Riven's POV
The world stops.
King Aldric—the man who rules Ashenvale, who commands armies, who everyone fears—just admitted to murdering my mother.
And he's standing in Kieran's great hall like he's been invited for tea.
"You," I breathe. My hands shake. The crown on my head suddenly feels like it weighs a thousand pounds. "You killed her."
"I did." He says it so casually, like discussing the weather. "She discovered what I am. Left me no choice."
Kieran moves between us, his sword drawn. "You're in my fortress, Aldric. Uninvited. That's an act of war."
"We're already at war, Shadowmere. The moment you put that crown on her head." The King's eyes never leave me. "I have to admit, I'm impressed. I've spent twenty-three years hunting for Elara's child, and you found her first. How did you know where to look?"
"I had help," Kieran says flatly.
"From whom?"
"That's what I'd like to know."
Something passes between them—an understanding I don't grasp. They're both playing a game I can't see.
The King steps closer. His battle mages file in behind him, twenty figures wreathed in crackling magic. The air in the hall grows hot and dangerous.
"Give me the girl," Aldric says. "Surrender her now, and I'll let your people live. You can keep your territories, keep your title. All I want is her."
"No." Kieran's voice is iron.
"Then you'll die with her. All of you." The King's pleasant expression doesn't change. "I've destroyed entire bloodlines before. What's one more fortress?"
My magic surges, responding to the threat. Shadows curl around my fingers, and the crown amplifies it until power crackles in the air like lightning.
Aldric's eyes sharpen. "There it is. The Valdris power. Remarkable how it breeds true, even after generations." He tilts his head. "Did Kieran tell you what makes your bloodline special, child?"
"Stop calling me child. I'm not—"
"You're twenty-three. I'm five hundred and forty-seven." His smile widens. "To me, everyone is a child."
Five hundred and forty-seven.
The number doesn't make sense. Can't make sense.
"That's impossible," I whisper.
"Is it? Look at me, Riven. Really look." He spreads his arms. "I've ruled Ashenvale for fifty years without aging a day. My father ruled for fifty years before that, looking exactly like me. My grandfather before him. Same face, same voice, same man."
Horror crawls up my spine. "You're saying you're all... the same person?"
"Finally, she understands." Aldric laughs. "There is no royal line. There's only me. I fake my death every few decades, 'pass' the throne to my 'son,' and start again. I've ruled this kingdom for five centuries. I built it from nothing."
"By murdering the Valdris family," Kieran says. "By stealing their throne."
"I didn't steal anything. I conquered it. There's a difference." The King's voice hardens. "The Valdris line ruled with honor and mercy and got themselves destroyed because of it. I rule with strength. With permanence. I've kept this kingdom stable for five hundred years."
"By bleeding it dry," Thorne interrupts. "By squeezing territories until they can't breathe."
"By maintaining control." Aldric's eyes flash. "Power requires sacrifice. The Valdris understood that once. Before they grew weak."
My magic flares hotter. The shadows around me thicken, and I feel the crown connecting me to something vast—centuries of power, generations of queens and kings.
"You're afraid," I say suddenly. "That's why you killed them. That's why you're here. You're afraid of what the Valdris line can do."
For the first time, the King's pleasant mask cracks.
"Your bloodline," he says quietly, "is the only magic in this kingdom that can kill me. The only power that can end my immortality. That's why I destroyed them. That's why your mother had to die. And that's why you need to die now, before you learn what she learned."
"What did she learn?" I demand.
"How to unmake me." His voice drops. "The Valdris don't just manipulate shadow and light. They manipulate existence itself. Reality. Life and death. Your mother discovered the spell that could strip away my immortality. She was going to use it."
"So you murdered her."
"So I survived." He takes another step. "And I've been hunting you ever since. You're the last one, Riven. The last Valdris. When you die, no one will ever threaten me again."
The battle mages move forward, magic building around them like a storm.
Kieran's soldiers draw weapons, but what good is steel against magic?
"Riven," Kieran says quietly. "Remember what I taught you. Power isn't about force. It's about control."
"You taught her?" The King laughs. "In three days? She's untrained, unstable. She'll burn herself out before she touches me."
He's probably right. I've had my magic for eighteen years and spent all of it hiding. Three days of half-hearted practice won't make me a match for twenty battle mages and an immortal king.
But I'm not doing this alone.
I reach for Kieran's hand. His fingers close around mine, warm and steady.
"Together?" I ask.
"Together," he confirms.
Then I reach for my magic—not frantically, not in panic. Deliberately. The crown helps, focusing the power into something precise.
And I do something I've never tried before.
I share it.
The magic flows from me into Kieran, and I feel his shock—then his acceptance. His own power rises to meet mine, not magical but strategic, his warrior's mind shaping what I give him into something deadly.
Around us, the Northern soldiers feel it too. The power spreads like a web, connecting everyone who swore loyalty to me. Not controlling them—empowering them.
This is what the Valdris bloodline could do. Not just wield power, but share it. Make others stronger.
King Aldric's face goes pale.
"No," he breathes. "That's not—you shouldn't be able to—"
"Attack!" he screams to his mages.
Twenty battle mages unleash their magic at once.
Fire, lightning, ice—all of it slams toward us in a wave of destruction.
I throw up my hands, and the power I'm sharing with everyone snaps into a shield. Not my shield alone—our shield. Every person in this hall lending their strength.
The magic crashes against it and stops.
For three heartbeats, there's perfect silence.
Then my shield pushes back.
The battle mages' own magic reflects at them, amplified by the Valdris power. They scatter, screaming, as their spells turn against them.
King Aldric snarls and raises his own hands. His magic is different—ancient, dark, wrong. It feels like death given form.
"You want to know what I am?" he roars. "I'm the man who discovered how to devour other people's life force! Every mage I've killed in five centuries made me stronger! I've consumed hundreds of lives!"
His magic lashes out—not at me, but at the closest Northern soldier.
The man screams as his life drains away, aging fifty years in seconds. He collapses, dead before he hits the ground.
Aldric breathes deep, like he just ate a feast. "Delicious. Who's next?"
Horror floods through me. This is what he is. Not just immortal—parasitic. He survives by stealing life from others.
"That's why he wants you dead," Kieran says, his voice tight with fury. "The Valdris power can sever his connection to the lives he's stolen. You can make him mortal again."
"If she lives long enough to learn how," Aldric counters. He raises his hands again. "Which she won't."
This time, his magic targets me directly.
It's like being hit by a battering ram made of ice and death. My shield cracks. The shared power wavers.
I'm not strong enough. Even with everyone helping, I'm not—
A new voice cuts through the chaos.
"Actually, she is."
Everyone freezes.
A woman steps through the shattered wall—tall, hooded, moving with impossible grace. Her voice sounds familiar, but I can't place it.
She pulls back her hood, and my heart stops.
It's my face.
Not exactly—she's older, maybe late forties. But the same eyes, same features, same bone structure.
"Hello, daughter," she says softly. "Sorry I'm late."
The world tilts.
"You're dead," I whisper. "The King said—"
"The King said a lot of things. Most of them lies." She turns to Aldric, and her smile is sharp. "Hello, cousin. Miss me?"
Cousin?
"Elara." The King's voice shakes—actually shakes. "You're supposed to be dead."
"I got better." My mother—because that's who she is, that's who she has to be—steps fully into the hall. Magic radiates from her like heat from a forge. "Did you really think one immortal could kill another? We're harder to destroy than that."
She's alive. My mother is alive.
And apparently immortal.
And the King's cousin.
My brain can't process any of this.
"You've been hiding for twenty-three years," Aldric says. "Why reveal yourself now?"
"Because my daughter just put on the Valdris crown. Because she's awakened her power. And because—" My mother's eyes flash with something terrible, "—I've spent two decades learning the spell. The one that strips away stolen immortality. And I'm finally ready to use it."
She looks at me, and her expression softens.
"Hello, Riven. I know you have questions. But right now, we have a king to kill."
She extends her hand.
"Ready to learn what we really are?"