Semua Bab Rejected By The Alpha, Desired By The Immortal King: Bab 71 - Bab 80

POV: SeleneThe Council chamber has no walls.It is held together by law and light alone — a hollow sphere of white fire suspended above Solara’s highest spire. No wind reaches us here, no mortal scent, no sound but the voices of those who believe they rule eternity.Today, those voices are chaos.> “It was not a ripple — it was a tear!”“The Veil does not split unless something forces it!”“You all felt it! That heat! That shadow! That—”The god of war slams his gauntleted fist onto the table of light, making the chamber quake.“It is a weapon,” he growls. “And it is being aimed.”The god of death does not move. Her lips curl faintly — as though she has been waiting for this moment longer than the rest of us have been alive.“Not a weapon,” she says, her voice like cool soil over a grave. “A verdict.”A murmur ripples through the Council. The god of oaths glances at me, gold bands on his wrists tightening. The goddess of storms swears under her breath. The goddess of dawn stares at h

POV: SeleneThe Mirror of Threads is not meant for indulgence.It is a weapon — the oldest kind. One that kills without blood, severing lives with the same cold precision a hunter uses to snare prey. I have used it for wars, for diplomacy, for punishments that never reach the songs.And yet tonight, I watched for something the Council does not yet understand.The courtyard shimmered across its silver surface, mortal shadows sharpened by moonlight. She was there — the Hollow Queen. The wolf who was not a wolf. The fire that does not bow.And opposite her… Azrien. They call him Dorian now, as if a name could erase what he once was. A foolish thought.They circled each other with blades, movements sharp, exact. No wasted motion. Each strike tested, tasted. The Hollowflame curled around her like a living thing, flaring violet-gold every time he drove her back.I should have looked away when the spar shifted. I should have severed the vision the moment the air changed.But I didn’t.Becaus

POV: Kade The storm starts inside my skull. No rain. No wind. Just the scrape of roots against bone and the slow, rolling thunder of a heartbeat that isn’t mine. It shakes the cage where my wolf paces — shoulders bloodied from throwing himself at the bars, teeth raw with iron. Araya. The name cuts through fog like a blade. For one impossible breath, I can smell her — sandalwood smouldering, honeyed embers, moonflower after rain. Bare feet crossing frost. My wolf surges toward it, claws raking the bars. The leash bites down. White-hot. Roots coil tighter like snakes, pulling until bone cracks. “Down,” the voice says. Not from the air. Not from the shadows. From everywhere at once — from my collar, from my marrow, from the grain of the floor beneath my knees. Erik. “Down, dog.” My wolf staggers. He plants his paws anyway, gold eyes blazing. Araya. The heartbeat under the world deepens. Not mine. Not war. Older. A tide moving unseen beneath the crust. Each pulse drives me clos

POV: AdiraThe tremor becomes a rhythm.It rolls through the stones, up through the soles of my feet, until it lives inside my chest. The soundless thud of something vast, something hidden, something older than the Veil itself. My breath comes ragged, but I refuse to cower. I tilt my chin higher, though my body quivers.The torches crackle, flare, and then gutter, their flames guttering into tongues of green fire that spit shadows across the walls. Each lick of flame warps the banners, melting their wolves into smears of ink. The chamber bends and breathes as though it has lungs of its own.I clutch my belly tighter. The child twists, not with the tender flutter of life, but with the violent spasms of something answering a call. My pulse staggers. My knees scrape raw against the dais' stone, yet I do not rise. I will not rise. To kneel is to invite, to offer, to bind.“Stronger,” I whisper again, throat hoarse with need. “Stronger than any Alpha. Stronger than her. Stronger than him.”

POV: Araya Moonlight poured across the ring, the sky unsheathing its own blade. Sand flashed silver. The wardstones hummed under the hour’s weight. I rolled my shoulders. Hollowflame stirred; runes warmed like embers catching wind. My wolf paced the cage of my ribs, tail high. He was already there. Dorian leaned into the shadow like it belonged to him, shirt open, hair damp. Gold fire curled at his wrists—contained, lethal, shackles worn as jewellery. He tipped his chin toward the sand: come take it—if you can. I went. Steel struck; sparks leapt. His heat rolled over me; mine answered. The night narrowed to his shoulders and the knife-edge between danger and something worse. We moved in a rhythm we’d written and never named. He feigned left. I didn’t bite. His eyes smiled. I punished it with a cut that should have split a slower guard. He caught, turned, and bled the force into the ground. Our blades rang—bright, clean—a tower I wanted to climb. “Again,” he said, though we h