That day was as unremarkable and bland as any other. The sun rose and set as it always did, and people went about their lives without a care, blissfully unaware of how easily everything could change.

Night came as expected and the streets were gradually blanketed in darkness. Lamps flickered to life behind shuttered windows.

The first scream came from the far end of the street. It tore through the quiet like a blade, a warning no one understood until it was far too late. A few windows creaked open as people curiously leaned out into the night, searching for the source of such terror.

There were still some who lingered outside. Only a week ago, most of the residents would not have dared to remain in the streets after dusk, when the threat of being snatched away had loomed over them like a curse. That fear had faded after Ragnar returned the missing people. But what they did not know was that something far deadlier now moved through the dark.

By the time anyone truly looked, it was already there. It did not arrive the way anything natural should. It charged into the street, pouring out from a narrow alley between two houses like smoke forced through a crack. Its body shifted as it moved, never quite holding one shape for longer than a heartbeat.

Darkness clung to it, curling around its elongated limbs as though it were part of the creature itself.

Someone shouted for everyone to run the moment the gruesome thing was seen. The first fae beast to cross the veil, and it had chosen its hunting ground. It rampaged through the first settlement it encountered.

Panic erupted. A small child got separated from his mother as people rushed to get to safety, his cry piercing through the chaos, only to be dragged upright by trembling hands as his mother pulled him close and fled without looking back. Doors slammed shut with desperate force. Windows were thrown closed. Locks were fumbled into place with shaking fingers.

But it was already too late for those still caught outside.

Its glowing red eyes burned through the chaos, fixed on the nearest movement. Its head tilted slightly as though studying them. Then its body lurched forward. One of its clawed limbs lashed out, stretching far beyond what should have been possible, tearing through the space where a man had stood only a second before. He stumbled backward, barely escaping, his breath ragged and uneven as he turned and ran for his life.

The creature followed, giving chase. Its form slipped through spaces too small for anything solid, gliding over the ground without a sound. The darkness that coiled around it spread outward, swallowing every trace of light, until only those burning red eyes marked its presence.

More screams rose, layered over one another in a chorus of terror. The street emptied quickly. People collided in their haste, knocking into one another, stumbling and scrambling to regain their footing. Some fell and were trampled in the chaos, while others abandoned everything they carried just to move faster. A cart tipped over, its wheels spinning uselessly as it blocked part of the narrow path. Those trapped behind it clawed at the obstruction, their fear rising sharply as the air around them seemed to grow heavier.

The beast slowed.

The creature’s limbs stretched unnaturally long as it closed the distance, darkness spilling ahead of it like grasping hands. Then without warning, it pounced on the man closest to it, knocking the man to the ground. Saliva dripped out of the creature’s gaping maw as it stared down at its squirming prey. Then it bit down hard, crushing the man’s throat instantly.

Rowen rushed toward Kostia with his wooden sword raised, his movements quick and eager as he prepared to land a strike. Kostia waited until the very last second before lifting his own blade to block, the sharp crack of wood meeting wood echoing faintly through the open space.

They continued like that for several minutes, Rowen attacking with relentless determination, and Kostia deflecting each blow. Yet Rowen was not discouraged by his failure to land a single hit. If anything, it only seemed to fuel him further. There was a spark in his eyes, a growing excitement that pushed him to swing faster, to press harder, to try again and again without quitting.

Circe stood a good distance away, careful not to interfere or distract him. From where she watched, she could see the difference in him clearly. He was more focused than she had ever seen him before. But it was more than that. He was stronger.

He moved with energy that had been completely absent not long ago. When he had first regained consciousness, he had barely been able to sit up without assistance. It had taken an entire week for him to return to himself.

She had spent hours at his bedside, watching over him as he slept, tending to him whenever he stirred. It was difficult for her to look away from him now, even for a moment.

There was a part of her that feared if she did, he would vanish again, just as suddenly as he had before. She knew it made no sense. The threat had been dealt with. There was nothing left that could take him from her like that again.

And yet the memory lingered. She remembered the hollow panic that had clawed through her when she realized he was gone. The way her thoughts had unraveled, leaving behind nothing but dread. It was not something she could endure a second time. So she watched him. He was here and he was safe.

Even as she stood there, another wave of dizziness swept over her without warning. It came suddenly, sharp enough to make her sway where she stood. Heat crept beneath her skin, settling uncomfortably along her spine, most likely early signs of a fever.

She hid her discomfort immediately. If she so much as hinted at feeling unwell, she knew exactly what would happen. She would be ushered away without question, bundled off to her chambers and confined to rest, no matter what arguments she offered in protest.

The fatigue burrowed deep into her joints. It could have been from the nights she had spent awake, sitting beside Rowen’s bed. That was the most reasonable explanation.

Nieah had been the first to point out how pale Circe seemed, her voice laced with worry as she suggested that she might be ill, but Circe had merely waved the concern away.

"May I ask a question, Your Highness?" Nieah said after a prolonged silence. She stood close beside Circe, her gaze, which had once been fixed just as intently on Kostia and Rowen, had now shifted entirely to Circe as she waited patiently for a response.

"I don’t see a reason you cannot," Circe muttered, sparing Nieah a brief glance before quickly returning her attention to her brother.

"Pardon me if I overstep, I mean no disrespect. But I have been wondering who the strange woman you came with is, for a while now," Nieah said. There was, after all, a mysterious woman lying mostly unconscious in one of the many guest rooms, and no one in the manor knew who she was or where she had come from. The maids had taken to speculating on the matter but nothing certain had come of it.

Before Circe could respond, she glanced over her shoulder and found her lady’s maid standing a few feet away, just close enough to overhear anything that might be said.

"You may leave us now, Mirelle," Circe said, her tone firm. She did not want her overhearing what was about to be revealed.

Mirelle bowed politely before hurrying back into the manor, leaving Circe and Nieah alone with a fragile sense of privacy.

"I trust that what I am about to say will remain between us," Circe said once Mirelle was out of earshot, fixing Nieah with a pointed look.

"Of course, Your Highness. I will not repeat anything you say elsewhere. You have my word," Nieah vowed without hesitating.

Reassured, Circe finally confessed the very thing she had been reluctant to share, something she had not even told Rowen yet. "That woman is my mother."

She might have succeeded in removing the wards that had kept Thalora asleep and imprisoned within that cave, but eight years was a long time to be left in such a state. Her mother had not recovered as Rowen had. Since their return to Amris, she had done nothing but drift in and out of consciousness.

Shock overtook Nieah’s face. For a moment, she forgot herself entirely and gaped. "I—I thought she was dead."

Everyone had believed Thalora had died eight years ago.

"I believed so too," Circe said quietly. "But I was wrong. Rowen doesn’t know yet..."

She trailed off, but she didn’t need to finish for Nieah to understand.

Nieah nodded emphatically. "Of course. The secret is safe with me." Then her brows drew together, her concern deepening as she looked Circe over once more. "Your Highness, are you certain you are alright? You look faint. Do you need to sit? Have you been taking the herbal brew every morning? I can ask Mirelle to prepare a cup for you right now."

Her concern was palpable.

Circe simply shook her head. "I’m fine. Besides, I don’t think I can stomach a cup of the tea Mirelle makes. Most of them are so bitter they are hardly drinkable. She is quite bad at the task, and I was hoping you could start preparing them again."

Nieah frowned slightly at that. "That’s odd. I drank the tea she made once, and it tasted fine. But I can continue making them for you if that is what you want."

"I would appreciate that," Circe said with a faint smile, before turning her attention back to her brother.