Creese

Three days before the wedding, Seraphina Vale thought she was living a fairytale.

Julian’s penthouse smelled like citrus and cedarwood, the kind of scent you could bottle and name Success. He stood by the kitchen island in sweatpants and no shirt, hair still damp from the gym, smiling at her like she was the prize he never had to chase.

“You’re staring,” he teased.

Sera smirked over her coffee. “I’m just trying to remember why I said yes.”

Julian crossed the room in three long strides, wrapped an arm around her waist, and kissed her like a man who always got what he wanted. “Because I’m devastatingly handsome and your mother loves me.”

“Mm, two things I may soon regret.”

She laughed, but it caught somewhere in her chest.

Everything about her life looked perfect from the outside—magazine-worthy engagement, New York socialite status, a fiancé with flawless teeth and a startup about to go public. Her wedding hashtag had trended for two days straight.

But something in Julian had changed in the last few months. He was still charming, still doted on her in public, still gave her everything she asked for.

Everything except... presence.

His kisses landed like rehearsed lines. His touches didn’t linger.

And worst of all—he was always texting.

Constantly. Smiling at his phone when he thought she wasn’t looking. Swiping it away too fast when she was.

Sera asked once, lightly, “Who’s got you so entertained?”

Julian had smiled and said, “Work, babe. You know how it is.”

And she did. She wanted to believe him. She needed to.

Because the alternative was a truth too ugly to say out loud.


---

That afternoon, she met Madeline for dress fittings.

Madeline had been her best friend since prep school—the kind of friend who held your hair back while you puked and swore she’d take your secrets to the grave. She was tall, magnetic, unapologetically wild. If Sera was the grace, Madeline was the chaos.

“You’re glowing,” Madeline said, adjusting the bust of her lavender bridesmaid dress in the mirror. “You’re going to ruin every woman’s self-esteem on Saturday.”

Sera looked at herself. The silk gown shimmered like a dream. But all she could see was a girl pretending not to notice how fast her world was unraveling.

Madeline leaned in, voice low and teasing. “You sure you’re ready for monogamy? One man for the rest of your life? No more flirty brunch waiters or sultry European getaways?”

Sera raised an eyebrow. “Who said anything about giving up flirty brunch waiters?”

They both laughed, but Sera caught the flicker in Madeline’s eyes. A flash of guilt? Or just her own imagination turning shadows into monsters?

She told herself not to be paranoid. She had no reason to be.

Madeline had been there through everything—every broken heart, every public failure, every bottle of rosé drunk at 2 a.m. in their twenties while crying over boys who didn’t deserve them.

Julian was hers. Madeline was her best friend.

What could possibly go wrong?


---

Later that night, lying in bed with Julian’s arm thrown over her waist like a lazy anchor, Seraphina stared at the ceiling and whispered, “You still love me, right?”

Julian didn’t move. “Of course.”

“No hesitation?”

He chuckled, half-asleep. “You’re just having wedding nerves, babe. It’s normal.”

She wanted to ask about the texts. About the long nights at the office. About why he kept turning away from her in bed.

Instead, she closed her eyes.

And dreamed of waves crashing and silk burning.

Seraphina Vale

The fires of Ravenhold had grown weary, flickering like dying stars beneath a bruised sky. Ash rained from the heavens as though the gods themselves mourned the severance no spell could undo.

Seraphina stood at the edge of the citadel balcony, the wind tugging strands of her hair loose as it howled past the stone spires. Below, the training grounds beat with the sound of iron and sweat—soldiers moving in synchronized drills, as if order could delay the inevitable chaos. But none of it reached her. Not really.

She pressed a trembling hand to her chest, fingers splayed over skin where the mark had once burned like a second heart. Nothing. No flicker. No warmth. No tether.

He had done it. He had truly done it.

Her breath caught. Then stilled. Then collapsed into something far uglier than sorrow.

She turned away from the view, stepping back into the cold war chamber, where maps still littered the grand obsidian table. Red ink marked supply routes and siege formations. Blue crystal pins sparkled where defensive wards had been placed.

Her fingers swept across the table, scattering pieces. One of the crystal pins snapped under her palm with a sharp crack, slicing her skin. She stared at the blood. Bright. Real.

Earlier – Valen's POV

The forest beyond the forgotten chapel had grown darker since nightfall. Valen walked it like a man buried in shadow. Each step stirred fallen leaves long untouched, stirring up a silence older than war.

Without the bond, the world felt... shallow. Distant.

No more flickers of her laughter. No pull in his ribs when she was near. No angry sparks in his mind at midnight when she dreamt of fire.

Just him. And the echoes of his choice.

He hadn't expected it to cost this much.

He approached a standing stone ring—remnants of the first magic, their surfaces etched with time-eaten runes. At its center, a hollow shimmered in the ground like a wound.

Valen stepped into the circle. "Something worse."

Ravenhold – Mira's POV

Mira found Seraphina seated on the stone bench in the war garden, her back straight, her hands clasped, her gaze pinned to the moon like it had insulted her.

"I thought I'd find you here," Mira said, not unkindly.

Mira sat beside her, leaving space between them. "Is it really gone?"

Seraphina nodded. Her voice was a whisper wrapped in iron. "He took it with him. And I didn't even fight him for it."

Mira hesitated. "Would you have won?"

"No." Seraphina smiled without warmth. "But I would've made him bleed."

"This changes things," Seraphina said. "I thought I was fighting for him. For us. But he walked away."

"I burn the world down," Seraphina said, eyes lit with terrible purpose. "And build something he'll never recognize."

Far Away – Valen's POV

Valen stood beneath a blood-red sky, facing a gate of bone and rust. Beyond it lay the Vale of Ancients—a place whispered of in the oldest tongues.

He had not come to pray. He had come to unleash.

From the mist emerged a being shaped like man and moonlight. Its voice boomed like ancient bells.

Valen opened his palm. Blood still wet from the severing ritual dripped onto the ground.

"For power enough to end a war—and love enough to forget her."

Shattered Bond, Burning Path