Velmora did not forgive weakness.
The city breathed magic the way other cities breathed air — thick, intoxicating, and dangerous. Spells floated in the mist above the canals. Enchanted lanterns flickered in colors that betrayed lies. Beneath it all, the undercity pulsed like a living thing.
And at its heart ruled Ari Vale.
She wore black like a promise. Tailored coats, silver rings, boots that echoed across marble floors as if the world itself announced her presence. Her magic — shadowbinding — was rare and feared. It didn't glow or sparkle.
It devoured.
When she took the Raven Crown after her father's assassination, the Syndicate captains expected her to falter.
Instead, she executed two traitors before dawn.
No one questioned her authority again.
But power was cold company.
At night, alone in her chambers, Ari sometimes let the shadows drift over her skin like a second heartbeat.
They listened to her, they obeyed, they did not love her and at its heart ruled Ari Vale.
She wore black like a promise. Tailored coats, silver rings, boots that echoed across marble floors as if the world itself announced her presence. Her magic — shadowbinding — was rare and feared. It didn't glow or sparkle.
It devoured. When she took the Raven Crown after her father's assassination, the Syndicate captains expected her to falter. Instead, she executed two traitors before dawn.No one questioned her authority again but power was cold company. At night, alone in her chambers, Ari sometimes let the shadows drift over her skin like a second heartbeat.
They listened to her, they obeyed ,they did not love her.