Chapter 230
Jiselle
The gates opened at dawn.
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Not with fanfare. Not with shouts. Not even with the thunder of iron hinges grinding against stone. They opened slowly, quietly, as though the stronghold itself knew who stood beyond them and chose not to resist.
Bastain.
He looked nothing like the man I remembered from weeks before. His robes were torn, his hair matted with ash, his once–proud posture stooped as if every step cost him strength. Yet his eyes–clear, steady, and ancient as the leyline itself–never wavered. He carried no scrolls, no relics, no blades. Only his breath, ragged but certain, and the weight of the silence that followed him inside.
Every wolf in the courtyard turned. Some bared teeth. Others whispered warnings. I felt Nate tense at my side, his hand twitching toward his weapon. But I lifted a hand, stilling him, because Bastain’s presence was not war. It was surrender.
He stopped in the center of the courtyard, ash still clinging to his boots, and sank to one knee.
The sound of his body striking the ground echoed louder than any battle cry.
“I was wrong,” he said. His voice cracked but carried. “Every choice I made was for duty, not love. Every word I spoke was law, not truth. I see now that I served chains, not freedom. And for that…” His eyes found mine. bright with unshed grief. “For that, Jiselle, I beg forgiveness.”
The words hollowed me out.
I moved before I thought, my feet carrying me across the stone, across the space between us that had once been filled with suspicion, betrayal, and cold lectures. I knelt in front of him, my hands trembling as I reached. for his shoulders.
“You came back,” I whispered.
His lips quirked, weary but certain. “Ash always returns to flame.”
My chest broke. I pulled him into me, not like warrior to warrior, not like Sovereign to scholar, but like family long lost. His body shuddered once against mine, and I knew then that this was not a man who returned with answers, but with wounds too deep to hide.
When we parted, his gaze shifted–not to Nate, not to Ethan, not even to Eva who lingered in the shadows, unreadable. His eyes moved past us all to the child in my arms.
Solara.
She blinked up at him, her face solemn in that way only hers could be–part innocence, part knowing far older than her small body had any right to hold. The faint glow along her skin pulsed once, responding to
him before he even moved.
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Chapter 280
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Bastain lowered himself fully, pressing his forehead to the ground before her feet. “Sovereign, he breathed. “But not in chains. Not in law. In choice”
The courtyard held its breath.
Solara tilted her head, one hand reaching out. Tiny fingers brushed the crown of his bowed head. Light flared where they touched, soft and golden, like dawn after endless night.
And Bastain wept
The kind of tears that came not from grief, but release. Every wall he had ever built, every command he had ever spoken, every prophecy he had ever forced into place–it all crumbled in that moment, and what was left was not scholar, not gatekeeper, not judge. Just a man.
I pressed my lips together, tears burning the back of my throat. For the first time, I saw him not as the voice of the old world, but as something new. Something reborn.
When he finally lifted his head, his face was wet with tears but calm with certainty. “She will not be what Serina was forced to be. She will not rule by chains. She will choose. And I will follow.”
The wolves around us shifted uneasily. Some bowed their heads, others turned away, and a few dropped to their knees as if they too felt something stir in Solara’s presence. For years, Bastain had been the voice of unbending law, the cold balance that decided who lived and who was sacrificed. To see him kneel now, not to me, but to the child… it broke something in them as well. Perhaps for the better. Perhaps for good.
Nate exhaled sharply beside me, disbelief warring with relief. Ethan stepped forward as if to question him, but Solara’s small hand remained raised, glowing faintly with power that made the air hum. And no one spoke.
Not until the sky darkened.
It was subtle at first, just a shadow slipping across the sun, the kind that might have been a cloud. But clouds did not shiver with violet light. They did not hum with the sound of voices layered over voices, whispering in languages long forgotten.
Bastain’s head snapped up. His eyes went wide. “No,” he murmured, his body trembling again. “Not yet. Gods,
not now.”
I clutched Solara tighter. “What is it?”
He looked at me, dread hollowing his features. “The Hollow does not forgive. It remembers.”
And then we all heard it.
The scream.
Not from the mountains, not from the canyon, not even from the Hollow itself. It came from the sky–high, piercing, ancient. A sound that split stone, that made the wolves at my back stagger and clutch their ears.
Solara buried her face in my chest. Her small body shook, not with fear, but with fury. Her skin glowed brighter, her flame flaring hot enough to scorch the cloth that wrapped her.
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Chapter 230
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Nate grabbed my arm, pulling me back as dust rained from the walls. Ethan shouted for the guards. Eva pressed her hand to her chest, her eyes wide with a vision none of us could see.
And Bastain–Bastain dropped to his knees again, staring up at the sky as if he saw the truth written there.
“It’s him,” he whispered, voice shaking with certainty. “It’s Aedric.”
The scream came again.
And the heavens split open.
AD
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Cedella is a passionate storyteller known for her bold romantic and spicy novels that keep readers hooked from the very first chapter. With a flair for crafting emotionally intense plots and unforgettable characters, she blends love, desire, and drama into every story she writes. Cedella’s storytelling style is immersive and addictive—perfect for fans of heated romances and heart-pounding twists.
