The canyon was quiet now, but Elira's chest still burned. The crown hovered faintly above her, its glow pulsing like a heartbeat. Every time she closed her eyes, the vision returned—Marlic reaching, Kael turning away, betrayal tangled with mercy.
She pressed her hand to her wrist, the mark blazing faintly. "Why do you keep showing me this?" she whispered. "What am I supposed to believe?"
The crown pulsed once, heavy with silence. No answer. Only memory.
Kael stood nearby, sharpening his blade, his face shadowed. He hadn't asked what she saw. He hadn't pressed. But the silence between them was louder than any battle cry. Elira's gaze lingered on him, torn between trust and doubt. The crown whispered again: Shadows betray.
She turned away, fire flickering at her fingertips. "If you're testing me," she murmured to the crown, "then I will decide what burns."
Meanwhile…
Far across the canyon, smoke gathered in a ruined fortress. Marlic stood at its center, his form solidifying, ember eyes burning with fury. Around him, the Smokebound knelt, their whispers rising in unison.
"You faltered," one hissed.
Marlic's voice cut sharp. "No. I tested her. And she revealed her weakness."
He raised his hand, shadow coiling into a blade. "She doubts her shadow. She doubts the brother. That doubt will consume her."
The Smokebound rose, their forms thickening, stronger than before. Marlic's laughter echoed through the ruins. "We march again. Not as whispers. As war."
Smoke surged outward, spreading across the land. The army was no longer scattered—it was gathering, bound tighter to Marlic's will. The next clash would not be a duel. It would be a reckoning.