Chapter 100: Rhett’s Reckoning
The fever didn’t begin with heat. It began with silence.
A thick, unnatural quiet wrapped around Rhett Callahan’s mind as he stood at the chamber’s edge, watching the relic stone glow like a heartbeat under Camille’s hand. His spine stiffened. His body shivered, not from cold, but a sudden severing. Something had unplugged him from the world.
Then, the light vanished.
His knees buckled before he realized he was falling. Magnolia’s voice called his name, but her tone faded, as if through water. The stone floor rose up fast. And then, black.
He opened his eyes into a place that shouldn’t exist.
The sky was blood-red, hanging low over black sands that stretched beyond vision. Pillars of bone jutted like broken teeth. Ravens circled without sound, and the air smelled like iron and fire.
At the center of the desolate plain stood a throne. Carved from obsidian, etched in runes, it pulsed like a wounded organ. And seated upon it, his father.
Cassian Callahan.
He was dead. Burned with honor, mourned with rage. But here he was, alive in the way ghosts live when they’re tethered to memory and blood. His face was the same: chiseled jaw, hollow cheeks, the cruel glint in eyes that never softened.
"You came," the ghost said, voice calm as steel drawn slow.
Rhett took a shaky step forward. "This is a dream."