Chapter 177

Nyra smiled at her uncle.

It was not a kind smile. It was not a warm smile. It was the smile of a predator who had finally cornered its prey, the smile of a woman who had waited years for this moment, who had suffered and bled and lost everything, and who was now standing face to face with the man responsible for it all.

“Hello, Uncle,” she said. “It’s been a long time. How are you doing?”

Varek looked at her, her silver hair, the moonlight eyes, the power that radiated from her like heat from a fire. He had not seen her since the showcase, since the night she had vanished in a blaze of silver light. She had been a girl then—frightened, desperate, weak. Now she was something else entirely.

She was a queen.

“Niece,” he said, his voice smooth despite the fear underneath. “What a pleasure it is to see you again. I’ve missed you so much.”

Nyra’s smile didn’t waver. “Is that so? The last time I checked, you wished me dead.”

Varek laughed—a cold, hollow sound. “Well, seeing as you’re still standing, I guess it didn’t work out.”

“No. It didn’t.” Nyra stepped closer. “You tried to kill me. You tried to kill my brother. You tried to kill everyone I love. And now—now you’re going to pay for it.”

She raised her hand.

The silver light flared around her fingers bright and terrible and beautiful. Varek felt himself lift off the ground, his feet dangling in the air, his hands flying to his throat. He was choking—gasping for breath, his eyes bulging, his face turning red.

Nyra watched him struggle. She felt a flicker of satisfaction a dark, primal part of her that wanted to see him suffer, that wanted to make him pay for every tear she had shed, every night she had spent crying, every moment of pain he had caused.

But then she remembered Soren.

Soren, who had sacrificed his life for her. Soren, who had loved her enough to die. Soren, who had believed in mercy even when mercy seemed impossible.

This isn’t who I am, she thought. This isn’t who I want to be.

She released him.

Varek fell to the ground, gasping, coughing, his body trembling. He looked up at her—and for the first time, he saw something other than hate in her eyes.

He saw pity.

“Killing you like that would be merciful,” Nyra said quietly. “And you don’t deserve mercy.”

She signaled to the guards. They stepped forward and hauled Varek to his feet, their hands rough on his arms.

“Take him away,” Nyra said. “And search everywhere he’s been staying. I want every document, every letter, every piece of evidence you can find. The abdication papers are somewhere—I want them found.”

The guards nodded and dragged Varek away.

“It’s not over!” Varek shouted as they pulled him toward the wagon. “You think you’ve won? You think this is the end? I’ll come back! I’ll take back what’s mine! I deserve the throne! I DESERVE—”

His voice faded as they threw him into the wagon and slammed the doors shut.

Nyra stood there for a long moment, her heart pounding, her hands trembling. The silver light had faded from her fingers, but the power was still there—humming beneath her skin, waiting, watching.

I could have killed him, she thought. I wanted to kill him. But I didn’t.

Because you’re better than him, Luna said quietly. Because you’re not a monster.

I’m not so sure.

I am.

Corvin appeared beside her and touched her hand. She looked at him, the understanding in his whiskey-dark eyes, at the silent support he offered without words.

She nodded.

A silent understanding passed between them.

They had both lost so much. They had both suffered. They had both fought. But they were still here, still standing, still breathing, still alive.

And that was enough.

The search of Varek’s hiding places yielded everything they needed.

The abdication papers were found in a locked chest beneath the floorboards of an abandoned farmhouse—signed and sealed, ready to be presented to the realm. There were letters from Morgath, detailing the poison she had brewed and the plans she had made. There were maps of the palace, marked with guard rotations and escape routes. There was even a list of names—people who had helped Varek, people who had been bought or blackmailed or threatened into serving him.

Evidence. So much evidence.

Evidence that would condemn him beyond any doubt.

Evidence that would ensure he never saw the light of day again.

Nyra gathered it all and placed it in a leather satchel. Then she mounted her horse and began the long ride back to the palace.

The journey took two days.

They rode through forests and across rivers, through villages and outposts. The countryside was still recovering from the months of darkness—the crops were small, the livestock thin, the people wary. But there was hope in their eyes now. Hope that the nightmare was finally over. Hope that the realm would heal.

When they finally reached the palace, they found the road lined with people.

Thousands of them—servants, commoners, nobles, soldiers. They had heard the news. They had come to see the traitor brought to justice. They shouted and cheered as Nyra and the others rode past. They threw flowers and waved banners. They chanted Nyra’s name—the Daughter of the Moon, the rightful heir, the savior of the realm.

But when Varek’s wagon appeared, the cheering turned to jeers.

“Traitor!”

“Murderer!”

“Kill him!”

“Death to the usurper!”

The crowd surged forward, throwing stones and rotten vegetables, screaming insults and curses. The guards struggled to hold them back, forming a protective circle around the wagon. Varek crouched inside, his hands over his head, his face pale with fear.

Nyra watched him—the man who had caused so much pain, the man who had destroyed her family, the man who had tried to destroy her. And she felt nothing. No anger. No hatred. Just… emptiness.

He’s not worth my emotions, she thought. He’s not worth anything.

They brought him to the palace and threw him into a cell deep in the dungeons—the same cell where he had been held before his escape. This time, there would be no escape. This time, there would be no mercy.

The King was waiting for them in the throne room.

He sat on his throne, his crimson robes flowing around him, his face a mask of cold fury. Beside him sat the Queen her hands clasped tightly in her lap, her expression one of barely controlled rage. She wanted to kill Varek. She wanted to make him suffer. She wanted to watch him die.

But she waited. She sat. She held herself back.

Because justice would come. Justice would be served. And when it was, it would be swift and terrible.

“You found the papers,” the King said.

“We did.” Nyra stepped forward and handed him the satchel. “Everything is there. The abdication papers, the letters, the maps, the list of conspirators. Enough evidence to condemn him a hundred times over.”

The King opened the satchel and examined the contents. His jaw tightened.

“This is more than enough,” he said. “Varek Astrlyn will be judged on the next full moon—three days from now. He will be tried in front of the entire realm. And he will be executed.”

The Queen made a sound—a soft, strangled sob. The King reached over and took her hand.

“Justice, my love,” he said quietly. “We will have justice.”

The Queen nodded, but her eyes were still filled with pain.

The King turned to Nyra and the others.

“You have served the Crown well. All of you.” His voice was warm. “You have risked your lives, sacrificed your safety, and fought with courage and honor. I will not forget it. On the day of the full moon, after Varek’s execution, I will reward you all. Lands. Titles. Whatever you wish.”

Nyra bowed. “Thank you, Your Majesty. But we didn’t do this for rewards.”

“I know. That’s why you deserve them.”

After the meeting, they gathered in a small chamber near the throne room.

The fire crackled in the hearth. Candles flickered on the walls. They sat together—Nyra, Corvin, Ragnar, Roderic, Marek, Maureen. Six survivors. Six friends. Six people who had been through hell and come out the other side.

“Do you remember the first day we met?” Maureen asked, a wistful smile on her face. “At the academy? I thought Jasper was the most arrogant person I had ever met.”

“He was,” Marek said. “He still is.”

“But I liked him anyway.”

“We all did.”

They talked for hours—about the academy, about the training, about the friends they had made and the enemies they had defeated. They talked about Soren. They talked about Nyra’s return. They talked about the future.

And for a little while, the weight of everything they had been through seemed to lift.

“I can’t believe it’s over,” Corvin said quietly. “After everything—after all the fighting and the running and the loss, it’s finally over.”

“It’s not over,” Nyra said. “Not completely. We still have to bring Soren back.”

Corvin looked at her. “Do you really believe that’s possible?”

“I have to believe it. If I don’t—” She paused. “If I don’t believe it, then what was the point of all this? What was the point of fighting? Of surviving? Of coming back?”

“The point was to save the realm,” Ragnar said. “To stop Varek. To protect the people we love.”

“And we did that. But it’s not enough.” Nyra’s voice was firm. “Soren sacrificed everything for me. For us. I won’t let his sacrifice be in vain. I will find a way to bring him back. Whatever it takes.”

The room was silent.

Then Corvin nodded. “Then we’ll help you. Whatever it takes.”

Ragnar nodded. Roderic nodded. Marek and Maureen nodded.

“Whatever it takes,” they said in unison.

That night, Nyra couldn’t sleep.

She lay in her bed, staring at the ceiling, her mind racing. She thought about Varek—about his execution, three days away. She thought about the realm, about the healing that was beginning. She thought about her friends about their loyalty, their courage, their love.

And she thought about Soren.

She thought about the way he had held her. The way he had kissed her. The way he had looked at her like she was the most precious thing in the world. She thought about the sacrifice he had made—the life he had given so that she could live.

I will find you, she thought. I will bring you back.

She rose from her bed and walked through the quiet corridors of the palace. Her footsteps were silent on the cold stone. The guards nodded to her as she passed. The servants bowed.

She found herself at the door to Soren’s room.

She paused. Her hand hovered over the handle. Then she pushed it open.

The room was dark, lit only by a single candle. But Nyra could see the figure sitting on the bedthe Queen, her silver-streaked hair loose around her shoulders, her face pale with grief.

She was holding something—a piece of cloth, the same pageantry coat that Soren had worn on the night of the showcase. And in front of her, on the bed, were four sealed letters.

“Your Majesty,” Nyra said softly.

Seraphina looked up. Her eyes were red from crying. “Nyra. I didn’t hear you come in.”

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“Neither could I.”

Nyra crossed the room and sat beside the Queen. She looked at the letters—at the names written on them in Soren’s neat handwriting. To Father. To Mother. To Freya. To Nyra.

“He wrote these before the sacrifice,” Seraphina said. “I found them in his room. I’ve only read mine.”

Nyra reached for the letter with her name on it. Her hand trembled.

“Should I—”

“Yes.” Seraphina nodded. “He wrote it for you. You should read it.”

Nyra opened the letter.

My dearest Nyra,

If you’re reading this, it means I’m gone. I don’t know how to say goodbye—I never learned how. But I need you to know something: you were the best thing that ever happened to me.

I was a coward. I was afraid to tell you the truth about Selene. I was afraid to tell you how I felt. I was afraid of losing you. And because of that fear, I hurt you. I hurt you more than I ever wanted to. I’m sorry for that. I’m sorry for every tear you cried, every night you spent alone, every moment of pain I caused.

I love you. I’ve loved you since the moment you fell into my arms in that corridor. I loved you when you were pretending to be someone else. I loved you when you were sick and scared and crying. I loved you when you were strong and fierce and fighting. I loved you always.

I’m giving my life for yours. Not because I’m noble. Not because I’m brave. But because I can’t imagine a world without you in it. I can’t imagine a future where you don’t exist. You deserve to live, Nyra. You deserve to be happy. You deserve everything.

So live. Live for me. Live for us. And remember—even in death, I will love you. Always.

Yours,

Soren

The tears were streaming down Nyra’s face by the time she finished. She clutched the letter to her chest, her body shaking with sobs.

“He loved you so much,” Seraphina whispered. “More than anything.”

“I know.” Nyra’s voice broke. “I know.”

They sat together in the darkness—two women who had loved the same man, who had lost him in different ways, who were bound together by their grief.

“I blamed myself,” Seraphina said quietly. “For so long. I thought it was my fault—that I hadn’t protected him, that I hadn’t been a good mother. But then I read his letter. And I realized, he didn’t blame me. He never blamed me.”

“What did he say?”

Seraphina looked at the letter in her lap—at the words her son had written for her.

“He told me he loved me. He told me he was sorry for the pain he had caused. He told me to take care of Freya. And he told me—” She paused. “He told me to take care of you.”

Nyra looked at her.

“He wrote to you?” “He asked me to look after you. To protect you. To be there for you when he couldn’t.” Seraphina smiled through her tears. “He loved you so much, Nyra. You were his world.”

“I would give anything to have him back. Anything.”

“I know.” Seraphina took her hand. “I know.”

They sat in silence for a long moment. The candle flickered. The moon shone through the window—full and bright, a silver eye watching over them.

“Three days,” Seraphina said finally. “Three days until Varek’s execution.”

“Three days.”

“And then?”

Nyra was silent for a moment. Then she spoke.

“I’m going to find a way to bring Soren back. I don’t know how. I don’t know when. But I will. I promised him I would.”

Seraphina looked at her,

the determination in her silver eyes, at the strength in her voice.

“If anyone can do it,” she said, “it’s you.”

Nyra nodded. She squeezed the Queen’s hand.

“Thank you,” she said. “For everything.”

“Thank you, Nyra. For loving my son.”