CHAPTER 14 Echoes Before the Storm

The soft murmur of sleep still clung to the nursery.

The curtains swayed gently, catching the glow of dusk. In the quiet warmth of the chamber, Evelyne slowly stirred, her arms instinctively wrapped around the two children nestled against her their breath slow and peaceful.

For a moment, everything was still.

And then the world turned.

The warmth around her seemed to slip away, and Evelyne found herself standing barefoot on cold stone. A vast corridor stretched out before her, cloaked in shadows. Her nightdress fluttered around her ankles, the only sound the distant hum of something ancient… watching.

A door appeared at the end of the hall.

Old. Wooden. Carved with strange, glowing runes.

She felt drawn to it drawn as if her very blood answered a call she didn't understand.

Her hand rose, and her fingers brushed the handle.

"When the moon's sorrow takes wing, a raven shall cry.And where it lands, a heart shall die."

The voice wasn't spoken aloud. It throbbed inside her skull.

But she turned the handle anyway.

The door creaked open.

Inside, a little girl wept beneath a crumbling tree. Evelyne recognized her herself, but much younger. Frail. Alone.

Beside her stood a cloaked figure wreathed in black mist. Blood pooled around its feet like ink. A raven perched upon its shoulder, its eyes glowing silver.

Suddenly the vision twisted, as if torn open.

Now she stood in a throne room the ruins of what once was. Her father's voice roared in fury, her mothers in grief. And through it all came the cry of a beast not of rage, but mourning.

From the shattered windows, a massive creature descended from the heavens.

Wings of ash. A body forged from night. A crown of bone atop its head.

Its voice echoed in her soul.

"The blood of the moon-binder shall birth the key to end or awaken the Luna Umbra."

Evelyne gasped and shot upright.

The room returned. The nursery was quiet once more. Syrin stirred but did not wake. Riven lay with his hand curled in hers.

Rinna looked up from folding a blanket nearby, her expression tightening in concern.

"Princess? Are you alright?"

Evelyne didn't speak. Her heart thundered. Her hands were trembling.

But deep inside her chest, something darker stirred—something old, familiar, and watching.

The Eastern Encampment

The night sky above the Eastern Empire burned with torchlight.

At the heart of the obsidian camp, Queen Seraphina reclined upon a throne of carved blackwood, her emerald robes draped around her like coiling smoke. Her hands rested gently on the swell of her belly.

Before her, a great war map lay across a stone table. Figurines representing the Northern and Western forces were set in neat rows, outnumbered and surrounded.

"We move in three weeks," Seraphina said.

Her brother, Kaelen, stood across from her adorned in radiant gold armor, newly polished. His long, dark hair was pulled back with precision, and his violet eyes gleamed with self-satisfaction as he fastened the last clasp across his chest.

He turned to the tent's mirror, admiring himself.

"Perhaps I should wear black to battle. Gold makes the blood harder to see."

Behind him, one of the soldiers rolled his eyes.

"Does he really need to dress like he's going to a coronation every battle?"

Another whispered, "He did kill his father for that throne, after all…"

Kaelen turned slightly. "I can hear you, you know."

The men froze.

Kaelen smiled coldly. "Please, do continue."

Seraphina rose from her throne, the faint jingling of her emerald rings punctuating the silence.

"You terrify them," she purred.

"I intend to," Kaelen replied. "We're not marching into politics. We're marching into history."

Seraphina walked toward the war map, where carved figurines marked their progress.

"The North still thinks they can shield the girl," she said. "That Vale Manor will protect her."

Kaelen scoffed. "Let them. By the time our army reaches them, she'll know what true fear is."

He stepped closer to the war map and placed a figurine shaped like a black crown beside the Vale marker.

"First, we take the manor. We kill the Thorn Princess. Then we awaken the Zepheral. And with it… we take the continent."

Seraphina's voice was smooth. "Don't underestimate her."

Kaelen frowned. "The girl?"

"She's not just a girl. She's a vessel. isn't it?"

As if summoned by the mention of him, a figure entered the tent, cloaked in gray and silence.

The masked man.

A raven shrieked as it flew down from the rafters, landing on his shoulder with unnatural grace.

Kaelen turned to him. "Well?"

The man spoke softly, his voice echoing unnaturally despite the still air.

"Vale has awakened. The Cryvolar are dead. Slain not by blade… but by will. The Thorn Princess has begun to bloom."

Seraphina's eyes narrowed. "She used it?"

"Yes. The power inside her stirred," the masked man confirmed. "But she does not know how… or why. Yet."

Kaelen waved a hand. "It doesn't matter. Let her awaken. Let her become what she was meant to. When she dies, the curse dies with her and the Zepheral becomes ours."

The masked man remained still. "Perhaps. Or perhaps you are playing with forces that do not forget betrayal."

Kaelen sneered. "If gods once walked this world, we will take their thrones."

Seraphina smiled darkly. "Let the girl run to Acheron Vale. Let her believe love or loyalty will save her. When we march, the world will kneel or burn."

The raven shrieked once more.

Far above the mountains, thunder rolled.

Sunlight spilled through the tall windows of the nursery, warm and golden. Dust danced in the beams, casting a soft glow over the chamber. The laughter of birds outside felt almost out of place too calm, too innocent for what Evelyne carried within her.

She stood beside the window, motionless, her gaze fixed on the distant snow-capped horizon.

Behind her, Rinna quietly folded the children's blankets and set them at the foot of the bed. Syrin and Riven had already gone down to breakfast with the Headmistress, unaware of the storm coiling in Evelyne's chest.

"Princess," Rinna said gently, noticing the look in her eyes.

"You're distant this morning."

Evelyne didn't speak right away. Her arms were crossed, her fingertips digging into the sleeves of her dress.

"I had a vision," she said at last.

"Or… perhaps it was more than that. A memory. A warning. A curse."

Rinna turned to face her. "A curse?"

Evelyne's throat tightened as she stepped away from the window and began to pace slowly across the room.

"I've been counting, Rinna. Every loss, every death… they've all happened exactly three weeks apart." Her voice shook, quiet but firm.

"Every time, it's someone close to me. Someone I love."

Rinna's expression shifted from confusion to alarm.

"Three weeks…" she echoed. "You mean it's no coincidence?"

"I don't think it ever was," Evelyne said.

"I think something old something ancient is marking time in blood. The curse doesn't just haunt me… it feeds. It takes."

Rinna stepped forward quickly. "Then we'll stop it. We'll find a way—"

"There's not enough time," Evelyne cut in, her voice soft but resolute.

"Another week and the cycle start again."

Her eyes glistened.

"I won't let it take anyone else, Rinna. Not the children. Not you. Not Acheron."

Rinna's voice trembled. "What do you mean?"

Evelyne inhaled slowly, then turned toward her fully.

"I'll offer myself to it."

Rinna went pale. "No—no, absolutely not—"

"I'll offer my blood," Evelyne clarified, her voice steady now. "Not my life. Just… enough to satisfy whatever force demands it. Maybe that's all it wants. An offering. A bargain."

Rinna shook her head, tears brimming. "You're highness…"

"I've already lost too much," Evelyne whispered. "If I can bleed in place of another if it stops the deaths, it's a price I'll gladly pay."

"But how do you even know it will work?" Rinna asked, her voice breaking.

"I don't," Evelyne admitted. "But I have to try."

Rinna stepped forward and grasped her hand tightly.

"Then I'll help you. Whatever happens, I'm with you. If you walk into darkness I'll Walk with you. I swore loyalty to the crown, but you... I follow you."

Evelyne gave her a faint smile, the kind that held more sorrow than joy. "You always did."

They stood there in the soft morning light, hand in hand. Beyond the window, the manor buzzed with quiet movement servants gathering supplies, soldiers tightening their patrols. The world prepared for war.

And in the heart of it, Evelyne prepared for sacrifice.

Somewhere beyond the sky, a shadow stirred. The curse had heard her vow. And it was listening.

Rain poured in sheets across the war-torn field, the scent of steel and mud thick in the air. Acheron and his company rode through the sodden trail, their cloaks heavy and dripping as they pressed eastward. They were nearing Viremoor, a contested stretch at the border between the South and the West an exposed throat waiting to be slit.

Thunder cracked overhead, as if the sky itself knew what stirred beneath.

"We received word the East is preparing to strike," Acheron muttered, voice low beneath the rhythm of hooves.

"There's something wrong," Dain said from beside him, glancing toward the horizon. His voice was uneasy.

"Too quiet. Too soon."

Acheron gave a small nod. "Call them."

Without hesitation, Dain dismounted and knelt in the wet earth. A pulse of silver-blue light erupted as he whispered in the tongue of the old spirits. From the mist, two massive wolves materialized Nyx, obsidian-dark with glowing sapphire eyes, and Varro, scarred and storm-gray with molten gold gaze.

Bound to Dain's soul, they were more than beasts they were immortal creatures of moon and mist, once thought untamable. Yet they answered only to him, and him alone.

Severin gave a low hiss as the wolves padded past.

"They still unsettle me," he muttered, one eye narrowing.

Dain smirked. "Afraid of puppies now, Severin?"

"They're not puppies," Severin grumbled. "They're death on four legs."

Dain chuckled and waved his hand. "Go," he whispered to his wolves.

"Bring us answers."

Nyx and Varro vanished into the treeline.

Acheron suddenly halted, his eyes narrowing. "No need to go further."

Severin straightened. "I can scout ahead if needed—"

"We're being watched," Acheron said flatly. "We don't need to chase shadows whose already here."

A soldier nearby frowned. "Then what are we waiting f—"

Thwip.

Acheron's dagger cut through the air, striking a hidden figure behind the brush. The Eastern scout collapsed with a dull thud, a blade buried cleanly in his throat.

Severin's voice was grim. "The East is playing with us."

A shrill growl broke through the rain.

Nyx stumbled from the trees, her frame trembling. She whimpered, then snarled low and guttural as if something inside her was breaking. Varro followed, unsteady and twitching, his breath ragged.

Dain rushed forward. "Nyx? Varro?"

Suddenly, the wolves lunged.

Nyx snapped at Dain's chest, her eyes glowing red, unrecognizing. Varro circled, growling, possessed by something dark and wrong. Dain raised his arms, blocking the attack again and again—receiving claw marks across his forearms and shoulders.

"Something's controlling them!" Severin shouted, ready to move.

"No," Acheron stopped him.

"They're bonded. Only Dain can reach them. If we interfere, we'll make it worse."

Dain, bloodied and panting, refused to raise his sword. "It's me. It's Dain. Remember me," he gasped, voice cracking with desperation. "Please."

Around them, the rain slowed as if the world, too, held its breath.

Then Severin flinched. "Something's coming."

The fog parted.

A mass of corrupted beasts charged from the trees, followed by Eastern soldiers bearing jagged spears and red banners. And standing atop a distant ridge Kaelen.

He raised a hand and pressed it against a pulsing; black crystal embedded in stone.

The moment his palm touched it, the Dominion of Echoes activated.

Acheron dropped to one knee, covering his ears as a thousand voices exploded in his skull laughter, screams, whispers.

Dain cried out, cradling his head as his wolves staggered backward.

Severin winced, a hand pressed to his temple.

The pain was not physical it was memory.

Memories they had buried. Memories meant to stay dead.

You let her die, a voice hissed in Severin's head. Your fault.

You failed your brothers, echoed another in Dain's mind. They bled for you.

Acheron gritted his teeth. You were meant to die in that fire, the voice inside him mocked. But she saved you. And you failed her.

Across the field, Northern soldiers dropped their weapons, some turning against each other in confusion, striking comrades as madness took hold.

Kaelen laughed from afar.

"They're breaking," he told his lieutenant.

"Look. They're destroying themselves."

"My lord," the lieutenant said nervously,

"they're in agony—yet they're still fighting. This is unnatural."

"They will die here," Kaelen said through gritted teeth.

"All of them."

Just as the words left his mouth, a spear whistled through the air and impaled the lieutenant, driving him into the stone beside Kaelen.

The Eastern commander collapsed, lifeless, the Northern crest stamped proudly on the shaft.

Kaelen turned sharply and locked eyes with Acheron, who now stood amid the chaos, bloodied but unwavering. His sword rested at his side. His stare burned across the field.

Kaelen staggered back in fear.

A blur of silver light flashed, and Severin appeared before him, teleporting like a serpent striking prey. His blade hovered at Kaelen's throat, though one of his eyes was shut tightly from pain.

"You tried to bury us with the past," Severin hissed, blade at Kaelen's throat. "But you forgot we are monsters made from it."

Kaelen trembled. Then tears spilled down his cheeks. Something Severin said shattered him.

Kaelen dropped to his knees.

Severin raised his blade to strike

and another spear came from Acheron, aimed for Kaelen's head.

But smoke burst around them.

A masked figure emerged from the shadows, yanked Kaelen backand in a blink, they vanished into the fog. The spear embedded in a tree. Severin's blade struck only wood.

The Dominion of Echoes darkened. Its magic flickered and died.

The corrupted beasts stumbled, free at last. The Eastern soldiers were easily overwhelmed.

With one final, elegant slash, Acheron finished the fight cutting down the last enemy without harming the innocent beasts that had been twisted by the stone.

Dain collapsed beside Nyx and Varro, both of whom now whimpered softly. They licked his wounds, the madness in their eyes finally gone. He wept quietly into their fur.

Acheron stood over the field, rain sliding down his face. He looked at his hand bloodied and shaking. A flash of memory struck him 

Lysandra's smile, warm and fleeting. Evelyne's laughter, as a child in the snow.

He closed his fist tightly.

"We move," he commanded, voice low and steady.

"Kaelen's lair is near. The roads are blocked. It'll take us a month to reach the North from here."

"Then we'll cut through them," Severin said, wiping his blade clean.

"Let's see if Kaelen still laughs when he bleeds."

Dain grinned weakly, bruised but alive. "At least the wolves remember who they belong to."

They mounted their horses once more, the storm at their backs.

As they rode off, Acheron glanced to the heavens then to the horizon, where Kaelen had vanished. His eyes narrowed.

That masked figure the one who helped Kaelen.

He would find him. Sooner than the East could prepare.