Page 33 of She Who Holds My Wrath

“I am Saevyn, Queen of the Særathi,” she says simply. “And this is Aran, my second, loyal to the crown.”

At her words, Aran inclines his head. I drop into a curtsey almost immediately. “I… I’m Velentha⁠—”

“I know who you are, Time Witch,” she interrupts softly. “It is who you are to become that matters.” Her words send a shiver down my spine.

I turn my gaze once more past her, towards the windows encircling the tower chamber. Beyond the glass stretches a realm unlike any I have ever seen. Vast fields of silver mists roll beneath a sky that glows with shifting ribbons of light dancing between the stars. The air itself hums with ancient power. I know every world in our universe. Every realm. Every dominion. Every corner of creation touched by the goddesses. Yet, this place sparks no memory within me. No recognition.

Then the vision strikes. It is not gentle. It slams into my mind like a blade through bone—violent, blinding, unstoppable. The world around me shatters into fragments of light. I see her. The woman standing before me. Her belly swollen with child, one hand braced protectively across the curve of it as she stands beside a towering figure wreathed in shadow.

The King of Hell. Korran. His presence burns through the vision like wildfire. Then… pain. Blood. A scream that tears through the air. The child is born. And the moment I see him, I understand. Obsidian eyes open beneath a crown of dark hair. Fire coils within the infant’s tiny chest, alive and furious, like a star trapped beneath fragile ribs. Power so ancient and wrong.

The vision fractures again, showing me the boy as he grows. Small hands clenched in rage. A child left alone in cold halls of stone. Cruel hands striking where comfort should have been. A young prince forced to endure horrors no child should know. Abandoned. Broken. Shaped by suffering until he becomes exactly what the world expected him to be. A weapon. A mirror of his father.

The images collapse inward like a dying star. I gasp, the breath tearing violently from my lungs as reality slams back into place around me. My hands clutch at the wall at my back to steady myself, my heart hammering wildly in my chest.

The woman still stands before me. Watching. Waiting. My voice trembles despite every effort to control it. “You… you are Korran’s wife?”

She shakes her head. “Not yet. But I will be.”

“How?” I breathe. “He destroys every woman he touches. You will not survive.”

“I am to bear the child who will end the Divine. And I need you, Velentha. You are not like them, you never were. I saw your pain, your disgust. You despise them as much as I do. And now you have a new purpose. You will remain among them, no matter how much it breaks you. You will endure centuries of silence. Because one day, the Divine Six must end. And you, Time Witch… you are the beginning.”

Her plan unfolds before me, piece by piece. She was placed by gods unseen, the hidden rulers beyond even the Six. Aetherhollow—the Særathi’s world between worlds. Few had ever heard its name, fewer still had stepped inside. Yet now, I was bound to it. Aran and I were her tools. He would be planted within Hell. I, the hidden eye among the Divine. Together, we would weave the downfall of the gods.

When she returns me to my chambers, my head swims with fractured memory. Hazy fogs where truths had been stripped away, so the Six could never pry them free. But I had a purpose at last. No longer just the “Time Witch.”

No. Now, I was Velentha. Seer. Betrayer. The beginning of their end.

I smile to myself, my chest filled with hope and purpose as I whisper into the dark: “I will not fail you again, Dasmyrin. I swear it.”

Present Day

I lean against the door of the balcony, a cup of bitter herbal tea cooling between my palms. The air still reeks of smoke from the attack earlier, and it unsettles me. Traitors walk among us. Are they hunting Daisy? Hunting me? Or is this simply the first strike of many?

The last I heard, the Six had already begun building an army of horrors using stolen Særathi magic. I was never permitted to see the full extent of it. My role was simple. I was their seer. My days were an endless stream of visions: glimpses of battles yet to come, futures yet to unfold. They demanded visions of triumph, demanded proof that their conquest was inevitable. So that is what I gave them. Or rather… what I allowed them to see.

Of course, I never told them the truth. I never showed them the futures where their empire crumbled, where the first fractures split through the foundations of their pretentious thrones. Those visions remained mine, and mine alone. They only saw victory. Only glory. Only the destiny I carefully placed before them. I needed them arrogant and overconfident. So certain of their dominance that they would never think to look over their shoulders and notice the blade already poised at their throats. Because soon, their reign will end. And when it does, I will watch them fall.

I hear the chamber door creak open, and turn to see Aran entering. His face is a storm, so many emotions flickering across it I can’t pin down a single one. “My love?” I ask softly, setting my cup down on the table as I step towards him. “What is it?”

“They’re fucking forcing my hand, V. They’re giving me no choice.” His voice is low, seething, as he paces. Back and forth, running a hand through his dark, tousled hair.

“Who is?” I’ve seen him worried before—gods, the day the Divine nearly killed me, I thought his heart would break in two—but this… this is different. This is pure terror.

“Elyistria and Sariya,” he spits. “They’re forcing me to bring you to the war room. To face the other leaders.”

He stops abruptly and cups my face in his hands, his palms warm and shaking ever so slightly. “I can’t, Velentha. I can’t do it. They won’t understand. What if they hurt you? What if they don’t even listen—what if they see you and strike before you can speak? I can’t risk you. I won’t.”

“Aran.” I place my hands over his wrists, trying my best to ground him as I softly stroke my thumbs over his skin. “Breathe. It’s okay. Truly. I think it’s time, too. Daisy is drowning and she needs some reprieve. The leaders need to understand what we’re truly up against.”

His eyes flick wildly over mine, his pulse hammering beneath my fingertips as he shakes his head. “It’s okay,” I whisper again, trying my best to give him a smile that shows no fear.

A rush of visions crash into me without warning. One after the other, flashing rapid and violently, too sharp to ignore. Acceptance, fury, peace, blood. The images tear through my mind like lightning splitting a storm-dark sky. There’s faces I cannot quite see, hands raised in rage, the metallic scent of blood thick in the air. A war room fractured by shouting. A blade glinting in the light. A future where everything shatters… and another where it somehow holds. There are too many paths. Too many outcomes. The weight of them presses against my skull until I can barely breathe.

Then, just as suddenly as it began, the storm recedes. The visions dissolve into a dull haze, slipping through my grasp like smoke. My pulse thunders in my ears as the world slowly settles back into place around me. And when my focus clears, I find Aran’s gaze still locked onto mine. His green eyes have darkened into something I’ve never seen before. The bright emerald I know so well is gone, swallowed by a storming shade so deep, it borders on black. There is something fierce burning there. Something protective. Dangerous, even. This is a side of my mate I do not think I have ever witnessed before.

“What did you see?” His voice comes out ragged, his eyes darting back and forth as if searching mine for the answers he so desperately seeks.