Chapter 115: Death
It happened in a blink.
The festival lanterns had barely faded from the sky. The streets still hummed with leftover laughter, and children held onto glowing ribbons as they drifted to sleep. Peace was supposed to last forever—or at least, for a generation.
But peace does not exist without envy.
And somewhere, deep in the mountains, eyes watched Valemir's joy with disgust.
That night, King Azrael and Queen Isolde rode out to the Moon Gardens—a private sanctuary where they often took quiet walks to reflect. The stars were bright. The air was still. Isolde's fingers were intertwined with Azrael's, their steps slow, savoring the silence of a kingdom at rest.
"I never imagined we'd live to see this peace," Azrael murmured.
"We earned it," Isolde replied, pausing to touch a blooming moon lily. "You redeemed yourself, Azrael."
Before he could respond, a whisper cut through the silence.
The faint hiss of an arrow.
Then—two.
One struck Azrael clean through the chest.