Circe lowered herself slowly onto the throne. The mont her body fully settled against the smooth ivory surface, sothing inside her shifted. It felt less like sitting and more like surrendering to the pull the realm wielded.
The throne had been waiting for her acceptance and now that it had that, it welcod her like an old friend.
The glowing threads beneath her skin flared violently to life.
Light burst through her veins in brilliant streams of silver and pale gold, so bright it illuminated the darkness around her. The markings spread rapidly across her arms, throat, and collarbones before extending outward from her body like roots tearing through fertile soil. They crawled across the throne itself as she channeled her magic outward, slipping between the grooves of carved bone before disappearing deep into the vastness of the realm beyond.
Then the realm answered her with a faint rumble.
She could feel the cracked earth in the kingdom groaned as fractures slowly began to seal themselves shut, the broken ground knitting together piece by piece. Far in the distance, fields of black poppies stirred, their wilted petals regaining their rich bruised crimson color until entire plains blood once more like rivers of dark blood stretching across the land.
Collapsed halls rose from ruin.
Stone scraped against stone with deafening force, the sound echoing endlessly through the castle as shattered pillars dragged themselves upright and fractured walls fused together again. Dust swirled through the air in thick clouds while ancient corridors reford from rubble, rebuilding themselves as though ti itself had begun to reverse.
She felt the realm healing as clearly as she felt her own heartbeat pounding inside her chest.
The throne acted as a conduit, channeling her magic through every fractured corner of the underworld. Her power flowed endlessly through it, pouring into the dying land and breathing life, balance, and stability back into the once-decaying realm. But the more power she gave, the deeper her connection to the place beca.
The realm was no longer rely surrounding her. It was becoming part of her.
Its pulse intertwined with hers until they beca one.
And then she sensed the souls. Millions upon millions of them, like scattered flickers at the edge of her awareness. But soon they grew clearer until she could sense every soul dwelling within the land of the dead. Each presence glimred softly against the darkness, countless tiny lights suspended within an endless void, like stars spread across a vast night sky.
She had revived the realm with her magic and now it lived through her.
Her eyes fell shut and when she reopened them, she was back in her body, staring up the ceiling above her bed.
***
Ragnar marched toward the capital with an army of over two thousand ard n at his back, all charging forward with one purpose—to seize the throne for himself and stop the queen from crowning Hairan.
They were already halfway through the journey now. The steady thunder of hooves echoed across the open road while banners snapped sharply in the wind overhead. n clad in steel and leather armor rode in organized ranks, weapons strapped to their backs.
The army procession moved through the frozen landscape, their breath rising in pale clouds in front of them. The road ahead was quiet save for the crunch of hooves and the occasional clink of armour. Winter had settled particularly hard over this part of the kingdom.
Ragnar glanced sideways at Circe, who rode beside him atop her dark horse. It was not even the first ti that day he had checked on her. In truth, he had lost count hours ago. His gaze lingered on her longer than intended, silently searching for any sign of discomfort or exhaustion.
Noticing his stare, Circe turned her head toward him with faint exasperation already written across her face.
"I’m fine," she told him before he could even speak. "You don’t have to keep worrying about every second of the day."
Despite her words, Ragnar’s expression remained tense. Circe had insisted vehently on accompanying him, despite all his objections. The reason he had not wanted her to co was never because he doubted her capabilities, far from it. He knew what she was capable of.
What frightened him was the thought of her getting hurt.
And the fact that she was pregnant, even if still in the early stages, only deepened his reluctance.
But Circe had refused to remain behind. For days she had argued with him until he had finally relented. She knew she could help him, and with her powers, she would be a powerful asset to his plans. It would have been foolish not to allow her to co.
"Can you bla ?" Ragnar replied. "I couldn’t stop worrying about you even if I tried."
Circe’s expression softened slightly at that, though determination still burned clearly in her eyes.
"I promised you that when the ti ca, I would help you secure the throne," she said seriously. "And I intend to keep my word. Being pregnant does not change that."
Ragnar let out a tired sigh, rubbing a hand briefly across his jaw. He knew there was no changing her mind now. All he could do was ensure, by all ans possible, that no harm ever ca to her.
For a while, silence settled between them once more, broken only by the rhythmic clopping of hooves.
Then suddenly, one of the riders ahead shouted a warning.
The sharp alert imdiately rippled through the marching army. Several riders further back pulled harshly on their reins, bringing their steeds to abrupt stops while confused murmurs spread throughout the ranks. Ragnar and Circe halted as well, both instinctively straightening in alertness.
It did not take long for them to realize why they had stopped.
One of the ard riders at the front broke away from the group and rode swiftly toward Ragnar. The man’s face looked pale, most likely the result of what he had seen up ahead.
"Your highness," the rider called as he approached, breathing heavily from the pace of his horse. "We discovered a settlent ahead."
Sothing in the man’s tone caused Ragnar’s expression to darken instantly.
"Rebels appeared to have attacked it recently," the rider continued grimly. "There’s almost nothing left."
***
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