The hours leading toward dawn in the Blackfang Stronghold were not characterized by the peaceful slumber of a kingdom at rest. Instead, the halls felt stretched thin, vibrating with the silent, rhythmic pulse of dark magic. In the deep dungeons, the silver blood of a rival Alpha continued to hum against the stone, while in the royal solar, the Architect of
Lies was weaving the final threads of her masterpiece.
Sienna stood before a grand basin of obsidian water, her fingers trailing through the liquid. She was tired of the slow game. Lucien's outburst in the bedroom—the whispered "Sun Queen" that had reached her ears through the hidden eavesdropping stones—had signaled a dangerous crack in the foundation. The amnesia was failing. The soul was fighting back.
She needed to move faster. She needed to turn Lucien's confusion into a permanent, iron-clad hatred.
