Semua Bab Bound to the Enemy’s Bed: Bab 101 - Bab 110

Dawn crept in slow, gray, and cold.The fortress still smelled of rain, smoke, and blood — the scents braided into every corridor like the memory of a nightmare that refused to fade.From the highest balcony, Elaria watched the courtyard below. Wolves moved through the rubble with weary precision: dragging beams into place, gathering the wounded, stacking the fallen into shrouded lines along the wall. Each body lowered was a name burned into her heart.Draven stood beside her, silent, one arm braced against the cracked stone rail. His bare shoulders were wrapped in a half-torn cloak, the edges blackened from lightning and battle. A thin streak of dried blood crossed his temple, but his eyes were alive — cold and unyielding.Neither of them spoke at first. The quiet was too full of ghosts.At last Elaria said, “They’re waiting for us to tell them what comes next.”Draven’s gaze followed the workers below. “They’re waiting to see if there still is a next.”A gust of wind swept across th

The Vale did not look like peace.It rose before them in fractured light — a ruin half-swallowed by fog, the remnants of marble archways and charred spires standing like broken teeth against the horizon. The air hummed with the cold breath of something ancient, something that remembered the wars that had once been fought beneath its stones.Elaria’s boots crunched over shattered glass as she dismounted. The wind carried the tang of iron and wet ash. Even the birds refused to sing here.Draven was silent beside her, his gaze sweeping the expanse like a wolf scenting for ghosts. The sunlight caught the scar still healing beneath his collarbone — a remnant of the siege, of Rhovan’s last desperate strike. It gleamed like a pale crescent against the dark skin of his throat, and though his face was composed, the tension in his jaw betrayed him.“They rebuilt this place just enough for the meeting,” Elaria murmured. “But the foundation still bleeds.”Draven’s eyes flicked toward her, soft an

The first light after the explosion bled gray over the shattered fortress. Smoke clung to the valley like breath trapped in a throat. Inside the half-collapsed council chamber, voices still rang — not of command, but of panic and accusation.“Who set it?”“Where’s the Alpha?”“Did Rhovan escape?”Each voice was an echo of the night’s betrayal. Broken banners hung in tatters; the air smelled of iron and ash. The council, what was left of it, had gathered around the central dais where the symbol of unity had once burned bright. Now, only a crater remained.Elaria’s name was the question on every tongue.Then movement stirred among the rubble.Beneath a fallen beam, light caught on silver hair. Dust shifted, followed by a low, guttural cough — not of weakness, but defiance. Elaria pushed herself free, palms scraped raw, eyes wild and unblinking as the world tilted around her. Her lungs burned with the memory of flame, but her mind was already running — calculating, anchoring, surviving.

The world was quiet.Not the quiet of peace, but the quiet that comes after something sacred has been broken.Elaria’s first breath came sharp and shallow, scraping her throat like ash. Her lungs burned. Her ears rang. For a long moment, she couldn’t move — only stare at the fractured sky above her, the sickly orange dawn filtering through the drifting dust and ruin.Something heavy pinned her chest — a splintered beam of marble from the council’s fallen arch. Her fingers twitched beneath it, slick with blood that wasn’t all her own. When she finally managed to push it aside, her body screamed in protest, the pain hot and electric.“Draven…”His name left her lips like a prayer that had been torn in half.But there was no answer.Only the wind — soft, and wrong. It carried the scent of smoke, iron, and something deeper — something ancient, humming beneath the rubble.She staggered to her feet, the world tilting around her. The Vale, once a carved sanctuary of stone and oath, was gone.

The wind carried ash like snow.From the shattered ridge above the valley, the council’s remnants watched as the earth itself began to pulse with light — not red, not gold, but something colorless and alive. The glow spilled through the fractures in the stone, rippling outward like veins beneath skin, tracing the scars of battle until the entire Vale shimmered in unnatural rhythm.Someone whispered, “It’s still alive.”No one answered. No one knew how to.Elder Vareth’s cloak whipped around him as the first tremor shook the ridge. He had seen countless wars, countless rites, but never this. “The seal was meant to contain the Heart,” he said, his voice hollow. “If it’s breathing again…”“Then someone fed it,” another councilor hissed. “Or woke it.”They turned as one toward the blackened scar where Elaria and Draven had vanished hours ago. The dust still curled upward, faintly tinted with the scent of iron and ozone — the smell of burned magic. The few soldiers who had survived the sie