Page 2 of She Who Holds My Wrath

“You will go to him,” the gods said. “You will bear the ruin.”

So, she obeys.

She crosses universes and realms, walks into Hell without fear, and marries the monster the others could not control. Korran, the blood-crowned king who murdered Dasmyrin, and dared to claim victory over a throne he did not belong on. He sees her and smiles, not knowing she is the death of his legacy.

And in time, she gives birth to the Child of Ruin. A child born with fire in his lungs and prophecy in his bones. Her son. Her sorrow. Her weapon.

He is five thousand years old when the gods call her home. Merely a babe. She kneels before him one last time. His tiny horns have just begun to bud. His eyes—black, endless—watch her with confused fear.

“Will I see you soon, Mama?”

She cups his cheek, and feels the flame inside of him. So powerful, yet so fragile.

“You will,” she lies. “But not before the stars scream.”

She vanishes in a burst of soft black flame. No trace left behind, with the knowledge that her gods will plant the memory of her death into their heads.

Above Aetherhollow, the sky weeps starlight. And in the chambers of prophecy, her title is etched forever:

She Who Bore the Ruin.

She Who Burned the End Into Beginning.

Chapter 1

ARAN

It’s far too quiet for a room full of leaders.

They sit in heavy silence around the obsidian table, the air thick with tension and rising dread. Outside, Zeriavoss burns brightly with dawn—but in here, we sit beneath shadow. Waiting. Planning.

Sariya is the first to speak.

“They’ve raised an army,” she says, her voice like sun-warmed gold. “It was confirmed by my people not so long ago.”

Her hands are folded tightly in front of her. She looks composed, but her eyes betray her. There’s fear in them, just like in everybody’s eyes in here. Good. Fear means they finally understand what has landed on their doorsteps.

“Then it’s over,” Kaelith mutters, slouched in his chair like the meeting is boring him. “The most powerful beings have an army, and we still don’t have a queen.”

Lucifer exhales a long, amused breath. “You always had such a flair for optimism, Duskwalker.”

Kaelith ignores him, turning instead to Elyistria. “How long until she wakes?”

“As long as she needs,” Elyistria says sharply. “She’s not gone. Her soul is still bound here and wrapped in stasis until her body heals.”

Maelkar leans forwards, fingers steepled under his chin. “And what if she wakes as something else?” he asks softly. “People do not survive that kind of grief unchanged.”

Everyone falls silent. They’re thinking of Korithax. Just a week ago we all witnessed the unthinkable. Daisy collapsed in blood, and ruin and rage. The raw, burning scream that echoed through the halls of the palace, one so powerful it shook the foundations of every realm across the cosmos.

Vor’Khar shifts with a rumble of thunder, crossing his massive stone-like arms. “You want to talk strategy? Here it is. We stop treating her like a fragile child and start preparing for a fucking war.”

We all snap our heads towards him, each of us with a look of awe on our faces. I don’t think anybody has heard him speak more than a word. His voice is like the thunder itself, so deep and full of tremendous power. The room stays silent for a beat, nobody daring to mention the obvious about the walking brute of a man finally giving us more than a single syllable.

“You mean a war we already lost?” Kaelith says, finally breaking the silence.

“You can join the wrong side if you’re so afraid, Kaelith,” Virena murmurs, voice low and cold. “I’m sure your death will be prettier this time.”

Kaelith’s jaw ticks. “I don’t recall dying, Virena.”