Chapter 162: The War Beneath the Veil

Darian didn’t march with drums or banners.

He moved like a shadow creeping over ancient land, his army trailing him like silent wraiths. Their weapons didn’t clang. Their armor didn’t shine. They moved as if the land belonged to them now.

Because soon—it would.

He stopped at a black ridge overlooking the valley below.

The Broken Spire stood in the distance, wrapped in golden warding lines. Even from here, the hum of Serena’s magic pulsed through the air like a heartbeat.

“She’s drawing the line,” Lyra said behind him.

Darian didn’t turn. “She thinks she’s ready.”

“She is stronger than before.”

“She’s still a child in the eyes of the Gate,” Darian replied. “A flicker, not a flame.”

Lyra watched him carefully.

She’d seen enough to know this wasn’t arrogance—it was certainty.

And yet… something had changed in Serena.

Something Darian hadn’t expected.

“She refused the throne,” Lyra said softly.

“Because she doesn’t understand it yet,” Darian murmured. “But she will.”

He turned at last, studying her with silver-bright eyes. “Your loyalty has been… steady. But loyalty and trust are not the same.”

Her jaw clenched. “I’ve done everything you asked.”

“You’ve done what you had to,” he corrected. “But when the time comes—if she reaches out to you again—what will you choose?”

Lyra didn’t answer.

Which, for Darian, was an answer.

He smiled faintly.

And walked on.

At the Spire, Serena stood before the Gate’s flickering seal, her palm outstretched.

The sigils pulsed in time with her heartbeat. This time, they didn’t fight her. They flowed with her. She was no longer resisting the Gate’s energy—she was shaping it.

“I’m not afraid of you,” she whispered.

The Gate answered with a slow, low hum.

Not approval.

Not mockery.

Something older.

Recognition.

Elias watched her from the ledge. His sword lay unsheathed beside him, but his eyes were on Serena—not the horizon.

“She’s changing,” he said.

“She has to,” Mira replied behind him. “You all do.”

He turned to her. “Do you think she can hold onto who she is?”

Mira hesitated.

Then: “I think the only way forward is through the fire.”

Inside the supply tent, Kael was rechecking traps when he froze.

A slip of paper had been left on the table. No one had seen it arrive.

He unfolded it slowly.

A hand-sketched map. Their camp. Their formation. And a warning in barely-legible handwriting:

“He knows. There is one among you.”

No signature.

But Kael recognized the symbols in the margins.

Lyra.

He swore under his breath and bolted from the tent.

Serena stood beside the flame-ringed spire, her eyes distant, her body still.

But her mind—

Her mind was elsewhere.

A vision had taken her again.

She was walking through the Spire’s ruins.

The sky was black.

Mira was gone.

Kael — dead.

Caine — lost.

And Elias—

Standing at the Gate, his back to her.

“You left me,” he said.

“No,” she whispered, “I was trying to protect you.”

He turned.

But his eyes were silver.

Like Darian’s.

“You chose the fire,” he said.

Then he stepped through the Gate and vanished.

She gasped back into reality, tears hot on her cheeks.

“Serena!” Elias grabbed her arms. “What did you see?”

She looked at him—and for a terrifying heartbeat, couldn’t tell if it was him.

Then the doubt cleared.

“A warning,” she whispered. “Someone’s not who we think.”

Kael burst into the circle, eyes wild. “We have a problem.”

Mira stood instantly. “What now?”

He held up the note.

“It’s from Lyra. She says there’s a spy here—in camp.”

Elias tensed. “That’s impossible. We’d know.”

“Would we?” Mira said. “Darian’s mimics don’t just look like us—they think like us. Sound like us.”

Kael growled, “Then we find them now—before they sabotage this entire operation.”

Serena took the note, studying the handwriting, the symbols. Her throat tightened.

“She’s risking everything just to warn us.”

Elias frowned. “You still trust her?”

“I don’t know,” Serena admitted. “But I trust what she’s doing.”

That night, the sky turned red.

Not from fire.

From energy.

The Gate on the ridge had begun to open—not by Serena’s hand.

By Darian’s.

“It’s early,” Mira said. “He’s forcing our hand.”

Serena stood at the center of the warded circle, her mark glowing brighter than ever before.

“No,” she said. “He’s answering the call.”

Caine walked to her side, his voice low.

“You need to be ready, Serena. He won’t fight you with blades. He’ll fight you with truths.”

She nodded.

“Then let him try.”

Far on the battlefield, Darian extended his hand—and the sky split.

And through the shadows stepped a figure none of them expected.

Not a soldier.

Not a mimic.

A familiar face.

Wounded.

Trembling.

Lyra.

Elias stepped forward instinctively. “Is she—?”

“No,” Serena said. “She’s not the threat.”

But behind her—

Someone else was.

The real mimic.

Already inside the wards.

Watching.

Waiting.