Chapter Twenty-Seven: The Memory of Rosa Noctis

It was like Myra was living life through someone else's eyes, a life of someone whose name had been long forgotten by history:

Embergale was a kingdom born of blood and fear, forged in the ashes of old wars and carved into beauty by the will of her father—the late King Rauthan. He had turned graveyard of many into a sanctuary. A haven. A place where vampires and humans lived not just side by side—but as equals.

In Embergale, light did not mean safety and shadow did not mean death.

It meant balance.

Nyxoria opened the balcony doors of her chambers, letting the fresh summer air spill inside. It wrapped around her like silk—warm, fragrant with blooming night roses and faint citrus from the trees below. It smelled like home. Like peace.