Chapter 82: He's ALIVE

The gates of Berkimhum loomed like a judgment.

Tall as towers, carved from blackened silverwood, they shimmered in the morning haze with the ghostlight of old magic—veined with runes so ancient even the archivists no longer dared translate them. Above the archway, the crests of twelve long-dead kings stared down like silent jurors. Cold. Watching. Weighing her.

And beneath those ancient judges stood Lara Von Roxweld.

Drenched in blood. Cloaked in steel. Every inch of her screamed survival.

She did not flinch.

Her arrival carried no trumpets, no declarations. No velvet-draped procession.

She had returned like thunder in the bones of the earth—quiet at first, then unstoppable.

Whispers had long outrun her boots.

Through every street and stairwell, from the slums to the cathedral towers, the capital had begun to tremble with the name it once feared and worshipped in equal breath:

Lara.

The Crimson Fang.