THE SILVER LINING CHAPTER 6

The flames had long since died in the Crescent Silver Moon Great Hall, yet the hearth still exhaled the bitter scent of ash and regret. Miyal Rhax sat with his back to the embers, a man pulled in too many directions—alpha, traitor, lover, executioner. The silence was not peace. It was the gnawing void left behind by Krishna’s scream, echoing in the deepest recesses of his soul. Perfera moved like a shadow—graceful, deliberate, wrapped in silence. Her cloak fluttered behind her as she stepped into the ancient chamber rarely visited now, long forgotten by most, but sacred to her.

Torches flickered to life at her arrival, ignited by a breath of magic whispered beneath her breath. At the center of the chamber stood the Mirror of Vael—an old relic bound to memory and illusion. She stared into its obsidian glass, her reflection shifting, fragmenting, reforming… revealing her younger self.

A girl with silver hair matted in dirt. Eyes swollen from crying. Kneeling beside a burning cottage as monstrous shapes tore through the forest. A hand—her father's—grabbing hers, leading her to safety.

Vosvak Spade.

Once the cunning, ruthless Minister of the Arcane Council, now rotting in the cursed chambers beneath the Tomb of Il’Sharak. Accused of summoning the monstrous wretches that razed entire villages, and condemned by none other than Miyal Rhax’s father—the great Alpha himself.

Perfera clenched her fists. The mirror rippled. A different image formed—Krishna Aswald on the pyre, emerald eyes blazing, flames licking at her skin, yet still she screamed defiance. Miyal, standing cold and unflinching.

“Still awake?” came a soft voice, too calm for the hour, too deliberate to be idle.

Miyal’s head snapped up. Perfera stood in the doorway, draped in the soft folds of midnight blue, eyes catching the dim firelight like flint waiting to spark.

“You should be resting,” he muttered.

Perfera stepped forward. “So should you. But guilt is a terrible pillow, isn’t it?”

He said nothing.

She approached the hearth, not too close, and leaned against a stone pillar, folding her arms. “She screamed your name.”

Miyal flinched. “You think I don’t know that?”

“Oh, I think you know,” Perfera said, her voice low and edged. “But knowing doesn’t mean feeling. You didn’t turn around, Miyal. You watched her burn.”

“I had to,” he snapped. “I had to protect the pack.”

Perfera tilted her head. “Is that what you tell yourself? That sacrificing her was righteous? That the people who cried for her death won’t one day do the same to you?”

His amber eyes narrowed. “Why are you here, Perfera?”

She stepped closer, the smile on her lips no longer pretending. “To tell you a story. My story. One you never cared to ask.”

Miyal’s brow creased. “What are you talking about?”

Perfera looked into the dying embers. “I wasn’t always Perfera. Once, I was the daughter of Vosvak Spade.”

Miyal went rigid. The name was venomous, old and forgotten to all but the bloodstained past.

“That name is forbidden—”

“Because your father made it so,” she interrupted, voice rising. “Vosvak Spade, the minister who dared challenge your father’s rule. Who wielded powers you were all too terrified to understand. You called it black magic. My father called it knowledge. And for that, he was dragged from our home, chained, and entombed beneath the Mountain of Graves.”

“Vosvak was a traitor,” Miyal hissed. “He summoned beasts. Unnatural things that fed on blood and bone.”

“He wanted to protect us!” Perfera roared, and the stone beneath her feet trembled. “You think my father sought power for power’s sake? He saw the rot in the court, the decay in the pack's soul. He sought a new way. But your father—the so-called warrior king—cast him as a villain. Stripped my family of name, status, protection. We became less than nothing.”

Miyal stood now, fists clenched. “You’re saying you’re… Vosvak’s daughter? That all this time you were—”

“Pretending,” she snapped. “Pretending to be the loyal advisor. The perfect confidant. All while watching you become the man your father molded: blind, proud, and afraid.”

“Yes,” she said, her voice flat now, her heart a quiet drum of hatred and longing. “Vosvak Spade. He wasn’t the villain. He was trying to protect us. All of us. The monsters—those cursed creatures—were the consequence of failed balance, not his will.”

“He summoned them,” Miyal growled. “My father saw it himself.”

“He lied,” she snapped. “Your father feared what he couldn’t control. He was a warrior, not a scholar of the arcane. He didn’t understand the pact my father had made to seal the corruption—not unleash it.”

Her eyes gleamed with fury. “They killed my adopted parents ten years ago. Torn to pieces by one of the very monsters my father warned them about—beasts born from the ancient rifts. I was twelve. I held my foster mother’s hand while she died. And all I could think of was how your father’s war had done this. How your legacy had cursed us.”

Miyal’s voice was hoarse. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“What difference would it have made?” she spat. “A girl with no name, no claim, no magic? I would’ve been silenced, just like he was. So I bided my time. Learned to wear masks. Became Perfera.”

Her tone dipped, sorrow mingling with rage. “But then you saw me. You, the proud heir, the golden son. And I—I hated you. Every part of me wanted to destroy you.”

Miyal took a step back, confusion and old anger warring in his eyes. “Why are you telling me this now?”

“Because I want you to know the truth.” She stepped forward again, her fingers tracing a delicate rune into the air behind her back—silent magic, subtle. “Because everything you’ve believed was built on lies. Because the monsters that killed my adopted family ten years ago? They came after Vosvak’s imprisonment. Without him to anchor the seal, they escaped.”

“You expect me to believe this?”

“No,” she said softly. “Because they cheered when she burned.”

Her voice fractured, and her face twisted in pain. “Do you know what that felt like? Watching them celebrate another woman’s death—while my father rots beneath the earth for crimes he didn’t commit?” Her eyes met his, filled with tears that were genuine and venomous all at once. “And you—Miyal—you just stood there.”

Her voice cracked, and her face crumpled, vulnerable now in the firelight. “But then you made me laugh. You listened. You trusted me. And the hatred… it didn’t die, but it dulled. I think I loved you, Miyal. Before Krishna.”

Miyal felt the words strike him like knives. “Perfera…”

“She walked into your life like dawn. A fierce, blinding light. You didn’t stand a chance. I watched you fall for her. Watched you love her the way I wished you’d look at me.”

Her voice dropped to a whisper. “And then you married her.”

“I didn’t know,” he said, hollow.

“Of course you didn’t,” she laughed bitterly. “Because you never looked deeper than you had to. You’re like your father in that way. You see what’s on the surface and believe it to be the whole truth.”

Silence descended like a blade between them. The fire cracked once.

“Why now?” Miyal asked finally. “Why tell me all this?”

Perfera stepped forward, close enough to feel the tremble in his frame. “Because I need you to understand what’s coming.”

He swallowed hard. “What have you done?”

Her smile was cold. “I didn’t bring Krishna back. But I knew she wouldn’t die. That kind of soul doesn’t vanish in flame. I ensured that if she did return, it would be to a kingdom trembling under its own weight.”

His voice was steel now. “You’ve been undermining me.”

“For years,” she admitted. “Sabotaging trade routes, spreading unrest in the outer villages. Feeding just enough fear to keep your people loyal through desperation. You’ve ruled by isolation. I just helped along.”

Miyal’s jaw clenched. “Why reveal this now?”

“You expect me to believe this?”

“No,” she said softly. “Because they cheered when she burned.”

Perfera’s eyes gleamed. “Because Krishna’s return will shatter everything. And when the pack cries for a new order, I want you to know it wasn’t fate that destroyed you—it was me. The daughter of the man your family buried alive.”

He staggered back a step, as if her words had struck flesh.

“You want the throne,” he said.