บททั้งหมดของ The Blood Bound Legacy: บทที่ 171 - บทที่ 180

The throne shimmered with cold power, each edge of it cut from a shadow deeper than night, and though it sat silent and still, it felt like it was listening. Isolde stood just a few feet away from the other version of herself—the one with silver eyes and a voice made of glass and fire—trying not to show how badly her hands were shaking.The silence between them stretched too long, and then the other spoke, calmly, almost kindly. “You’re not here to defeat me. That’s not how this works. You’re here to decide if you still believe in who you are.”Isolde stared at her. “I know who I am.”“No,” the woman said, smiling faintly. “You know who you were when you were still fighting. But now? Now that the war is over, now that you’ve survived—what are you without the pain?”The question burrowed deeper than it should have. Not because she didn’t have an answer, but because she hadn’t asked herself that yet. Her entire life, she’d defined herself by what she’d escaped, what she’d resisted. But

The sun was beginning to set again when the tremor hit.Isolde stood just beyond the outer perimeter of the Citadel, watching as the wind moved against itself, curling unnaturally along the grass and stone. A low hum vibrated through her bones, a frequency she hadn’t felt since the Fold had split open, an unmistakable signal not of collapse, but of convergence.It wasn’t the Citadel reacting to her anymore. Something else had crossed its attention.Cael was already at her side. “You feel that?”She nodded slowly, her gaze locked on the skyline. “Something’s approaching.”His eyes narrowed. “More Council agents?”“No. This doesn’t feel political.” She turned slightly, pressing her palm to the stone beneath her feet. The pulse that answered was sharp, deliberate, almost rhythmic. “It’s someone Fold-touched.”Cael’s voice dropped. “You mean like you.”“No.” She turned toward him. “Not like me. Worse.”Before he could ask, she stepped back toward the Citadel, whispering an incantation low

The world didn’t break. It folded.Reality didn’t shatter like glass under pressure; it bent, rippling like silk dragged through water, seamless and wrong. Isolde staggered backward, every nerve in her body screaming as the energy radiating from the throne piece in Jalen’s hand cracked open the boundary between thought and form.She heard the voice again, but this time it didn’t feel like it came from the outside. It unspooled within her, lacing through the gaps in her spine, coiling around the fragile trust she’d built in herself.Let her bleed. Let her choose. Or let her kneel. It wasn’t a threat. It was a promise.Sariah reached out, grabbing Isolde’s wrist. Her grip was tight, but her eyes were full of questions, not rage. “What is this? I thought it was calling me.”Isolde’s voice was a breath above a whisper. “It’s not calling you. It’s testing me.”Sariah blinked. “Why?”“Because I left something behind when I walked away,” she answered, her throat raw with realization. “Not ju

The woman who called herself a failed prophecy stood with fire licking the edges of her cloak, yet it did not burn her skin. She was too still, as if every breath she took was calculated, rationed. Around her, the ground smoldered where she walked, not from heat, but from memory. The land reacted to her the way it had once responded to the Fold: with recognition. With dread.Isolde didn’t speak at first. She kept her posture measured, but her heart thudded in her chest like it remembered something her mind had not yet caught up to. There was something ancient about this stranger, something heavy and worn and deeply tired.“Who are you really?” Isolde asked.The woman turned her gaze toward her, and for a moment, her eyes shimmered not with flame but with sorrow. “Once, I was the one who was supposed to sit on the throne. Before either of you was born. Before the Fold had a name.”Cael stepped forward cautiously. “That would make you—”“Dead,” the woman said. “I was supposed to be dead

The chamber was impossibly vast, but the silence made it feel smaller, like the air was pressing inward, squeezing the edges of her breath. Isolde rose to her feet slowly, every muscle tight, the weight of what she’d just experienced still ghosting through her. The floor beneath her boots was smooth and dark, not stone or metal, but something else entirely, like obsidian soaked in memory.Cael lay crumpled against the far wall, his body held up only by the golden chains embedded in the air around him. They were not physical and not visible at first glance, but they shimmered faintly when she moved closer, buzzing with containment magic older than language.His blood was drying across his jaw, but he was breathing.Barely. She stepped forward. And the shadow moved. Not across the wall, not down from the ceiling. It moved within the room itself, displacing air, warping space, folding light like parchment.“Don’t,” it whispered.A voice that wasn’t a voice. It was breath. Thought. Cold f