The storm howled outside the citadel walls, snow and ash swirling beneath a twilight sky. In the throne room of the Frostspire Fortress, shadows danced against the cold iron walls, cast by the flickering blue flames of the braziers.
At the center of it all sat Shade—the lost daughter, the ghost queen.
Her face was half-hidden beneath a silver mask, but her eyes gleamed like sharpened ice—sharp, calculating, and merciless. Around her, generals of the Broken Order knelt in silence, awaiting her command.
A courier burst through the doors, panting, frost clinging to his beard.
"Your Majesty," he gasped, kneeling. "We have received word. The Southern Archive has fallen. Voss is captured… or dead. The Veyne line has returned."
A murmur swept the room. Shade rose slowly, her dark cloak whispering behind her like liquid shadow.
"Cassia lives," she murmured, more to herself than anyone else. "And Isabella… she awakens."
A strange smile curled her lips.
"My sister."
The generals exchanged uneasy glances.
"My Queen," one of them spoke carefully, "should we prepare for an assault? The Veyne heir will come for you. You must—"
Shade silenced him with a raised hand.
"She will come. Yes." She removed her mask, revealing the scar along her temple—the mark of Voss's control implants. "But not to kill me. Not at first. She will want the truth."
She stepped down from the throne, her bare feet silent on the cold stone. "And I… want to see her eyes when she learns what our beloved mother gave away to save her perfect child."
Her gaze darkened.
"I have waited my whole life for this meeting. I will wait no longer."
The snowstorm outside thickened, but inside the citadel, the fire of war kindled anew.
"Prepare the armies," Shade ordered. "The war of kings and monsters has begun."
And far to the south, in the crumbling ruins of Voss's fortress, Isabella felt the chill of distant danger crawling up her spine.