Death was supposed to be the end. An end to the agony. The suffering. The heart-wrenching sight of his torn expression, of his eyes welling with tears as he impaled her torso with half a dozen javelins of ice. That moment—his betrayal, her execution—should have been her final memory.

  Their farewell.

  Despite the manic haze that had clouded her mind since her judgment, despite the unending glee that had seized her in its grip like a sickness, Serenya had embraced her execution with a quiet, detached resignation. The charade was over. The joke had run its course. At last, she could rest.

  But death had other plans.

  She was sinking.

  Dragged down by chains heavier than any she’d worn in life, her body was twisted, contorted, fettered beyond recognition. Her wrists and ankles chafed against the manacles, skin splitting, bruising, bleeding as she thrashed against them.

  Black mist coiled around her throat, pulling her deeper through a void that was neither air nor water—only pressure, silence, and suffocation.

  No breath came. No scream escaped.

  Only the spasms of a dying beast fighting for freedom.

  Her tendons strained. Joints popped. Her spine arched until it nearly snapped—

  And still, she giggled.

  The manic laughter hadn’t left her since the verdict had been passed. It followed her like a shadow. Inescapable. Hollow. The only sound she could make, the only rebellion she had left in this damned purgatory.

  Her perdition.

  But she would not yield.

  That thought—bitter, burning, unshakable—became her anchor.

  And then the pain began.

  A frost like rot crept over her skin, digging in like barbed wire.

  Black ice bloomed across her limbs, cracking her open like old stone. Her toes went first, snapping off like brittle twigs, disintegrating into ash. Her fingers followed. Then her lips, her nose, her sight.

  Still, she did not scream.

  Something ancient—older than the world, more inevitable than time—gnawed at her from within. Inch by inch. Thought by thought.

  And the past unraveled with it.

  Memories carved themselves into her like brands. Not regrets—sins. Each one borne in the name of the Dragon Vessel.

  The villages she burned. The men she condemned. The disease-ridden bodies she stuffed with rocks and flung into rivers and wells. The children used as bait. The wives left weeping when she conscripted their grandfathers, fathers, husbands, brothers, cousins, nephews, sons, and grandsons. The poisoned feasts shared with stable boys and scullery maids who didn’t know they were drinking their last.

  She clenched her jaw, her neck straining, eyes bulging with the effort to endure.

  No tears came.

  Not even as the frost curled around her elbows and knees, splitting them apart.

  She just kept laughing. Softly. Breathlessly.

  If this was her afterlife—if this was the hell the Godbeasts had judged her to suffer—

  She would wait.

  She would watch.

  She would laugh until the day the Dragon Vessel joined her here.

  Time ceased to exist.

  The mist never lifted. The pain never faded. She kept falling. Shackled, gagged by oblivion, her flesh flaking away into embers. She choked on blood now, the thick iron taste pooling in the back of her throat

  Still, she giggled.

  Because one truth anchored her more deeply than pain ever could: she couldn’t wait until he suffered as she had.

  “Even after all this time... you find it amusing?”

  A voice. Male. Smooth and velvety.

  Purring.

  Patient.

  Too entertained to be kind. Too knowing to be anything but a threat.

  She couldn’t move. Of course she couldn’t. Her body was half gone.

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  But she felt it—something slick and serpentine coiling through the dark, curling through her shattered ribs like smoke.

  No shape. No face. Just heat and silk and a wide smile.

  “You’ve sunk so deep, darling pet. And yet your fire remains. They thought the abyss would break your spirit, your mind, your soul. But look at you... still burning.”

  A demon. Of course.

  Her lips were long gone. Her jaw was half frostbitten bone. But in her mind, she whispered: I spent ten years eradicating your kind. I know your tricks. I won’t make any deals. Begone.

  The thing chuckled. A velvet purr that slithered across her thoughts like warm wine.

  “Oh, wicked girl. You already did. That’s why you’re here.”

  She stilled. The chains did not loosen. But her mind—what was left of it—bristled.

  “Easy now. I’m not here to torment. I’m here to offer... liberation. Not forgiveness. Not absolution. Just power. Pure. Unfettered. Yours to wield. Reborn, not as a pawn... but as a queen. Or more. A goddess made flesh.”

  The words dripped into her like poison, thick and seeping into every cracked part of her soul. Power. That word, so sweet, so irresistible, it twisted her insides into a frenzy. But it wasn’t just the power she craved. It was everything they had taken from her. Everything that had been ripped from her grasp. The world she had once tried to protect. The man she had once loved.

  She tried to ignore it. The pain, the hunger for this... this temptation. But beneath it all, something far darker stirred.

  The silence, once her refuge, was now a scream. Had he won? The question shredded her insides, sharper than the first betrayal. Had he ascended? Had he become a hero to the fools who had never seen the monster beneath his skin? What if the world hailed him as a martyr, ignorant of the blood he had spilled? What if he never paid for his sins? The weight of being used, of obeying, crushed her like a boulder pressing down on her chest.

  Something inside her burst. Not with rage, nor with regret. It stemmed from something far deeper, far more bitter. A blackened thirst that simmered, threatening to overwhelm.

  “Burn the Dragon. Bury him beneath your feet. Make the world kneel before you, little lamb.”

  The voice caressed her, smooth and thick, like a velvet glove soaked in venom. It whispered in her ears, seduced her with promises of retribution, with the taste of vengeance so sweet she could almost taste it on her tongue.

  Her blood sang through her temples. The rage, the fury that had been simmering for so long, broke free. But it wasn’t just rage. No. This was something far worse. This was the need to see him broken. To make him feel the hell she had lived. To make the world tremble at her wrath.

  What’s in it for you? she demanded, her thoughts seething, burning with more than just hatred now.

  The demon’s voice flickered with amusement, and she could practically feel the curl of his smile. “I want to watch the world burn your way this time, Serenya Solenne.”

  Her heart pounded. No, she didn’t believe it. She couldn’t. Demons were always self-serving. Entire empires had collapsed because some higher-ranked hellspawn got bored. And yet, this one had offered her something undeniable.

  Power. Choice. Whether his offer was real or not, just the thought of it, hearing that sickening possibility, made the dam within her burst. Never be the pawn. Never again be the broken thing, the silent shadow obeying every order even against her will. The chance to finally, finally, be the one in control was intoxicating.

  “What say you, sweet sinner?”

  She braced herself. Her voice was a whisper of madness, a promise of hell. Then burn it with me.

  The void tore open as the demon’s laughter echoed through her mind. From her core, heat surged. A golden fire erupted from within, licking up her frostbitten limbs. The flames danced across her ravaged body with radiant brilliance. The chains burst into light. Her bones snapped back into place. Her flesh wove itself anew. Power poured into her like sunlight into starving soil.

  There was no more agony—but life.

  In the shadows, the voice lingered, thick with dark amusement. “I’ll be waiting for you on the other side, my goddess. Now, this might hurt just a touch.”

  Agony. She screamed—raw, furious, glorious—as her soul was flung upward, the darkness around shattering like glass. The ascent felt like tearing through time itself, excruciating, lasting so long she thought it might kill her.

  But it didn’t.

  Serenya awoke with a gasp.

  Her body trembled, slick with sweat, and the air felt too thick in her lungs, each breath searing hot and uneven. She couldn’t focus. Her fingers—her whole hands—twitching with strange, erratic urgency. This couldn’t be real. Her breath hitched in frantic, shallow sobs, as if she had forgotten how to breathe at all.

  The scent of pine, saltwater—Godbeasts, the salt—struck her like a blow to the chest. It was so vivid, so painfully there that it sent a jolt through her, and she barely registered the way her skin prickled. She was whole. Unmarked. Alive. Impossible.

  She could feel the rickety sway of the wagon beneath her, its old frame creaking over the dirt road. The low hum of murmurs and tired coughs surrounded her from the other passengers, but all she could hear was the thudding of her own pulse in her ears. They didn’t even notice. No one looked at her.

  Fingers trembling, she elbowed her way to the front of the wagon, ignoring the smarting remarks and sudden stares. She reached for the worn canvas curtain toward the front of the wagon and shoved it aside, the breeze outside gentle, warm, soothing over her skin.

  The air was heavy with the hum of late summer. The trees lining the slopes were thick with leaves, the rich green of the forest almost spilling down the mountainside in waves, as though nature itself were pressing close. The occasional buzz of an insect drifted lazily by, blending with the murmur of wind and distant calls of birds as the world around her vibrated with life, despite the late hour.

  The sea shimmered far below, a silver line hugging the cliffs, stretching past the bay toward the greater horizon. Just ahead, nestled in a valley of stone and slate, the port city of Viremont sprawled out before her. Alive in a way it shouldn’t be. Lanterns flickered against the descending gloom, their soft, golden light reflecting off the cobblestone streets below. The distant scent of woodsmoke and sea air mixed in the atmosphere, the smell of things Serenya had nearly forgotten, things that had once seemed so real, and yet now felt impossibly distant.

  But they weren’t.

  The sound of the driver’s voice sliced through her haze. “End of the line! In half a bell, we’ll be upon Viremont.”

  Serenya blinked rapidly, her mind struggling to make sense of the words, desperately trying to ground herself in reality. The city, the harbor—she remembered the first time she had laid eyes on them. A memory so etched into her mind it felt like it would never fade. She couldn’t mistake it. This was exactly that moment.

  Above the city, where the mountainside met the sky, the spires of the Concordant Lyceum loomed. Her heart twisted, sharp and sudden, as her hands gripped the edge of the wagon. Her vision swam, disorienting and impossible. The world couldn’t have shifted like this. She couldn’t have come back.

  But it was happening. It was all unfolding before her eyes.

  She had found herself back in that moment, before it all fell apart, when everything was still whole—pure, even.

  But she knew better now. The illusion of innocence, of goodness, was a luxury she couldn’t afford anymore. This time, she wasn’t here to cherish it.

  She was here to burn it to the ground.