CHAPTER 87: REFLECTION OF THE SILVER QUEEN

Meanwhile, in the shattered outskirts of the ruined territory, one lone wolf watched from the shadows of broken stone—a thin, wiry scout named Jalen. His heart pounded, stomach twisted in a knot of horror as he witnessed their leaders fall, saw the chains, the laughter of the monster who wore a king’s face.

This wasn’t a battle anymore.

It was a massacre.

Jalen slipped backward into the ruins, silent, swift, unseen.

He had to run.

Someone had to warn whoever was left. Anyone.

But hope felt like a fragile, breaking thing now—something made of glass in a storm.

The king hadn’t just destroyed their fighters.

He’d crushed the heart of the rebellion in one, calculated move.

And he wasn’t finished yet.

—

Back in the ruined temple, Kieran could barely breathe through the chains coiled around his throat. His entire body trembled, not with fear, but with rage.

He’d been played.

From the start, this was exactly what the bastard wanted—to lure them in with the hope of rescue, to make Kieran believe he could win, just to rip it away in front of everyone.

Marcus caught his gaze, both of them struggling, both of them knowing exactly what this meant.

The wolves were finished.

The king paced leisurely now, like a cat playing with cornered prey. "You’ll both be useful to me," he murmured. "Trophies, perhaps. Or maybe—" His smile widened, sharper now, "—bait. After all, the little lost queen will want to come back for you, won’t she?"

Marcus’s heart lurched.

No.

He didn’t want Athena to come back. Not like this. Not into this trap. If she returned for them now, she’d die too, or worse.

The king stepped forward again, boots scraping softly over the blood-slicked stones. "Let’s find out how much she’s willing to sacrifice."

A flick of his wrist, and the runes began to glow brighter, the foul magic climbing higher, curling upward like snakes preparing to strike.

"Soon," the king whispered. "Soon, I will have all the pieces in place. And then, not just this world—but hers—will bow to me."

(Back to the Realm Athena is currently in)

And far beyond the twisted ruins of that shattered city, the storm clouds thickened, distant thunder rolling across the broken horizon.

But hope? It wasn’t dead yet.

It was just hidden.

The king rose from his throne, his robes whispering across the floor as he descended the stairs toward me. Something about the movement, about the slight curve of his lips, made my stomach coil.

I stood as he approached. Lucas shifted beside me, but the guards raised their weapons at his smallest move.

Then, from the folds of the king’s sleeve, a delicate pouch appeared—woven with strange symbols I didn’t recognize. Before I could react, he flicked his wrist, and a glittering dust scattered into the air around me.

"Wait—!" I tried to move, to step back, but it was too late. The glittering particles shimmered like falling snow, sinking into my skin, heavy and warm. My legs buckled. The world tilted sideways.

The last thing I saw before the darkness swallowed me was the king’s satisfied smile.

I wasn’t standing anymore.

I was falling.

But instead of crashing, I landed softly on lush grass beneath a sky that looked wrong. The colors were too bright, the clouds moving too quickly, swirling like someone stirring paint with frantic hands.

And then I saw her.

She stood on a hill not far away, her gown flowing like liquid silver, hair trailing behind her like ink poured into water. And the face—the face that should have been my own.

Except older.

Sharper.

Regal.

It was like staring at myself in the future, except it wasn’t me. I could feel it. There was something different in the set of her shoulders, in the piercing gaze that scanned the chaotic sky with disdain.

She turned to me slowly.

"Finally," she said, her voice low but resonant, like a chorus of echoes layered together.

"Who... are you?" My voice came out hoarse, uncertain.

She walked toward me, her bare feet leaving shimmering footprints in the grass that pulsed faintly before fading. "Names matter little. You’ve worn mine often enough in whispers without even knowing it."

I stared. "What does that mean?"

"You are her," the woman murmured. "And yet, you are not."

I took a step forward. "Explain."

She tilted her head, studying me like a mother might a disobedient child. "You have his eyes," she said instead. "The old blood runs strong in you. Stronger than I expected."

"Whose eyes?"

She laughed softly. "You don’t know yet. Of course you don’t. They kept you blind."

My fists clenched at my sides. "Stop talking in riddles! I don’t understand why everyone here knows something about me that I don’t."

"Because," she said softly, "you weren’t supposed to survive."

Her words hit like a slap. "What?"

The world shifted again—the ground rippling underfoot, like waves beneath a fragile surface of reality.

"You were never supposed to make it to adulthood," she said, stepping close now, so close I could see the faint silver lines drawn across her brow and down her cheeks, like the pathways of rivers. "Not with what’s inside you."

"Then why am I here?"

"Because something interfered. Someone interfered."

Flashes flickered behind my eyes—memories of the portal, the shimmering light, the betrayal I could feel like a bruise pressed into my soul. "What are you even talking about?"

Her lips twisted bitterly. "Him. Always meddling. Always searching for ways to break the balance."

"Balance?"

Her eyes grew distant, almost mournful. "We were meant to stay in our realm. The wolves were meant to guard, the magic meant to remain pure, untouched by the taint of other worlds. But greed... pride..." She spat the words like poison. "It always leads to ruin."

I swallowed, hard. "And what about me?"

"You," she whispered, lifting her hand and brushing her fingers across my cheek. Her touch was cold, electric. "You are the blood of both worlds."