Ariaxa stumbled backward, breath tearing from her lungs, as the masked rebel lunged again. The dagger’s blade glinted under the Blood Moon’s glow pouring through the shattered lattice windows.
She reacted on instinct.
Riven’s training.
Kaedan’s commands.
Her own terror.
She twisted aside and kicked out, catching the rebel’s knee. He grunted and staggered.
Ariaxa’s pulse roared.
Her crest.
Her family’s crest.
On the glove of the man trying to kill her.
“Who are you?” she gasped.
The rebel didn’t answer.
Instead, he slammed the hilt of his dagger into her temple.
Pain exploded behind her eyes.
Her knees buckled.
She hit the marble hard — the impact knocking the breath from her body.
Her vision blurred, splitting into three bleeding images.
The world around her erupted.
Screams tore through the harem wing.
Silk curtains ripped from the walls as slaves scattered like frightened birds.
Mirel threw herself over two younger girls, shielding them with her own body, voice shaking:
“Don’t look — DON’T LOOK, stay down, stay down—!”
Tynia hurled a vase at a rebel’s head, shattering it with a sickening crack.
Another slave was dragged by her hair, shrieking.
A rebel smashed a sacred statue to the floor, kicking aside its shattered pieces as he searched for Ariaxa.
The room shook with footsteps, blades, screams.
And cutting through the chaos —
Riven’s roar.
“ARIAAAAXA!”
His voice thundered down the corridor like a storm-god’s wrath.
Ariaxa tried to answer — tried to scream — but another rebel shoved a cloth into her mouth and knelt on her back.
“Found her,” someone snarled. “Bind her, now!”
Rough hands grabbed her wrists, yanking them behind her. Rope bit into her skin, scorching her with panic.
“No— stop— let me—!”
Her muffled plea only made the rebels tighten the knots until tears sprang to her eyes.
She struggled, kicking, thrashing — but someone slammed a knee into her spine, pinning her to the cold stone.
She couldn’t breathe.
She couldn’t move.
She couldn’t even scream Riven’s name.
***
“Move,” one rebel hissed. “We don’t have long before the Emperor reaches this wing.”
Another spat in disgust. “He’s a monster. Let him come. We’ll gut him when he arrives.”
A third slapped the speaker hard enough to knock him sideways.
“Idiot. The Sun Princess must LIVE.”
Ariaxa’s blood chilled.
The rebel closest to her leaned down, voice low and reverent.
“Without her, the prophecy dies.”
Her stomach dropped.
Prophecy?
What prophecy?
What did they want from her?
Ariaxa thrashed harder, panic building — but they hoisted her like a sack, dragging her across the marble. Her shoulder slammed against a column, sending a spike of pain down her arm.
They dragged her toward the far wall — specifically, a decorative mosaic of Sun and Moon intertwined.
The leader pressed a palm against it.
Magic pulsed.
Stone shifted.
The wall slid open, revealing a hidden passage descending deep beneath the palace.
Ariaxa’s heartbeat stuttered.
“No,” she tried to scream through the gag. “NO—!”
But they didn’t hesitate.
They pulled her into the darkness.
The secret door slammed shut behind them.
***
The air in the tunnels was thick, old, metallic — like the lingering scent of old blood and forgotten rituals. Torches flickered, casting twisted shadows across dripping stone walls.
Ariaxa stumbled as they forced her down the sloping passage. Her feet scraped on uneven rock. Every drag pulled rope tighter around her wrists.
Behind her, she heard more rebels following, whispering urgently:
“She’s the last Sun heir.”
“She’ll unite the remnants.”
“She’ll raise the Solaren banners again.”
“She’ll bring Elyndor back from the ashes.”
Ariaxa’s head spun.
She twisted her neck enough to glare at the man leading her — the one who struck her first.
“I am not your symbol,” she choked through the gag.
He yanked her hard enough that her knees slammed the ground.
“You belong to the Sun,” he spat. “You belong to Elyndor.”
Footsteps thundered behind them — faint but growing.
Riven.
Kaedan.
Guards.
The rebels dragged her faster.
“Move!” someone hissed.
They turned sharply, descending deeper until the air grew hot. Another turn — then another — until Ariaxa felt dizzy with directionlessness.
Finally, they reached a cavern door carved with ancient glyphs.
Two rebels shoved it open.
Ariaxa was blinded by sudden light.
***
Heat washed over her.
Firelight danced across obsidian tiles.
A massive burning brazier roared in the center, flames reaching high, fed by scented oils and Sun-fire powder. Symbols painted in gold ringed the chamber floor — old, forbidden sigils of her bloodline.
Ariaxa’s breath caught.
This was no rebel hideout.
This was a Solar ritual chamber.
An Elyndor sanctum beneath Vharon itself.
Her knees weakened.
They had been here for years — hidden right under Kaedan’s palace.
The rebels shoved her inside.
She stumbled to her hands and knees, wrists bound, hair falling into her face, heat from the brazier scorching her cheeks.
The door slammed behind her.
Ariaxa lifted her head slowly, vision swimming.
And then—
A shape stepped forward from behind the brazier.
White silk.
Blood-red lips.
Eyes glowing with madness and triumph.
Seren.
Seren.
She walked toward Ariaxa with the grace of a serpent, her smile wide and terrible.
“Well,” she purred, stepping between the rebels like she owned them. “Isn’t this poetic?”
Ariaxa’s chest tightened.
“Seren,” she breathed, voice barely audible. “What have you done?”
Seren crouched in front of her, brushing Ariaxa’s hair behind her ear with chilling tenderness.
“Welcome,” she whispered, “to the beginning of the end.”