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The morning they left, the Moon Vale was quiet.
Hazel stood near the archway, a fur-lined cloak draped over her shoulders, silver hair falling like mist down her back. The air around her felt different — calm, yes, but too calm, like a lake holding its breath before a storm.
Hades noticed it immediately.
He'd been watching her since dawn — her stillness, the way her gaze seemed to drift beyond the world in front of her. He wanted to ask what she was thinking, but the words stuck in his throat. There was a softness to her silence that terrified him.
Lycan approached first, his usual arrogance tempered by exhaustion. "The carriages are ready," he said quietly. His amber eyes flicked toward Hazel — and something in that look made Hades' jaw tighten.
"Good," Hades replied, voice sharp enough to cut through the stillness. "We leave immediately."
Ares was leaning against a pillar nearby, arms crossed. "You'd think we were going to a coronation, not to pick through the remains of the Rune Coven."
Hazel's lips twitched. "It's better to look like hope," she murmured. "Even when all that's left is ruin."
That silenced everyone for a moment. Even Ares didn't have a comeback.
As they moved toward the carriages, Hades' hand brushed hers — accidentally, perhaps, but neither pulled away.
The road ahead wound through valleys of gray forests, cloaked in a cold mist that made the world look like a painting drained of color. For hours, the only sounds were the steady rhythm of hooves and the faint creak of the wheels.
Inside the carriage, the air was thick with unspoken things. Hazel sat by the window, her eyes fixed on the blurring trees. Lycan sat across from her, his gaze distant. Hades, at first, sat beside Ares — but after what felt like eternity, he moved.
He squeezed himself between Hazel and Lycan, the motion stiff and deliberate.
Ares exhaled, half a laugh, half disbelief. "Subtle as ever," he muttered.
Lycan's smirk said the rest.
Hazel didn't comment, but the faint curve of her lips betrayed her amusement.
Hades didn't care. He just needed to feel her near him — to remind himself she was still the same woman who once looked at him like he was her home.
He stole a glance at her profile. Her skin was pale, almost glowing in the dim light, and her eyes… softer than before, yet unfocused, as if they were seeing something he couldn't.
"What are you thinking about?" he asked, finally.
She hesitated. "I'm… scared," she said, her voice barely a whisper.
He reached for her hand — slowly, like she was something sacred. "Of what? The Rune Coven? The storm?"
Her lashes fluttered, and for a second, the truth trembled in her throat.
No, she wanted to say. Of me. Of what's inside me.
But she smiled instead — a small, sad thing. "Something like that."
He nodded, misreading her silence as worry. His thumb brushed her jaw, a touch so gentle it felt like a promise. "You're not alone, Hazel. You'll never be."
Lycan groaned. "Gods, spare us."
That broke the heaviness for a moment. Even Hazel laughed, soft and quiet.
"Who would've thought," Lycan continued, leaning back with mock ease, "the mighty Hades, ruler of the underworld, reduced to a lovestruck fool?"
Ares chuckled. "Love bleeds through armor, it seems."
Hades didn't respond — he only smiled faintly, the corners of his mouth twitching.
Hazel squeezed his hand, grounding him. "I think I like him this way," she said softly.
The laughter that followed was easy, human — the kind that belonged to a life they never had.
But beneath that fleeting warmth, the world was shifting. Hazel could feel it in her bones — the pull of something ancient, dark, and alive. Every mile they traveled toward the Rune Coven made her chest feel tighter. The air grew colder, heavier, the magic denser.
By the time the first white peaks appeared on the horizon, night had fallen.
The Rune Coven looked like something out of a dream — or a memory. The snow glowed faintly under the moonlight, silver and cold, and the spires of the coven shimmered like glass. But as the carriage rolled closer, the illusion fractured.
The storm had ravaged everything. The once-gleaming structures were cracked, their protective wards flickering like dying embers. The snow was no longer pure — streaks of black ash and blood marred its surface.
Alyssa waited at the gate.
Even exhausted, she was breathtaking — her jet black hair braided with starlight, her gown the color of frost. But her eyes were tired, rimmed with sleeplessness.
"Hades," she greeted, her voice warm but thin. "You made it."
"We came as soon as we could," he said, bowing his head slightly. "I heard about the losses. I'm sorry."
Her smile wavered. "We're still counting."
Hazel stepped forward, her own exhaustion hidden behind grace. She embraced Alyssa — a gentle, human gesture in a world that rarely allowed softness.
"I'm so sorry," Hazel whispered. "You lost people, didn't you?"
Alyssa nodded against her shoulder. "Too many."
As they entered the Rune Coven, the devastation grew clearer. The air smelled faintly of burnt sage and sorrow. White-robed healers moved among the wounded, whispering incantations. The snow beneath their feet was gray, hardened by blood and magic.
Hazel's heart ached. There was beauty here — even in ruin — but it was a fragile, grieving beauty.
Ares muttered something about reinforcement wards, and Hades began asking questions about the storm's epicenter. But Hazel's focus drifted.
Something felt… wrong.
A pull — faint but unmistakable — drew her toward the left, where a dense grove of frost-covered trees loomed. It wasn't part of the main compound; it looked untouched, silent.
Her steps slowed. Her pulse quickened.
"Hades," she murmured, eyes narrowing at the trees. "Do you feel that?"
He turned, frowning. "Feel what?"
She stared harder. The air there moved differently — like the snowflakes avoided something unseen. "It's nothing," she said after a pause, shaking her head. "Never mind."
He studied her, unconvinced, but didn't press.
They moved on.
But Hazel's eyes lingered a moment longer — on the shadows between the trees, on the faint ripple in the air.
And in that darkness, unseen by her, someone watched back.
Velia.
Her eyes gleamed like poisoned emeralds, lips curling into a smile that was all venom. The rogue demons around her remained silent, cloaked by her magic.
"There she is," Velia whispered. "The phoenix reborn."
She tilted her head, her voice laced with mock affection. "They're finally here."
The snow swallowed her words whole.
And above, the moon seemed to dim — as if it, too, feared what was coming.