The storm had passed.
Well… not exactly passed.
It was currently rotting in the imperial dungeon—shackled, starving, and being punished in alphabetical order by Lucien, the Empress, and Seraphina. Turn by turn. Shift by shift. With color-coded torture plans and scheduled snack breaks.
Somewhere deep underground, Caldric was probably weeping in a bowl of cold lentils right now. And honestly?
Good.
Because just as Lucien had promised—oh, sweet heavens, he delivered.
Standing before the charred ruins of the once "Holy Temple of Light," Lucien had dramatically removed his mourning cloak, raised one hand, and declared—loudly, proudly, and with fire in his veins—
"This was never a temple. It was a gilded cage built by liars and draped in incense. We will rebuild—not a shrine to fear, but a sanctuary of truth."
Then he turned, tossed a lit match over his shoulder — and walked away as the remaining cursed walls exploded behind him.
