Marked in the Middle
“She’s raising the souls of the Crownless War.”
One of the specters spoke, its voice hollow and distant. “You wear her face.”
“I am her,” Evelyn said. “But not the one who bound you.”
The specter tilted its head. “All queens lie.”
And then the dead charged.
The clearing erupted into chaos.
Steel clashed against ghostly blades. The riders fought in tight formation, but the specters moved like smoke, slipping through gaps, reforming behind shields.
Kael met one head-on, his sword slicing through the apparition. The ghost dissolved, only to reappear moments later, laughing.
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