The lowest cell of the Silver Prison opened into a cathedral of torment.
Silver veins spidered across the vaulted ceiling, pulsing with slow, rhythmic poison. Torches burned cold blue along the walls, throwing a light that made every surface look wet with tears. In the center, raised upon a dais of black marble, sat the Usurper King.
Valen.
He could have been my father's twin, perhaps thirty years younger. He had the same high cheekbones, the same proud, cruel mouth, the same midnight hair swept back from a regal brow. He wore the royal colors—silver threaded through midnight blue—as if the eclipse itself had been tailored specifically for him. One leg was crossed idly over the other, a crystal goblet of red wine cradled in his long, pale fingers. He looked relaxed, amused, the way a well-fed cat looks at a cornered mouse.
Behind him, chained spread-eagle to the far wall, hung what was left of the true king.
My breath hitched in my throat, turning into a choked sob I barely suppressed.
He was a skeleton wrapped in parchment skin. Heavy silver manacles had eaten through his wrists and ankles until the white of the bone showed through the bloody ruin. Burns layered upon burns—some old and puckered, some fresh and weeping—mapped a history of agony across his chest. His hair, once a proud silver-black mane according to the legends, hung in matted, filthy ropes over a face I barely recognized from the photograph.
Only the eyes remained.
Storm-gray. Identical to Ryan's. Identical to mine. And in them lived a pain so vast it had gone quiet, settling into a dull, endless acceptance.
Valen lifted his goblet in a mocking salute. "Niece. You kept me waiting."
My claws lengthened without thought, sliding through the leather of my gloves. Ryan's hand clamped hard on my shoulder, holding me back by sheer force of will. Beside me, Kael's growl vibrated through the stone floor, a low roll of thunder.
Valen smiled—perfect, civilized, and terrible. "I confess, I lost a wager with myself. I gave you six months in the wilderness before the cold or the rogues took you. Imagine my delight when the years passed and you thrived."
He took a slow sip of wine, his gaze flicking over my black tactical gear, lingering on the blood still drying on my palm from the gate.
"A rejected Omega, raising a bastard pup in human filth, and yet here you stand," he mused. "Queen in all but crown. Exquisite."
I stepped forward, shaking off Ryan's hand. My voice was steady despite the inferno raging inside my chest. "Let him go."
Valen glanced back at the wall. "Elias? He is exactly where he belongs. A reminder to the kingdom that bloodlines end when I decide they end."
The chained king lifted his head. It took a monumental effort. His cracked lips moved, making a sound like wind rustling through dead leaves.
"Aria…"
That single word—my name, spoken by a father I had never known—broke me.
I started forward again, ready to tear Valen's throat out with my teeth, but he simply raised one finger.
The shadows birthed monsters. Twelve elite guards materialized from the gloom, clad in full silver plate, visors down. Their crossbows were raised, loaded with bolts that dripped liquid agony.
Ryan snarled, shifting mid-stride into the massive black wolf. Kael roared and charged, his broadsword singing free of its scabbard. Soren followed an instant later—silent, lethal, a shadow made flesh.
Steel met steel. The chamber exploded into chaotic motion.
Valen remained seated, untouched, swirling his wine as if watching a play.
My eyes never left my father. I darted through the chaos, ducking a swinging blade that aimed for my neck, sliding beneath a crossbow bolt that buried itself in the stone wall where my head had been a second before. Ryan's wolf tore the shooter apart an instant later, tossing the body aside like a rag doll.
I reached the dais.
I grabbed the silver chains. They burned even through my tactical gloves, searing my flesh down to the bone the moment I touched them. The smell of my own cooking meat filled my nose. I didn't care. The pain was nothing compared to the sight of his ruined body.
"Keys!" I shouted over the din of battle. "I need the keys!"
Valen stood up slowly. He lifted a small silver key on a chain around his neck and dangled it, just out of reach.
"Come and take it, niece."
Ryan's wolf bounded up the steps, jaws snapping for Valen's throat. A guard intercepted him, a heavy silver sword slashing across Ryan's flank. Blood sprayed, hot and bright, splattering across the marble floor.
"No!" I screamed.
The Voice rolled out of me—not a word this time, just raw command, pure royal fury made manifest.
The air rippled. Every guard in the room staggered, their armor creaking and visors cracking as an unseen force struck them like a physical blow. One dropped to his knees, vomiting blood inside his helm.
I seized the moment. I lunged and ripped the key from Valen's neck hard enough to tear his skin.
Valen didn't fight back. He only laughed, delighted, as I shoved him aside.
I spun back to the chains. My hands smoked and blackened as I forced the key into each lock. Silver bit deep into my fingers, but the manacles fell away with a hiss.
My father sagged forward. I caught him, his weight negligible, lighter than Leo. His bones ground against each other as I lowered him to the cold floor.
"I have you," I whispered, tears blurring my vision. "I have you, Papa."
Ryan shifted back to human form, bleeding from a dozen wounds, and helped me support the king's head.
Valen smoothed his tunic, wine forgotten. "You truly are magnificent," he said softly, watching us. "But you walked into my parlor far too easily, little fly."
My head snapped up. "How did you know we were coming?"
Valen smiled—slow, fond, and knowing. It was the way an uncle smiles at a favorite niece who has just lost a game she didn't know she was playing.
He lifted a small communication orb from his belt. It was matte black, its surface crawling with runes. A single red light pulsed at the center, steady as a heartbeat.
"Loyalty is a commodity, child," Valen said. "Even the most faithful dogs learn to heel when offered the right bone."
The words struck me harder than any silver arrow.
Damon.
Damon, who had been left behind with Leo. Damon, who had texted on a dead phone in the cabin. Damon, who had known every step of our route, every detail of the plan.
"I will keep him safe," he had promised.
Ryan's eyes met mine across the king's broken body. The same realization flashed between us—cold, sickening, and terrifying.
Our son was with the traitor.
Valen stepped backward toward a side door none of us had noticed in the shadows. "Enjoy the family reunion. It will be brief."
He slipped through the archway. The massive silver portcullis slammed down behind him with a sound like a tomb sealing shut.
Red runes flared to life across the ceiling, bathing us in the color of blood.
A low grinding began overhead—stone on stone. Then water—black, thick with silver particles—started pouring from vents high in the walls. It hit the floor and hissed, eating into the marble like acid.
The Purge Protocol.
The chamber would fill until nothing lived.
Ryan scooped my unconscious father into his arms. Kael and Soren fought their way back to us, dragging wounds that steamed in the poisoned air.
I stood frozen for one heartbeat, staring at the sealed door, at the rising water already lapping over my boots.
Damon.
The name tasted like ash and betrayal.
Then my father coughed—a wet, dying sound—and I snapped into motion.
"Move!" I roared, the Voice cracking through the chamber again, forcing the rushing water to slow for one precious second against the laws of physics. "Find the drain! Find anything! We are not dying here!"
But the water kept rising—hungry, patient, certain.
And somewhere far above, Valen walked free, smiling, already planning his next move against a mother who had just lost everything.