The queen didn't cry out as her soul tore from her body. There was no scream, no lightshow, no divine proclamation. Just a silence—deep and sudden—as if the entire realm inhaled at once and forgot how to exhale.
Her body collapsed like a marionette with its strings slashed, folding onto the cold temple floor with a soft, almost pitiful thud. Her fingers, once trembling with resistance, stilled. Her lips, cracked and bloodied, parted slightly as the last breath she'd ever take slipped free without ceremony.
And then… her spirit surged.
It was raw, but beautiful. Ancient. Wounded and enraged. It had no form—just a storm of power and memory, a scream that stretched across time and bled through the edges of Liam's soul.
He never saw it coming.
One second he was swinging, parrying, dodging the king's vicious barrage with Anna's voice whispering frantic warnings in his head—
—and the next, it hit him.
A force like a tidal wave crashing through a shattered dam.
