The shrine was still shaking.
Not from collapse.
From obedience.
The fake crown lay in pieces. The Sentinel burned out. Talraine sagged in my arms, her glyph pulsing soft in sync with mine. Her sacrifice still shimmered through the bond we just sealed.
But the system wasn't done.
Not even close.
The moment her aura steadied, something else surged beneath the floor—deeper than the shrine's roots. A ripple. No, a summons.
I felt them before I saw them.
Not arrivals.
Returns.
The air warped at the edge of the shrine. Fire came first—disciplined, cutting, impossibly sharp. Seraphine.
Then cold steel wrapped in velvet—Talraine's aura trembled just sensing it. Celestia.
Third was mourning. Thread-heavy. Root-deep. The Matron.
And last?
A scent that didn't belong in this world.
A memory that refused deletion.
MILF V.
They didn't walk in.
