Chapter Twenty Eight: Bloodlines of the Forsaken

The vast throne room of Girar shimmered under the eerie glow of countless obsidian torches. King Sola sat upon his throne, his fingers drumming impatiently on the armrest. His sharp, calculating eyes were fixed on the gilded door at the far end of the room, beyond which his wizard worked in seclusion, preparing the next step in their hunt for Overa.

Sola’s mind churned with thoughts of Tiya. The whispers of her unique power had reached him, a power that could undo the curse woven into the land and his very bloodline. Yet his focus often strayed from Tiya to the deeper shadows of his past, to the woman he had loved and lost—Kal’s mother.

He rose abruptly, the cold stone of the floor resonating under his heavy boots. Walking toward the large window overlooking the cursed plains of Girar, he murmured to himself. “Amara, you were my heart, my compass. What would you say of me now?”