The Devil’s Hand Begins to Play.
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The moment the Vorns finished viewing the obsidian-orb vision, reality twisted somewhere far, far away.
Valthrix slipped into a pocket realm made of ash and mirrors — her private workshop of treachery.
No one knew this place existed.
No one but her.
She stretched lazily, rolling her shoulders as though shedding the weight of morality itself.
Valthrix (purring):
“Well. They saw exactly what I wanted them to see.”
She waved her quill in the air — and scenes flickered into the mirrors:
Sereth touching her stomach, eyes glowing with new life.
Elyra dancing barefoot under the lanterns.
Elaris whispering over the orb.
Azhareth watching the wedding from the shadows.
Vaelith’s veins pulsing crimson.
Silvenna sharpening mirrored blades.
Every image blurred as though soaked in liquid night.
Valthrix snorted softly.
Valthrix:
“Everyone thinks the war is between shepherds, queens, dragons and hearts…
But the true game has only just begun.”
A soft crack split the air behind her.
A figure stepped out of the shadows — cloaked neck to toe, face unseen, presence crystalline but alive.
Not Elyra.
Not human.
Not manifested.
A shape of pure resonance.
Voice-soft-as-glass:
“You summoned me.”
Valthrix didn’t turn at first — she smiled at the mirror instead.
Valthrix:
“I did, my dear. And you’re right on time.”
The cloaked figure approached with a strange, weightless grace.
Voice:
“The Queen stirs. The corruption coils.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
The Dice grow stronger.
The unborn child carries new resonance.”
Valthrix’s eyes gleamed — delighted.
Valthrix:
“Yes. All of it exactly as predicted.”
The figure tilted its head, curious but unreadable.
Voice:
“And Azhareth?
He senses change. He senses danger.”
Valthrix flicked her wrist dismissively.
Valthrix:
“Azhareth senses whatever his heart tells him to.
And his heart has always been a liability.”
The cloaked figure paused.
Voice:
“What do you need of me now?”
Valthrix stepped close — almost tender, brushing a hand over the unseen cheek as if comforting a child carved of moonlight.
Valthrix (soft, dangerous):
“Only this:
Watch.
Learn.
Absorb.
And wait for the moment the heart retreats.”
The figure nodded slowly.
Voice:
“…I understand.”
Valthrix’s smile sharpened.
Valthrix:
“Good. Soon you’ll have everything you were designed for.”
The shadows swallowed the cloaked figure in a soft ripple.
And only once it was gone did Valthrix whisper — too quietly for anyone but the void to hear:
Valthrix:
“And then the real end begins.”
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Inside the Crimson Spire, the atmosphere had changed.
The warmth that had flickered in Vaelith during her weakened state was gone.
The air was thick.
Hot.
Suffocating.
She was the Crimson Queen again.
Fully.
Silvenna stood before a long mirror table, tapping a shard rhythmically as she mulled over her fury.
Varsha entered behind her, vines crawling lazily across her arms like restless serpents.
Varsha:
“Silvenna. You feel it too?”
Silvenna didn’t turn.
Silvenna:
“The Ranger’s child.
The Shepherd’s peace.
The little hawk’s new strength.”
Her eyes narrowed — glass-hard, cruel.
Silvenna:
“And the Queen… returns.”
Varsha smirked.
Varsha:
“Good. I’ve longed for a hunt.”
Together, they walked toward the throne chamber.
The doors opened like the maw of a beast.
Inside — Vaelith.
Eyes glowing crimson, veins pulsing, celestial energy burning through her like a living star.
She watched them approach with an expression halfway between exhaustion and hunger.
Vaelith (voice layered with corruption):
“Well?”
Silvenna bowed deeply.
Silvenna:
“My Queen. The Shepherd married his ranger yesterday.
And she carries his child.”
The chamber shook — a pulse of raw, corrupted celestial power.
Vaelith’s fingers tightened around the throne.
Vaelith (venom-soft):
“He thinks happiness protects him.”
Varsha stepped forward, bowing her head.
Varsha:
“Let us go to him.
Let us punish him for his arrogance.”
Silvenna:
“And clip the little hawk’s wings once more.”
Vaelith’s irises flared like twin suns.
Vaelith:
“Yes.
Go.
Weaken them.
Break them.
Remind them what it means to defy a queen.”
Silvenna bowed.
Varsha bowed.
Neither noticed Azhareth standing in the shadows — eyes burning, jaw tight, claws half-drawn.
Neither noticed his heart fracture.
Neither noticed the slightest tremble in Vaelith’s hands — the tiniest echo of humanity still buried deep.
The hearts left the throne room.
And Vaelith leaned back slowly, eyes closing.
Vaelith (barely audible):
“…Elaris…”
Azhareth heard it.
And his wings curled tightly around him.
