Clava Pov
The war room burned with silence.
Maps sprawled across the obsidian table, marked with ink and ash. Scouts moved like ghosts through the corridors. Advisors whispered as if afraid the walls might listen.
And I—Queen of the South, bearer of the flame—stood at the center of it all with blood beneath my nails and fury in my chest.
Sora hadn't woken.
She trembled in her sleep, caught in fevered dreams only the Aether could understand. Fen stood watch at her bedside like a blade unsheathed, refusing rest.
And me?
I stared down at the map of the Cradle, marked now with a single black rune.
Loss.
Ryker was still gone. Hale, too. The strike team—silent. My wolves were waiting, but their fear crackled under their skin like lightning with no storm to loose it.
I couldn't give them comfort.
Only vengeance.
"Your Majesty," Kira said, entering, her voice low. "Word from the northern outpost. The dead are rising."
I stiffened. "Shadow beasts?"
She nodded. "Twice the number we've seen before. They move toward the Heartlands. Dorian's making his play."
I looked at the map again, hands clenched into fists. The prophecy Sora whispered haunted me like a curse:
Your rise. His fall.
But which his?
Ryker?
Dorian?
Or both?
"I need options," I said, turning to Kira. "Where do we hit them hardest?"
Kira hesitated. "If we strike the eastern supply lines, we cut off their momentum. But it's suicide without backup. We need Ryker."
I swallowed.
"We might not have him."
And the words tasted like ash.
But then—just as I turned away—the bond sparked.
Not softly. Not gently.
Violently.
Like lightning lancing through my soul. My knees nearly buckled.
He was alive.
Ryker.
But changed.
My chest heaved as I clutched the edge of the table, barely able to breathe.
"You felt it?" Kira asked.
I nodded. "He's coming back."
"With the others?"
"I don't know." My voice cracked. "But he's not the same."
The doors burst open.
Fen stood there, wide-eyed. "Sora's awake. She's… asking for you."
I ran.
No crown. No guards. Just me and the storm in my chest.
When I entered, Sora lay in a pool of shadowed light. Her eyes burned like coals, her voice threaded with something not human.
"The Cradle is open," she said. "He carries the mark. But so do you."
I froze.
"What do you mean?"
She turned her head—slowly, painfully—and whispered, "You'll have to choose, Clara. Before the eclipse. Him… or the flame."
My breath hitched.
"I don't understand."
"You will." A tear slipped down her cheek. "And when the time comes, you must not hesitate. One will save the kingdom. The other… will save you."
She reached out, grasping my hand with shocking strength.
"You can't have both."
And then—her eyes rolled back. She collapsed, unconscious once more.
I stood there, trembling, as the shadows gathered in the corners of the room.
The war had begun.
But the worst battle would not be fought with swords.
It would be fought inside me.
Because love was not enough.And destiny never came without a price.I gripped Sora's hand until my knuckles whitened, as if I could anchor her to this world through sheer will.
You can't have both.
The words echoed in my skull like a curse.
I rose slowly, each movement deliberate, every breath a struggle. My guards hovered near the door, uncertain whether to follow. I waved them off with a flick of my fingers.
I needed air.
I needed answers.
I stormed through the corridors of the citadel, ignoring the murmurs, the bows, the sidelong glances from nobles who had once doubted me—who now clung to my command like wolves to the scent of safety.
I found myself on the balcony of the highest spire, wind lashing at my hair and cloak, the sky above choked with clouds.
The Aether pulsed within me. A living force, wild and waiting.
Was that what Sora meant?
Had the Cradle marked me too?
A voice spoke behind me, quiet but firm. "He lives."
I turned sharply.
Kira.
Her sharp eyes missed nothing. "I felt the bond flare again. Brief, but strong. He's moving. Closer."
"Then we need to prepare."
Kira stepped closer, her voice gentler now. "Clara… when he returns, it won't just be as your mate. He'll be something more. Maybe something else."
I met her gaze, jaw tight. "And so will I."
We stared at each other for a long beat, two warriors standing on the edge of everything we knew.
Then she nodded once. "The council won't like it."
"Good," I said. "Let them tremble."
Because the woman who had cowered in chains was gone.
The omega who ran from her mate was gone.
I was fire now. Fueled by prophecy. Tempered by grief.
And when Ryker returned—gods help us all if I had to choose between him and the flame.
Because I already knew.
I would burn the world to keep him.Even if it meant watching it turn to ash around us.
Kira didn't flinch at my declaration. If anything, her gaze sharpened, not with judgment—but understanding. Perhaps even fear.
Not for herself.
But for what I was becoming.
"There's unrest in the East," she said after a moment, voice measured. "Rumors of the Shadowborn regrouping near the Obsidian scar. Scouts haven't returned."
Of course they hadn't.
I could feel the threads tightening again, pulling me toward the inevitable.
"They're moving faster than we thought," I muttered.
Kira nodded. "Because they feel it too. The Cradle's magic has awakened something ancient. It's not just a prophecy anymore—it's a reckoning."
My hands curled over the balcony rail. The iron was cold beneath my fingertips, grounding. "And Ryker's at the center of it."
"So are you."
I didn't reply. Because I knew it was true.
A flicker of movement below caught my eye—scouts riding hard through the gate. Their cloaks were shredded, spattered with blood and ash. One of them was barely upright, slumped in the saddle like a rag doll.
The wind shifted, and I caught the scent.
Shadow. Magic. Death.
"Kira," I said, stepping back from the edge, "summon the war council. No more delays. No more politics."
She tilted her head. "And Sora?"
My throat tightened. "Post a guardian at her chamber. She's not to be disturbed. Not until I figure out what's inside her… what the Cradle did to her."
"And if she wakes?" Kira asked.
My chest ached at the thought.
"If she wakes… send for me. No matter the hour."
I left the spire with my cloak trailing behind me like a banner of war, my footsteps echoing down the marble corridors. The citadel held its breath as I passed, guards straightening, nobles falling silent.
Let them watch.
Let them see what became of a girl who once knelt in chains.
The council chamber doors opened with a thunderous creak. Twelve figures sat at the long crescent table, their expressions wary as I entered.
No one stood.
No one bowed.
So I didn't wait.
"The Obsidian threat is real," I said, voice like flint. "And Ryker is coming back changed. We all are. Prepare your armies, fortify your borders, and pray."
A few exchanged uneasy glances. One cleared his throat. "And what of the prophecy, Your Grace? What if you are its spark and its doom?"
I smiled then—slow and sharp.
"I am both."
Silence followed.
Until Kira stepped forward behind me, a hand on her blade, eyes fierce with loyalty. "We follow the flame."
And so the war began, not with drums or banners, but with the whispered understanding that the fire had chosen its queen.
And she would not be merciful.