Chapter 117: The return of storm
The golden gates of the palace opened slowly as the three children returned—silent, bloodstained, and cold-eyed. Azrael Jr. led the way, his cloak singed at the edges and his golden hair damp with sweat and soot. Caelan followed, his dark eyes unreadable, his boots leaving behind faint shadowy prints. Rina walked between them, still holding a flickering flame in her small palm, her dress charred at the hem but her face lit with something unnervingly gleeful.
The palace guards parted in fear and awe. Servants bowed low, trembling, though the children offered no greeting, no smile, not even a glance.
In the throne room, Queen Isolde's portrait remained untouched—a reminder of what was stolen.
Azrael Jr. approached it, his fists clenched. "We killed their army, but not the one who shot the arrow," he said bitterly. "Not yet."
Caelan moved to the shadows that stretched beneath the thrones and stared into them, his voice echoing softly. "He's still out there. Hiding. Watching."
"They're afraid now," Rina added, her eyes glowing faintly orange. "But fear doesn't mean they've learned their lesson."
A thick silence settled over the room before Azrael Jr. finally turned around, his voice colder than the northern wind.
"We burn their strongholds next. Every last one. We will hunt down whoever ordered the death of our grandparents—and when we find them, we won't be merciful."
Caelan nodded once, his dark powers coiling in the air around him. "Let them run. Let them build their walls. We'll tear them down."
"And I'll light them up," Rina said cheerfully, skipping past them, leaving little ember footprints on the marble floor.
The war wasn't over.