Chapter 16: The City's Last Hour

The throne room exploded into motion—soldiers surged forward, swords flashing, arrows loosed from the balconies above.

Kieran moved on instinct, cutting down the first guard that reached him, ducking beneath another's blade. To his left, Elias tore through the Council's defenders like a whirlwind, his twin daggers moving with ruthless precision.

Rhea fired a shot from her crossbow—one guard collapsed, a bolt buried in his throat.

The walls shuddered, a deep, rumbling tremor beneath their feet.

Kieran's breath hitched. The failsafe. They had activated it.

"You're too late," Varic said over the chaos.

The ground lurched violently. Cracks splintered through the marble floor, that were deep. The walls trembled as a deafening roar echoed from beneath the city—the first of the failsafe charges igniting.

Kieran's heart pounded.

If they didn't stop this—if they didn't escape—the Spire would fall.

Varic was retreating now, his robes billowing as he moved toward a hidden passage behind the throne.

"Coward!" Rhea shouted, lunging after him—

A guard intercepted her, knocking her to the ground.

Elias was locked in a brutal duel, his movements sharp and desperate.

And Reven—

Reven wasn't chasing Varic. He wasn't even fighting the guards anymore.

He was walking toward the throne.

Kieran barely had time to react before Reven gripped the edge of the massive gilded seat—and ripped it from its foundations.

The throne screeched as stone shattered and metal groaned. Beneath it—

A hidden vault.

Kieran's stomach twisted.

Varic stopped, his face finally betraying fear. "No—"

Reven slammed his hand down on the vault's controls.

The walls howled.

A blinding surge of energy burst outward from the throne's foundation, tearing through the room like a violent tempest.

The air rippled and it Warped.

And then, the chamber collapsed.

Kieran hit the ground hard.

The ceiling caved inward. A massive support beam crashed down, barely missing him.

Elias was shouting—Rhea was struggling to push off debris.

Through the dust, Kieran saw Varic.

The Chancellor had been thrown to the floor, his leg pinned beneath a fallen stone slab. His face was twisted in agony. Powerless.

Kieran pushed himself to his feet.

Varic's breath came in gasps. He looked up, his gaze locking with Kieran's. "You think… you've won?"

Kieran tightened his grip on his sword. "No," he said quietly. "But I know you've lost."

Varic exhaled, a broken laugh escaping his lips.

Then the ground split apart.

A final tremor rocked the Spire—the failsafe sequence had fully engaged. The city was crumbling.

Elias grabbed Kieran's arm. "We need to go. Now."

Kieran looked down at Varic one last time.

And then he turned away.

The Spire was falling.

And they had to survive it.

The tremors beneath their feet were no longer sporadic—they were constant, an unrelenting quake shaking the city's very bones. Columns cracked, chandeliers crashed from the ceiling, and fissures splintered across the throne room floor as the failsafe mechanisms did their work.

The Council had planned for this. If they couldn't hold power, they would rather see the Spire buried beneath rubble than let the truth escape.

Kieran forced himself to move, even as dust choked the air. The heavy scent of fire and blood clung to his lungs. He could still hear the battle outside—screams, steel on steel, the howls of the Wraithborns.

But none of that would matter soon. If they didn't escape, there would be no battle left to fight.

Elias grabbed Kieran's arm, his voice tight with urgency. "We need to get out of here. Now."

Behind them, Varic was barely stirring beneath the weight of the fallen stone. Not dead. Not yet. But his time was measured in heartbeats now.

For a brief second, Kieran considered ending it—ending him.

The man who had orchestrated all of this. The one who had created the Wraithborns, who had cast them out, who had been willing to slaughter the entire city just to keep his secrets buried.

Varic stared up at him, blood dripping down his temple. He opened his mouth—to beg, to curse, to sneer, Kieran would never know.

Because in the next instant, a deep, deafening roar tore through the chamber. The floor collapsed.

Kieran leapt backward as the marble split apart. The Chancellor's broken body tumbled into the abyss below, swallowed by the darkness beneath the Spire.

Elias swore. "Move!"

Kieran didn't need to be told twice.

They ran.

Rhea was already ahead, reloading her crossbow as she sprinted toward the shattered entrance. Reven followed, silent, purposeful. The Wraith King's tattered cloak billowed behind him as the room crumbled, his burning gaze fixed forward.

As they reached the hall beyond, another explosion rocked the tower. A shockwave of heat and dust sent them all staggering, chunks of stone raining down from above.

The Spire was coming apart.

The corridor outside the throne room was unrecognizable. Flames licked the walls, devouring ancient banners and tapestries. Bodies—guards, civilians, the fallen elite of the Spire—littered the marble floor.

Through the shattered windows, Kieran glimpsed the city beyond. It was hell.

Buildings collapsed into themselves, stone and steel folding like paper. Smoke rose in thick black plumes, choking the sky. The great bridges leading to the outer wards had fallen, severed. The few remaining soldiers were still locked in combat with the Wraithborns, but their resistance was meaningless now.

This wasn't a siege anymore.

A group of survivors—civilians, a handful of wounded guards—were struggling to reach a half-broken staircase leading toward the lower districts. A woman clutched a crying child to her chest, her face streaked with soot and blood. A wounded soldier—barely more than a boy—limped after her, eyes wide with terror.

They wouldn't make it on their own.

Kieran didn't hesitate. He ran toward them, reaching the woman first. "Go! Down the stairs, keep moving—"

She clutched his arm, her fingers shaking. "The lower city—" She swallowed. "It's caving in."

Kieran's stomach dropped.

Elias reached his side, breathing hard. "There's no way out, is there?"

There was silence. Not in the city—the city was screaming. But between them, in that moment, there was nothing but the truth.

Rhea gritted her teeth. "We have to find a way."

"There is no way," Elias muttered. "Not unless you can fly."

That's when Kieran's gaze snapped to Reven.

The Wraith King was standing at the shattered edge of the corridor, staring down at the streets below just watching.

Kieran swallowed hard, stepping forward. "You can open a path."

Reven turned his head slightly, his expression unreadable. "A path to where?"

Kieran met his gaze. Held it. "Out."

The others stared at him.

Rhea was the first to speak. "Are you serious?"

Kieran exhaled. "The storm is gone. The Spire is falling. But the Wraithborns didn't just survive beyond the storm—they built something. They lived. If anyone knows a way out of this city, it's him."

Reven studied him for a long moment. Then, slowly, a smile curved his lips.

"You would trust me with this?" His voice was low and measured. "After everything?"

Kieran set his jaw. "You wanted justice. Not destruction." He gestured at the chaos around them. "This? This is the Council's doing. Not yours. You don't have to let the city die."

Reven was silent.

Then—a deep, shuddering breath.

The air around them shifted.

Reven raised a hand, fingers curling like a beckoning command. The shadows obeyed.

From the streets below, a tremor rippled outward. The remnants of the Wraithborns—those that had not succumbed to the Council's cruelty—turned their heads toward the tower. Toward their King.

And they moved.

The Wraithborn surged forward—not to destroy, but to clear a path.

They tore through the burning wreckage, smashing aside debris, forcing open broken passageways. A bridge collapsed—only for Reven's shadows to weave it back together in twisting fragments, just long enough for people to cross.

The civilians ran.

One by one, they followed the path Reven carved, fleeing the dying Spire.

Kieran turned back to Elias and Rhea. "We go. Now."

Elias nodded, gripping his daggers tighter. Rhea muttered something under her breath but didn't argue.

And together, they ran.

The descent through the city was a blur—fire, smoke, screams, the clash of steel against steel. They cut through alleys, leapt over broken rooftops, pushed through the chaos as the Wraithborn carved their way forward.

The city was crumbling, but they were not falling with it.

As they reached the final district before the outer walls, Kieran glanced back.

The Spire's great towers—once proud, once eternal—were collapsing in on themselves. The Council was gone. Their lies had died with them.

And yet—the people lived.

Not all of them. Not most of them.

But some.

It wasn't a victory.

But it wasn't the end.

Kieran turned away, heart pounding, and followed the last of the survivors into the unknown.

The Spire was no more.