Alera hadn't spoken since dawn.
She stood in the clearing where the Void Queen had appeared, the air still thick with magic that crackled just beneath the surface. The fire had burned down to blackened wood, but her fingers still felt its heat. Her bones were humming. Her child stirred inside her not with fear.
With expectation.
Saphine approached her from behind, her boots silent as shadows.
"You haven't eaten," she said.
"I'm not hungry."
"That's not the point."
"It never is," Alera replied flatly, still staring at the ground.
They had spent the morning moving camp farther from the Hollow Spine, hoping distance would put their soldiers at ease. But it hadn't.
The men whispered about the Void Queen.
About how Alera didn't deny her.
About how the blade she summoned from fire had not been of this world.
One soldier had already deserted. Another was found talking to his sword in the dark.
Saphine lowered her voice. "We need to show strength. You haven't addressed the troops since… that night."
Alera turned to her.
"I'm not their puppet anymore."
"No," Saphine replied quietly. "But if you let fear speak louder than you, they'll choose another voice."
Alera knew she was right.
But even the fire in her blood couldn't warm the growing cold inside her chest.
The child inside her knew things. It had begun to whisper not in words but in images.
She saw the throne cracking.
She saw Kael chained.
She saw a serpent made of stars slither through a battlefield of ash and bone.
And behind it… a woman with no face.
That night, a messenger arrived.
But not on horseback.
Not with a flag of truce.
He walked barefoot through the woods into their camp, hands raised, eyes glowing with silver runes that shimmered against his dark skin.
He wore a crown of salt and ash.
Lysandria's blade was at his throat before he could speak.
"Who sent you?" she hissed.
He didn't flinch.
"I come from the Eastern Reach. From the Prophet of the Shattered Flame."
Alera stepped forward.
"The who?"
The man turned to her.
And smiled.
"I've walked five nights guided by your voice in my dreams."
They tied him to a pole but treated him gently.
He didn't resist.
He didn't eat either.
He simply stared at Alera whenever she passed.
"You were in the bone fire," he told her on the second day. "Dancing beneath a sky that bled. You were laughing. And then you looked at me."
Saphine wanted him executed.
Lysandria wanted to use him as bait.
Seris said nothing but watched him with quiet terror.
Alera, though, sat with him one evening.
"Who is the Prophet?"
The man's voice was a soft melody.
"She was born of your bloodline. A cousin forgotten by all records. Taken east. Raised by the Cult of the Falling Flame."
"Why is she sending you now?"
"Because you shattered the Bone Throne. Because you carry the key."
Alera stiffened.
"What key?"
He looked at her stomach.
And smiled.
That night, she woke to whispers.
Not from the child.
From the blade.
It had reappeared on her bedside, resting in starlight.
She reached for it…
But another hand beat her to it.
Seris.
Eyes black. Veins glowing with silver.
She held the blade without flinching.
"Alera… she's inside me now."
"Who?" Alera whispered.
"The one who came before the Void Queen. The one the Prophet serves."
Alera reached forward but Seris didn't move.
"She says the Prophet lied. The Eastern Reach was never loyal. They want your child. They want to feed it to the last throne. The one that still sleeps beneath the Sea of Sorrow."
Saphine burst into the tent moments later, sword drawn.
She froze when she saw Seris with the blade.
Alera stood between them.
"No one harms her."
"She's possessed!"
"She's warning me."
Later, as Seris slept under guard, Alera turned to Saphine and Lysandria.
"I need to go to the Sea of Sorrow."
Saphine paled. "You can't be serious."
"She saw it."
"Seris is half-mad."
"She's also never been wrong."
Lysandria crossed her arms. "It's cursed land. No maps. No safe routes. No allies."
Alera looked out at the moon.
Then down at her hands.
"I'll make allies."
Three nights later, the messenger from the Prophet escaped.
His bonds had been sliced not torn.
And one of the camp guards was missing.
Lysandria found the guard's body in the woods. His chest had been carved open.
His heart removed.
In its place: a snake made of starlight and blood, still writhing.
Alera ordered a full lockdown.
Saphine doubled patrols.
And yet, the fear in camp only grew.
Even Seris wouldn't speak.
At midnight, Alera went alone into the woods.
She needed clarity.
She needed silence.
Instead, she found something else.
A pool of silver water beneath a dying tree.
In it, her reflection moved on its own.
And whispered:
"The Prophet is not coming to speak."
"She's coming to claim."
Behind her, she heard rustling.
She turned.
And saw Kael.
Or someone wearing his face.
He was pale. Dripping. Hollow-eyed.
He didn't speak.
Just opened his arms.
She stepped forward.
Tears filled her eyes.
"Kael?"
But when she touched him….
His face split open.
A thousand spiders poured out.
She screamed.
Slashed blindly.
When she woke, she was back in her tent.
Saphine beside her. Eyes bloodshot.
"You were gone for six hours."
"I saw him."
"I know."
"It wasn't him."
"I know that too."
That morning, Alera stood before her soldiers.
She said nothing for a full minute.
Then:
"Everything you've feared is true. The Prophet comes. She will offer peace. She will offer salvation. And she will do it with poison in her hands."
Her voice never cracked.
"But this child in me this heir was never meant for her throne. Or anyone's."
She raised the blade.
It shimmered black and gold.
"This is not just a weapon. It is a choice."
The soldiers stirred.
Some knelt.
Some looked away.
But all listened.
"I choose fire."