The page may not load correctly.
The Heartstone’s fragments swirled in the air around her, reforming, knitting back together. The God-Killer lay in two pieces on the floor. The hooded figure staggered back, clutching their chest, their hood falling away to reveal a face that was still human but barely—scars upon scars, eyes that had seen too much, a mouth that had forgotten how to smile.
They reached the pedestal as the first of the throne room’s guardians materialized—shapes of shadow and jagged metal, coalescing from the corners of the room. Sera spun and engaged them, her twin daggers flashing, buying seconds. Kaelen stood at her back, cutting down any that slipped past.
But in the cellar of a burned-out tannery on the edge of the capital city of Thornhaven, three people still whispered.
The throne was empty.
“Move,” the hooded figure said, and broke into a run.