had already been spoken. Every s
--- The room spun into hours of tense strategies, commands snapped and carried out. Yet the storm outside only grew worse. Evening shadows bled across the city, and still, new headlines appeared. Izora stood by the window, her reflection ghosting in the glass. Her thoughts drifted back to Peache—t
For a long heartbeat she stared at him, pupils blown wide with fear. Then her shoulders heaved and a sob ripped free from somewhere deep, raw and animal. It broke the room open. “It was Benedict,” she breathed, the name of a single, poisonous syllable. “I swear it, Benedict ordered it.” The word l
The morning light slanted through the palace windows like blades, too sharp, too merciless. Izora sat at the edge of the velvet chaise in their private chamber, her robe loosely tied around her frame. The faint scent of lavender clung to her from the bath she had taken only hours earlier, but now it







