The Obsidian Covenant #1: The Rejected Mate's Ruin のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 31 - チャプター 40

POV: NeomaThe applause didn't sound like triumph. It sounded like a lock clicking shut.I stood over the defeated Regicide board. The Highbloods stared at me with a mix of awe and horror. But my eyes were fixed on the balcony above. Lugal Nergal’s slow, rhythmic clapping echoed in the sudden silence of the ballroom. Clap. Clap. Heavier than any shout."Bring her," the King commanded. His voice amplified by nothing but sheer authority.He turned. Vanished into the shadows of the royal box."Move," Barzil whispered instantly. His hand clamped onto my shoulder—not rough, but urgent. "Do not speak unless spoken to. Do not look him in the eye for longer than three seconds. And do not, under any circumstances, use the Void."We were marched out of the ballroom. Away from the music and the wine. Into the private elevator that ascended to the Spire’s peak. The air grew thinner. The smell of ozone became choking. Mixed with that sickly sweet scent of rotting flowers.The doors opened into the

POV: NeomaMagic is a muscle.That’s what the Citadel instructors told the Highblood cadets. You train it. You break it down. It grows back stronger. But for me, the Void didn't feel like a muscle. It felt like a stomach. And if I didn't stretch it, if I didn't teach it how to digest what I fed it, it would eventually eat me.I sat cross-legged on the cold concrete floor of Training Sub-basement 4. It was 0300 hours. The barracks were asleep. Viggo was snoring in the common room—a low, rhythmic rumble. Even Wolfy had finally put his datapad down.In front of me lay a pile of scavenged industrial batteries. Heavy, brick-sized power cells I had swiped from the maintenance closet."Okay," I whispered to the silence. "Just a sip."I picked up the first battery. It hummed against my palm. A low, chemical vibration that tickled the nerves.I closed my eyes. Reached for the vacuum in my chest.Usually, I pulled energy in a panic—a violent, desperate gulp to stop a heart or freeze a bullet. T

POV: NeomaThe inside of a Vanguard transport smelled of stale sweat, gun oil, and violence waiting to happen.It was a claustrophobic steel box. Vibrating so violently with the roar of the engine that my teeth had been aching for the last three hours. A dull throb in my jaw.We were sitting on benches bolted to the walls—Barzil and Wolfy on one side, Viggo and Guller on the other. I sat next to Viggo. My shoulder bumped his massive arm every time we hit a crater in the Wasteland road.The air was thick. Recycled too many times. Tasting of ozone and unspoken tension."Stop fidgeting," Barzil growled. His eyes closed. Arms crossed over his chest. He looked like a statue carved from granite. Immovable despite the shaking vehicle."I'm not fidgeting," I lied. I gripped the edge of the bench until my knuckles turned white. "I'm vibrating. There's a difference.""You are projecting anxiety," Wolfy said without looking up from his datapad. "Heart rate 105. Cortisol spiking. You think we are

POV: NeomaThe silence after the explosion wasn't empty. It was heavy.It pressed against my eardrums—a physical weight, louder than the blast that had rocked the canyon moments ago. The rebels on the ridge had stopped firing.The jamming signal that had cut Wolfy’s scream short hummed in the air like a cloud of angry gnats. Zzzzzzt.Then, the sky tore open.It wasn't the Silent Howl. It was a sound I knew from the nightmares of the Dregs—the deep, subsonic thrum of Citadel heavy dropships. It vibrated in my teeth.Three of them descended through the smoke. Their hulls gleaming pristine white. Emblazoned with the crest of House Vane."Reinforcements?" Viggo rumbled. He stepped up beside me. His hammer dripped with potential energy. "Too fast. They were waiting.""Stand down," Barzil ordered. His voice tight. He walked out from behind the cover of our battered transport. Sheathing his sword with a sharp shing. "They aren't here to save us."The dropships landed. Kicking up a storm of r

POV: NeomaDarkness was familiar.I was born in the shadow of the Shattered Moon. I was raised in the lightless tunnels of the Dregs, where the sun was a rumor and electricity was a god you prayed to. I knew the dark. I knew its weight. Its smell—damp earth and decay. Its texture—heavy and slick on the skin.But this darkness was different. It had no exit.They had thrown me in hours ago—or maybe days. Time didn't exist here. There was only the wet, slick stone of the floor and the heavy iron door that had slammed shut.Thud.Like a coffin lid.I huddled in the corner. Knees pulled to my chest. Shivering. My teeth chattered violently. My dress—the beautiful, dangerous black silk Barzil had pinned—was ruined. Torn by the guards. Stained with mud and the blood of the courtyard. It stuck to my skin, cold and crusty.Barzil.The image of his back, flayed open to the bone, replayed in my mind on a loop. A waking nightmare. The smell of burning silver—acrid, stinging my nose. The sound of t